#hopped there to take my crease pattern now this...

[beatriceportinari]

my mom went to visit her family and somehow my annoying nurse cousin just followed me on insta...

[maoisarap]

reposting fictoship oneshots!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎LOOKBACK

childhood au.

fluff.

no warnings.

The echoes of children around Rumi's age laughing played all around the park. Thumping steps along the ground and squeals coming from all the playsets that dot the dry grass patches. Rumi eyed all the kids, watching — staring — as they all had fun together. A group of kids were playing "it", whilst some had a go on the slides, a few even played pretend in a wooden house and acted like as though it was an ice cream shop, giving their parents or carers alike the imaginable said frozen treat.

A frown creases their facial features.

Why did they come to the park again? They couldn't quite remember to be fair. The last thing they remember, though, was coming up to the fenced-in park and opening the yellow gate and entering into a plot of what was once barren. It's been a few hours, Rumi guesses. They don't know. They can't count as well as other kids their age. It was difficult to understand such syllables that existed for them.

The swing they sat upon that was built a bit further than the rest of the playsets within the park, which squealed and groaned with each push they moved themselves upon. The chains clank together in a rhythm that only Rumi Shio could understand.

"Excuse me?”

A gentle voice comes to their right, Rumi looks to their side, seeing a boy of their age cladded in a red and white hooded jumper and midtone grey shorts and black and white trainers standing before them. His kelly green eyes glistened brightly in the sun, sparkling like no other star could attempt. Strands of beaujolais hair covering over half of his face that Rumi sees the boy trying to move his fringe out of the way. Did his fringe annoy him? Rumi questioned themselves silently whilst peering over to the boy.

They nod silently towards the beaujolais-haired child, begging him to ask for what he wanted. The hooded boy points to the swing next to Rumi and politely asks, "is this swing in use to anyone you know, or may I use it?"

"You can use it. I don't mind." Rumi responds, their voice as quiet as one can possibly be, yet, the boy before them could still hear them as he seems to perk with cheer and slides onto the swing beside Rumi and soon began grazing his own feet across the dry grounds to move back and forth. He gives them a thank you of his own to which Rumi responds with a hum, and looked away soon from the boy next to him, focusing on the ground now before them, the noises of their shoes and the ones of the boys scratched against it in a sense of pattern.

The squeals of the swings carry on. Like a grandfather clock ticking, the clanks of the chains roll back and forth between both swings that were taken up by the two children.

"What's your name, by the way?" The beaujolais-haired boy suddenly asked after a few minutes of the two swinging together. The young boy faced Rumi, glancing over with wide curious eyes.

"Rumi... Rumi Shio, you?" They come to a halt. The sound of scraping could be from the shoes as they did so.

"I'm Mao Isara! You can call me just Mao, if you wish!" Mao beamed. "Would you like to play together? I was going to play with my friend here today, but... he got taken home for being sick.”

Once again, Rumi nods silently towards Mao. The shine casting over Mao brightened ever so more from pure happiness. From being in mid-swing, Mao leaps off of it and lands with a hop and a small slide onto the ground. He turns himself around to face Rumi, reaching one hand out to the greenette for them to take.

"Come on then! You can choose what we do first!"

Rumi stands up and walks towards the other, accepting his hand after a moment of hesitancy and pondering on what they could play for a moment as they walk to the heart of the park.

"So?" Mao asks. "What would you like to do?" He wears a smile of patience as Rumi looks around. There was a seesaw that nobody seemed to be using, a roundabout, a playhouse that held two floors worth with a slide sticking out of it on the side, a different slide at the opposite end of the park with monkey bars attached to it one side and a climbing wall on the other.

Rumi wasn't sure where to begin... they usually don't play with other kids, preferring to be alone and always sticking to the swings that they mostly feel comfortable with only ever using. Yet this boy who appeared out of nowhere like a magician's play, Mao Isara... there was something about this boy who made Rumi wish to take down a different path that didn't give them a sense of loneliness. Mao was like a torch in their set of woods at night. A guidance to the exit of safety and towards the direction of home.

"Uh... how about the seesaw?" They point to the abandoned wooden piece.

"Alright!" There were no questions pulled from the boy, about the seesaw, and neither about how Rumi was like.

“Here! I'll hold down this part so you can hop on~" Mao directs after pulling away from holding Rumi's hand, now pushing the edge of the seesaw down by its metal bars.

"But what about you?" Rumi walks over to Mao's side, ready to heave themselves onto the wooden seat that he held.

"Don't worry about me! I can climb from the middle piece and make way to the other side~"

Without further ado, Rumi situated themselves onto the seesaw, with Mao sending them a grin of reassurance as he let's go slowly of the metal bars and runs to the middle of the seesaw. Rumi gripped onto the bars thereafter, watching with focus and a slither of worry as they see Mao do exactly as he said he was going to do — he hops onto the middle part, scraping one of his knees after turning around and crawled his way to the other side of the seesaw and situated himself down too.

"Ready?" Mao places one foot onto the grass, glancing up at Rumi, who was further in the air from where they sat.

"Yeah-huh!”

The sound of the seesaw rolling soon was caused as Mao pushed his foot away from the grass beneath him. The seesaw groans as Rumi copied Mao's actions, and the two young kids soon synchronise their pushes and pulls together and get into a perfectly flowing routine soon after.

A light tune of laughter comes from Rumi. A sprinkle of fun causing their heart to flutter. Being with Mao, even if it hasn't been all that long... it was fun. Joyful. An experience they forgot what it was like to happen.

A soft smile makes its way onto Mao's facial features as he perks his head up once more, seeing his newfound friend laughing in delight, soon a giggle of cheer reaches from himself and he joins in on the fun.

Minutes tick by, and the two have stopped rolling back and forth on the kiddies play piece, now sitting on a bench nearby. Mao, since then, had ran off to his parents who came with him to the park, and asked for his lunchbox that he could share with Rumi.

The shade coming from the bunch of trees above cooled their heat. Small crunches of eating coming from the two.

"Thank you, for today, Mao." Rumi tells all of a sudden, a hum of confusion comes from Mao as he stops mid-bite of his snack.

"For what, exactly?" Mao tilts his head to the side, kelly green eyes focused fully onto Rumi, who claps their hands together a few times to get rid of any crumbs of the food taking over their prints.

"For playing with me... it... it was really fun today, and I hope we can do this together some other time..."

"Of course we can!"

As the two finished up eating, one of Mao's parents called out his name. A groan comes from him as he peeks his head to the side, seeing his parents waving him over on the outskirts of the park. "It looks like I have to go..." he stands from the one side of the bench he sat upon, picking up his rubbish and leftovers and dunking them into his lunchbox.

"We'll see each other next time here, Rumi. I promise you! We're friends forever now!" That sentence alone coming from Mao sent a sense of comforting warmth to Rumi, causing a thin smile of theirs to appear.

"Really?”

"Yeah! You're not getting rid of me now that I'm part of your life~" he chuckles. "I best be going... see you around new friend!"

"Bye..." Rumi waves Mao off, watching him run to the gates of the park, hopping along in his run from the excitement he committed.

Rumi's smile widens just a bit.

They can't wait to meet Mao again, no matter how long that would be.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu xFem!Reader

TW/CW: Angst, Reader is very frustrated in more ways than one, mentions of incestual marriages (it was ancient Egypt, I'm gonna keep reminding y'all of that) some historical inaccuracies, mixed with some personal speculation on Amenhotep IV/Akhenaten, Nefertiti and a few royal consorts/wives.

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Woo! Getting there, you guys! The mystery is beginning to unravel!

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124 @patchesofwork @lialiwasneverseen

Chapter 13:

The Before

Thankfully, Khonshu only ribbed you out lightly, trying to worm details from you. But when it was obvious you were so adamant about not telling him the rather intimate details of your most recent mental trip.

Not only were you confused and frustrated... now you were confused, frustrated, and horny. You knew you couldn't exactly relieve yourself; the old man would undoubtedly know, and proceed to mock you for it. Smug bastard. Had gods no vices of their own?

You laid in your bed, the sun bleeding through your curtain and bathing you in a warm glow. You sighed deeply, wiping your face.

Time was ticking on your paid leave... If you didn't get yourself sorted out soon, you were in danger of losing your job. What then?

You were fucked, that's what. And not in the fun sense.

You stared back up at the ceiling, your brows furrowed in frustration.

There was one person who might know. One person who might be able to explain the "magic" Khonshu said you were "blessed" with.

You needed to go see Jezebel.

The older woman smiled warmly at you, her eyes creasing at the corners as she welcomed you into her store; "Ah! I was wondering when I'd see you again, dear. Come, come!"

Zephyr crowed at you, his head tipping back and forth as he hopped along the countertop, chasing your steps as Jezebel stepped down from behind it.

"I need--"

"Help, yes I know, sweetie." Jezebel finished for you, patting your hand as she side-stepped you, moving to flip the sign on her shop door to say "Be back soon!".

She turned back around, and pressing her hand to the curve of your back, she gestured for you to walk with her past her shelves of various "witchy" items and to the back room where she performed her "readings".

You swallowed as the beads parted and she tugged out a chair for you to sit at her little table, "It's all right. I won't hurt you. You need my help, remember?"

"Yes..." You said tensely, taking your seat. You watched curiously as Jezebel allowed Zephyr to climb on her arm so she could pull him past the curtain and let him perch on his special spot; before grabbing a small clay pot from a shelf nearby.

She went around the room, dipping her fingers in whatever contents were within the pot, apparently smearing it in patterns you didn't understand at every point of entry in the room. You could very faintly make out the scent of the substance. Oil, obviously. Containing hints of something soft and flowery; rose oil with some kind of spice, perhaps. Something about it made your nose tickle with familiarity; gave you a small sense of comfort.

Jezebel replaced the jar on the shelf and too kthe seat opposite of you, grabbing the box of matches from the middle of the table and lighting the small cones on the plate in front of you.

"Apologies, dear... this is--"

"Myrrh." You interrupted softly, your eyes transfixed on the incense as the flames flickered out, the scent thickly cloying the air of the cramped space. Jezebel smiled again, nodding slowly.

"...Yes. It is." She adjusted her posture and rested her hands on the table, looking at you; her eyes shifting from mischievous to something faraway--ancient and haunted.

"Why did you... Do all of this?" You asked, looking around the room.

"I understand you've been frustrated with a... mutual acquaintance."

You snapped your head to look at her, "You... You know that--"

"That Khonshu is being rather abrasive with you? Yes," She leaned back in her chait with a chuckle and a shake of her head. "Please don't take it personally. He's like that with everyone. He means well, truly, but he's sort of... lost the ability to display his concern and curiosity in a more... gentle manner."

"Pfah!" You scoff, throwing your hands up. "He's a nosy bastard who won't give me privacy!"

"Yes, he does have an issue with... boundaries." Jezebel sighed softly.

You looked at her again, looking at her suspiciously; "How do you know about Khonshu?"

"I am one of the very few and scattered followers he still has in the world." She explained, "He saved my life. Gave it a real purpose after he saved me from Ammit's cult."

"Cult of--who?" You ask, your face twisting. "What... How did he do that?"

Jezebel pulled her sleeve and bracelets up further on her forearm; revealing a strange tattoo. It was faded, old, but still there. The image pertained that of some sort of scale, the edges of the beam containing twin heads of a crocodile, the platform scales dangling from their jaws.

"I was a... misguided follower of Ammit. Khonshu redeemed me, and freed me from a fate worse than death." She replaced her sleeve and jewelry, "I placed wards to prevent Khonshu from spying... And eavesdropping. I figured you would appreciate it because he has been rather invasive of your private life, as of late."

You nodded, giving her mumbled thanks.

"Now. You have questions?" She quipped.

"Yes." You breathed, leaning forward. "The dreams are getting worse. Or--or more vivid. I'm seeing some more detail, but that goddamn doctor said it was all a figment of my imagination! I can't take it! The old man won't just leave me alone! I don't understand why--"

Jezebel chuckled sweetly, her hands in the air to calm you, "Hush. Slow down... What doctor?"

You took a deep breath, exhaling through your nostrils. "Well..."

As you explained, taking moments to pause and reflect as you explained to Jezebel what was happening; you noticed how surprisingly annoyed she seemed with the doctor you'd gone to see. And mostly with how she dismissed your visions as daydreams and fantasies.

She hummed, frowning deeply as her eyes narrowed at the incense as it burned.

The silence had you wanting to chew off your nails with anxiety, until she finally spoke, "Your visions are disorganized. Fragmented. Not in order, at all. This is... troubling." She brought her thumb and forefinger to her chin, thinking deeply.

"H-how is it troubling?" You swallowed thickly, that knot of anxiety coiling within your belly once more. You wrought your fingers beneath the table, trying desperately to focus.

"It may have something to do with the magic emerging within you." She explained. "Your visions may be getting more detailed based on a... a buildup of sorts within you."

"I... I don't follow."

"The way some people who are born with natural magic, it's... almost like..." She grunted, trying to find an analogy.

"Imagine it like a cyst; or an infected wound. How it will well up with pus if untreated--drained--until it begins to weep or bleed. The magic is kind of--"

You cringed, your stomach unhappy with that comparisons, "It'd be less gross if you compared it to like... a rotten watermelon."

Jezebel laughed, "Apologies, dear. But yes, like how the watermelon may begin to foam and get soft before bursting... your magic is slowly leaking from you. Without a way to channel it, to focus it--it will only continue to cause you problems."

"But that doesn't explain my "visions", Jezebel." You groaned, leaning back in your chair in frustration.

Infuriatingly, she nodded, smiling that patient smile of hers.

"You're right. Those visions were always inside of you, dear." She said, "With or without magic, they would have surfaced. The magic is very likely why they began as vague nightmares, at first. And when you invoked Khonshu, that opened the first incision in the cy--er--the watermelon. Your magic began to bleed from you, ease up on your mind and body, allowing for things to become clearer."

"But... but what does that mean?" You pressed, leaning across the table, staring at her, your jaw tightening at her cryptic phrasing.

"What do you mean that I was always going to have these visions?"

Jezebel sighed deeply, still patient despite your rather impertinent behavior.

"Do you believe in reincarnation? Rebirth? Heaven, the afterlife?"

That floored you.

You dropped back into your seat, blinking dumbly at her. You couldn't help it; you laughed, the sound coming from you in a bark as you ran a hand through your hair. "Are you serious? You're saying that I'm... I'm some person from thousands of years ago? Do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"As crazy as Egyptian gods being real and invading your personal space, or actual magic?" Jezebel grins. You wilt at her remark, looking down at your lap as you scuffed the toe of your shoe on the floor.

"...Good point..." You admit bashfully.

The older woman chuckles, smiling fondly at you. "I understand your frustration, dear. Now... let's try to put a focusing stone--a magnifying glass onto some of your visions. Namely, the one you had when that "doctor" hypnotized you. Who was in it?"

"W-well..." You think, recalling all the details.

The atmosphere, the emotions heavy on the breeze--you could almost feel the weight of the baby you had held in your arms. "There was... a baby. I was holding her, and..."

Your heart ached, and before you even realized it, your arms moved, cradling something that wasn't even there. You shook your head, ignoring the sense of grief that had strangely begun to rise inside of you.

"A baby?" Jezebel asked, her eyes growing wide. "Tell me, what was her name?"

"Heba," You answered quickly. "Her name was--was Heba. She was--" You chuckled softly through your nose. "She was a very chubby baby. ...Why do you ask?"

Jezebel hummed, licking her lips a moment. "It will all help us focus your mind. To shine the light on the little details; the scribbles in the margins, as it were. Who else was there?"

"A... a man. He came up behind me. Hugged me..." You said slowly, your eyes going distant as your mind went back to that place. The warmth of the sun on your skin, the baby in your arms; the strength of the arms that wrapped around you. The love that stretched on, bridged the gap that your physical bodies couldn't articulate through soft touch.

Jezebel was very interested. She leaned forward again, resting her arms on the table as she peered at you. "Did you... catch his name?"

"No, but... I had another dream last night with him in it." You blurted without thinking.

She nodded, rolling her wrist, "And? What happened?"

"Well... it started with me walking in... a temple."

"A temple? To whom?" She inquired.

"Well..." You groaned, rolling your eyes. "The cranky old bastard."

Jezebel snorted, covering her mouth with her hand; coughing into it to swallow her jubilance. "Ah... ahem. Continue, please."

"It was at night... couldn't see much. Just the paintings on the walls that were lit by the torches." You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you recalled the vivid scene.

"I was looking at them, at the sky... and the, the torches went out and I couldn't see. Then, the man came up behind me again, and..." Your eyes snap open and you feel your face heat up as you looked off to the side, rubbing the back of your neck; a flush overtaking your cheeks.

Did you dare reveal the details of your rather blasphemous tryst in a holy place like that? If you really were that woman who you've been dreaming about, you can imagine Khonshu wouldn't be very happy when he found out--if he found out--that you and your dream lover had defiled one of his temples with your rather carnal affair.

"What happened next?" Jezebel urged.

You didn't answer.

She noticed the tone of color in your face and a smile ghosted her lips. She was restraining herself. You yourself didn't notice the playful twinkle in her eyes as you cleared your throat, still averting your gaze out of shame, "W-well, uh... It's... It's sorta... p-personal?"

"Oh... I see." She chuckled, "I won't pry. But did you see his face? Catch his name?"

"...No."

Her smiled melted away like ice in the summer heat. Her brows furrowed deeply, "What? You can't see his face, or recall his name?"

"I... I can't explain it, I'm sorry, I..." You sigh, running a hand through your hair again as the shame of "your" thousands-of-years old sexual encounter faded away. "His name never comes up. It hasn't. Well, not yet, I mean? And... His face is..."

"...Yes?" Jezebel asked softly.

"The split second I caught of him, it was... blurry."

Jezebel cocked her head to the side. "Blurry?"

"Yeah, like, uh... like when ink gets wet on paper, almost. The torch went out, but..." Your brows furrow as you recall one crucial detail.

"His eyes. They had almost a... a glow? It was faint, but I definitely saw them glowing." You looked back at her, seeing her thoughtful expression. "Jezebel?"

"I... think that, perhaps, you can't recall his name or face because you aren't meant to. Not yet." She told you. There was something else in her eyes, something deep.

"What... was the woman's name? Do you recall that?"

"Yeah, actually." You replied with a nod. "Merit. My--her name was Merit."

You see Jezebel visibly stiffen; her jaw tightening a fraction as her eyes focus on yours with a burning intensity that has you wanting to look away. But something swirls in the depths of her gaze that keeps yours trapped with hers.

"Merit." She repeated slowly, as if she were tasting each syllable, each letter on her tongue. "You're sure that was the name?"

"Yeah, it's all they called her. Why?" You asked suspiciously.

"It's... it's nothing. But knowing that name is a very big step to remembering it all, indeed." She relaxed, her posture becoming once again casual as she reclined in her seat.

"That's--Jezebel, you're lying to me." You told her, narrowing your eyes. "Tell me, why is her name important?"

"I'm sorry." She apologized. You could tell by the inflection of her words that she menat it. She was well and truly sorry that she wouldn't--or perhaps couldn't--tell you more. "But... You have to discover the rest of Merit's story for yourself, dear. I cannot help you with everything."

You rub your temples, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on. "Jezebel..."

"However," She said, her voice low and full of warning. "You mustn't tell Khonshu of your dreams. Not until you feel you are ready."

"I... What? Why?" You asked, your head reeling back a bit in confusion.

"Well..." She tilted her head, her eyes softening a smidge, a small smile on her lips. "I can imagine if he were to find out you had a rather... clandestine meeting with this mystery man of yours in one of his temples; his overbearingness may become... worse, for you?"

You wilted once again, feeling like a little kid who got caught telling a fib. "...Fair."

Jezebel smiled, and stood up, walking over to another one of her shelves full of baubles, and pulled out a small jar. Clay, like the pot of oil, but definitely smaller. More like a vial, if anything.

She turned, and walked back over to you, "Now. There's one more thing I need to try with you. I need to see how these visions affect you myself."

"What's in that thing?" You ask, leaning away from her.

Jezebel swirls the small jar around idly, looking at it. "Oh, it's just some oils, some incense ashes... it's a concoction that I learned to make on my own when I was younger. It helped me... remember things. I thought it may do the same for you, too."

You eyed her with suspicion once more. But Jezebel had never given you a reason to distrust her, before. Well, she did hide the fact that she and Khonshu were all buddy-buddy, but she explained everything--or, well, almost everything--to you rather truthfully.

So... fuck it. Anything helps, right?

"Okay. You said to her. "What do I do?"

Jezebel smiled and uncorked the jar, "Breathe deep."

You did.

You were walking through the halls of the palace, humming to yourself as the springtime breeze whistled through the halls and large rooms. Servants and bowed out of respect to you; your father was here meeting with the Pharaoh. He was sick and frail, and your father, being the good friend to the king that he was, would come to visit him constantly.

After all, it was on a hunting trip with the Pharaoh that your father sustained his injury with one of the powerful lions they were so fond of tracking. Your father had to retire, no longer able to join the ruler on his hunts or lead incursions against the enemies of Egypt. Instead helping advise his son, Amenhotep, named for his father, in his absences. It was no secret that your father had been in talks with the Pharaoh Amenhotep to suggest your hand as one of his son's wives in the past...

His son's marriage to the beautiful Nefertiti had only concluded two weeks before, with you a member of the bridal party. She was young, certainly. Younger than you by nearly five years, she was wiser than you'd anticipated. As she was being prepared for the wedding procession, you and the princess-to-be had engaged in a few philosophical discussions on what could be done to alleviate the Pharaoh of his ailments; of which gods to leave offerings to...

You were a bit older than most would suggest for a wife, but close enough in age to Amenhotep that it was acceptable. You were still of your fertile years, after all, (and would be for some time as of yet) and a future Pharaoh needed heirs to succeed him.

The Prince had been ruling as coregent ever since his father had fallen ill with the horrible pains in his mouth and teeth. The poor king could barely eat; only able to dine on broths and very finely mashed foods that he could easily swallow, fed lovingly by Queen Tiye.

You liked Tiye. You and your mother would spend a lot of time with her when you were young; as one of her handmaidens this was how she had met your father. Tiye was always very kind to you, taking you into her lap as she would do with one of her daughters whilst your mother helped attend to one of the other wives, or their children.

She even allowed your mother to recline in one of her special chairs when she was pregnant with your little brother. The latter of whom had stayed home with your mother, today, focusing on his schooling.

You sighed deeply as you trailed your finger across the murals painted in the plastered and ivory walls while you walked. Today was rather sad for you; Amenhotep was likely to not remain in this world for much longer. His son, close in age to you, would become Pharaoh in his place, since his elder brother Thutmose had passed away some time ago.

Your father had even proposed that your hand be given to the late Prince, but the offer changed once he had passed on to the afterlife.

You refused both options, quite vehemently of course--much to the chagrin of your parents. You weren't ready to be weighted down by the bearing and raising of children to the next Pharaoh; you wanted to study, to learn. To become the scholar that would teach generations even ages after you passed on the next life.

The Pharaoh had asked to see you, personally. You sat alone before this mortal god, nervous that you may have offended him in your youthful bravado...

But instead, he smiled at you, and laughed. He had made a bargain with you: if you could beat him in a game of Senet you would not be wed to anyone that was not of your choosing or desire.

You had won. And it was by his decree that, if you did not accept the terms of a proposal, you would not be wed.

Your father had balked at the idea, the very notion. While he would respect your wishes should you decline any men he suggested, (the most prominent one being Amenhotep. Repeatedly.) he would always sigh and shake his head, telling you he only wanted you to be cared for when he passed on, that--

"Merit?" A soft voice called out to you.

You turned, seeing Nefertiti cradling a bouquet of blue lotuses in her thin, young arms. She walked up to you, and smiled. You could see always why her name meant "the perfect one has arrived". And truly, she was a beauty to behold. Whenever she stepped into a room, heads would turn and breaths would stop.

Her gaze looked up to meet yours, and she smiled again, "I heard your father was visiting the king?"

"Yes. I got restless. The musicians and dancers are all very fine to watch, but..." You sighed.

"You wanted to explore?"

"Well, I doubt there is an inch of this Palace I have yet to see, given I practically grew up in it." You replied fondly, running your hand down a smooth column, your fingers dancing over an image of Thoth, one of the gods you focused your worship on.

You looked back down at the princess, smiling, "And what are you doing, my lady?"

She rolled her eyes with a scoff, "Ugh. Don't call me that! You're older than me, it makes me feel old. You can just call me by my name, Merit."

"But that would be improper..." You grinned playfully at her. "...my lady."

The girl snickered, taking one of the lotuses and whacking you on the head with it, having to stand on her toes to do so, "You will call me by my name! As future Queen, I demand it!"

You bowed deeply with a flourish, "But of course! My Princess Nefertiti..."

She hit you with the flower again, sending a petal to stick into your wig. You both laugh, giggling amongst one another girlishly.

"Well... I hear your father is trying to convince you to marry, again?" She asked you with a smirk.

You sighed and shook your head, your jewelry tinkling along the breeze. "Yes. He is wanting to marry me to Amenhotep... I refused."

"Again." Nefertiti giggled, brushing a lock of her wig behind her ear. "Although, if you accepted, I would not opposed to you being with the other sister-wives. You could even teach our children, with all that you know!"

"As enticing as the thought is, Nefertiti..."

"You aren't ready. I understand." She smiled patiently. Truly, wiser than her own years.

"But I promise, should you accept, I will welcome you happily. You're one of the first friends I have made here, after all. And your experience with the Pharaoh and Queen and court would be most welcome."

You chuckled as Nefertiti sticks the stem of one of the lotuses into your wig, "Thank you. I will keep the idea in mind."

"That is all I ask." She nodded.

Her smiled faltered for a moment, as she looked down the hall. As if checking to see if anyone was near.

"Nefertiti? What is it?" You asked her.

"Merit." She whispered to you, her full lips turning into a pout, her meticulously traced eyebrows pinched with worry, "At times, does Amenhotep seem... odd, to you?"

You looked to the floor, not entirely sure you wished to say, "Nefertiti..."

"Please, tell me." She asked, taking hold of your hand, looking up at you hopefully. "I love him, dearly, I do. But..."

"He does seem a little... Odd." You relented. "When we were younger he would... Engage in conversations with himself. Get angry very easily."

"That is not recent? He has always done this?" She gasped with worry. "I woke up a few nights ago, and Amenhotep was... was whispering to himself. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but... he returned back to his normal, charming and adoring self when I touched him."

"Then perhaps you are the calming influence he needs?" You said, tilting your head. "He will be Pharaoh, one day. And ruling jointly with his father has been heavy on his mind, I am sure. Perhaps, with you with him at his side, the weight will ease?"

She twisted her mouth, wiggled it about. A rather cute physical display of her thinking, you were sure. Finally, Nefertiti nodded. "I'm sure you're right, Merit. Thank you so much."

"We are friends, are we not?" You suggested, hooking your little finger with hers; the both of you giggling once again.

"Nefertiti."

You both turn your heads sharply to see Amenhotep, staring at the both of you with a quirked brow. He reached up to toss his sidelock of hair behind his ear, sauntering over to the both of you with a cocky smile. His appearance was a tad more slender than that of most men, but many women (his wives included) fawned over him when he smiled.

Some say the sun itself would gleam from his eyes when he smiled.

The young Prince slipped his arm around his wife's waist. Nefertiti's nose crinkled almost imperceptibly, and you could smell why. In such a close distance you could smell the scent of sex as it clinged to his body. He had likely just finished a heated carnal encounter with one of his other wives.

"My love, you could have bathed." Nefertiti sighed, smiling hopelessly at him as she batted a lotus playfully to his cheek.

Amenhotep laughed, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles, "Of course, my love. I apologize."

He looked to you, then, and you did not fail to notice how his eyes had raked over your figure, and the lotus in your hair. "My apologies to you, as well, lady Merit. I understand that not all enjoy the smell that comes after trying to create a new life."

You smiled thinly out of politeness, "Of course, my Prince. It does not bother me overmuch. What would bother me was if you had spoken with two young ladies after spending a day out riding and tending your horses without a bath..."

He laughed, the sound loud and barking, "Ha ha! Of course! Ah, may your humor never dim, Merit. May it stay as bright as the sun always." He grinned at you again, tugging Nefertiti closer to him once more. "Your father is visiting mine, yes?"

"As always." You sighed with a smile, "I originally came to see Queen Tiye, but it would seem she was tending to the Pharaoh today."

He nodded with a serious expression, "Yes... yes. I fear my father may not last but a few more years, at this rate. My poor mother... I fear how it will hurt her when he passes on."

"As long as she has you, and her family to support and aid her, I am sure her grief will only be temporary. She will see him again." You said with a bow of your head.

Amenhotep nodded, a rather predatory smile on his lips as he flashed his teeth at you, "Thank you, Merit. Your sentiment is very, very appreciated."

As he and Nefertiti turned, he kissed her forehead affectionately. When they began to walk away from you, you once again did not fail to see how the Prince had glanced at your body; the shine in his eyes.

A cold sweat broke out in your palms, a queasy feeling swimming around in your gut.

You could only silently pray to the gods in thanks that the Pharaoh himself had decreed you have the right to decline marriages. You feared that Amenhotep would have taken you in some way, regardless. Even as children, he would always hover around you; even to the point Tiye would have to scold him and remind him to go play with his brothers instead.

However... at least He seemed to adore Nefertiti, and she him. Where you could tell much of his attention on you was lust-driven... There was a bit of fanatical love in his eyes for Nefertiti.

You could only pray some more that Nefertiti would be the calming influence he so desperately needed.

You awoke with a gasp, the sound of thumping snapping you out of your trance. You look around to see Jezebel holding you upright.

"I would ask what you have seen, but... It appears Khonshu is rather annoyed that I locked him out." She said, slipping a piece of paper into your hand. "Here is my number. We can chat safely there when we can't speak in person."

You barely had a moment to speak out when she took a rag and wiped away the sigils she had written on the walls in oil. Almost immediately after, Khonshu appeared in the small space, his body hunched over.

"I can only begin to wonder what you two were chatting about." He groused, "That it required keeping me blind from such things."

Jezebel smiled patiently up at him, "The poor dear needed someone to talk to, my lord. About rather... womanly things."

You were thankful he bought her lie.

"Feh, fine." He scoffed, sighing a bit. He looked at Jezebel with a cock of his head. "I sense you now have something to discuss with me, Jezebel."

"Yes. Khonshu," She began, smiling patiently up at him. "You need to teach this young woman how to hone her magical skills."

"What?!" You gasped, shooting to your feet. You were apparently unsteady on them, as Jezebel had to reach out to stabilize you. "Why can't you do that?!"

"Because my magical talent isn't like yours. The kind of magic you possess is best taught by someone who has mastered such things. Such as..." She swept her hand to Khonshu, "The God of The Moon himself. What better teacher for such methods than one who has seen millennia of humans attempt magic?"

Khonshu hummed, silently peering at you. The opportunity to unravel the mystery surrounding you was too tantalizing to ignore. Perhaps that is the true reason Jezebel suggested it.

You, however, we backed into o a proverbial corner on the matter.

"Very well. Assuming she is a quick study." He said with a wave of his hand.

"Well, I guess I have to be. I have only a couple of weeks until I have to go back to work. If learning magic from this dusty asshole helps me," You said, jerking your thumb at the deity in question, "Then I'll do it."

"You little--"

Jezebel giggled, cutting you both off with a patient smile, turning to go back out into her shop, "I will leave the two of you to sort this out, then."

Khonshu lightly smacked you with his heavy staff, "If I am to be saddled with your tutelage, then so be it. You first lesson starts now, little mage."

"Asshole." You muttered, rubbing your head.

"What was that?"

You speak louder this time, and with microscopic amounts of enthusiasm:

"Right. Yeah. Let's get this magic schoolbus rolling. Woo hoo."

Chapter 14: Link

[itsbeaconhillsbaby]

(cruel) summer || tom holland x reader

a/n: well...this took me a lot longer than I expected. I can only apologise for how long this has taken, especially since the absolutely wonderful @glahmouur​ requested it so many months ago. I hope you’re still excited to read, and that I’ve done it justice for you. clinging onto the last of these summer vibes before my favourite time of year - and hopefully plenty more writing to come over the next couple of weeks! I’ve missed you all so very much. enjoy x  word count: 3735 (oops) warning: swearing, gross paparazzi, little bit of angst summary: it’s the summer of your dreams with your favourite people, something was always going to try and ruin it

The trip had been booked for months.

Tom, Harrison, Harry, Tuwaine and yourself. Mexico. 

Two whole weeks. 

No interruptions. No work. Just pure bliss. 

And, it was shaping up to be the most perfect break.

The first couple of days since you had landed included a lot of amazing food, sightseeing around the quaint picturesque villages and cultural landmarks, tackling hiking trails and joining in on the sports activities set up for you and the boys on the crystal white beaches. 

Your favourite part however, was the amount of quality time you got to spend with Tom. Both of you were considered workaholics, and you loved your jobs, but it meant that for the majority of the year you were in separate locations working on your own individual projects.

You both deserved, and needed, this break.

The timing couldn’t have been better, as across the two weeks you would be celebrating your 23rd birthday. Birthdays weren’t always something you and Tom could share together in person, but you would always make it work with FaceTime calls and the promise of a do-over when you were together again. 

“Hey!” 

You tore yourself away from the soft paperback that was resting warmly against your thighs.

“Hm?”

You look up at your boyfriend, strong arms hauling himself up against the hot paved edging of the pool. He shook his wet curls out of his hair, droplets springing from the tips. Tanned, freckled shoulders peeked out from beneath the water. The sun, strong and intense, commandeered the bright blue skies. A far cry from the cold, rainy weather you’d left back home in the UK. You were unwilling to make your way back to your hotel room in the sticky heat for your forgotten sunglasses, and were instead using your hand as a shield from the glaring rays. 

“The water looks good on you,” you flirt, smiling across at him from your position on the reclined sun-bed. 

He grins back at you, cheekily. 

“It’ll look better on you. Aren’t you coming in?” 

You pointed to the book nestled between your legs, “I’m reading, plus the water is freezing.” You teased him, training your eyes back onto the page. You heard brief splashing alongside the laughter of the boys as they continued to play their water basketball game. 

A shadow blocks out your sun, dripping water onto the hot concrete. 

“Yeah, no. Sorry, but that’s just not going to cut it birthday girl.” 

Before you had a chance to take in his words, Tom had scooped you up from your position on the sun-bed. The light droplets from his wet, messy hair chilling your tanned skin. 

“Tom! No! Put me down! What are you doing?” You laughed, lightly kicking your legs, “Wait, at least let me put my book down first.” 

You felt the grumbled laugh against your body, as you gently tossed your book onto the lounger. 

“Okay, go ahead.” 

He pressed a sloppy, wet kiss on your mouth - your hand knotted in the back of his wet, tangled hair as you pushed for more.

“Love you.” He said, before dropping you into the pool with a splash. 

“You suck, Holland!” You shouted back to him, once you’d come back up for air, shaking water out of your ears and trying to scoop your tangled web of hair out of your eyes as he laughed, eyes twinkling. ****

You continued to watch from your perch on the side-lines, legs tracing patterns in the water whilst the sun beat down across your back and shoulder blades. The boys continued to mess around in the water. Your book had been long since abandoned on your sun lounger, pages now curling with the heat. You couldn’t contain your laughter when Tuwaine jumped on Tom’s back, Harry on Harrison’s so the two teams could race from one end of the pool to the other, legs peddling in what seemed like slow motion under the water; raucous fits of laughter emanating from both parties as your cheered on your boyfriend.

You couldn’t help but be automatically drawn to Tom, his smile so wide and eyes creased with laughter as Tuwaine casually slung his arms over his shoulders. His hair was completely dishevelled from the water’s attempts to flatten it entirely. You could see a smattering of freckles breaking out across his nose, complete with a small shock of pink on his cheeks as he was officially branded by the sun. 

“Hey, pretty girl – forgive me yet?” Tom whined, swimming up to the edge to meet you. He gently pulled your legs further into the water, sliding himself between them, wrapping his arms around your waist as your legs wrapped themselves around his. 

You laughed, pushing against his broad shoulders.

“Not sure yet. I’m thinking about it.” 

He gave a toothy grin before peppering a small cluster of kisses against your lips, “You look so good.” He mumbled quietly against your mouth.

You rolled your eyes at him, before returning the kisses.

“Oi, get a room you two!” You laugh as Tom covers the front of you, ultimately taking the hit of water from Harry.

He gives you a light squeeze round the waist, and a soft kiss on the cheek whispering a quick, “Hop on.”  

Wrapping your arms across his warm shoulders, you eased yourself fully into the water, feeling the immediate chill up your sides before wrapping your legs around Tom’s waist. Leaning forward against his back, he held onto the backs of your thighs – propelling you both through the water.

As you arrive next to the boys, you lightly floated away from Tom and were pulled into a one-armed hug by Tuwaine. As Harry held up a fist for you to bump against, you flicked your wrist just under the surface of the water – splashing him as payback.

Tom tread water with the cheesiest grin on his face as all the boys’ eyes immediately trained on you.

“Come on then, what’s this ‘mermaids’ game you were talking about – and how do we play?” ****

The air con hummed lowly, wispy curtains gently blowing in the cool breeze from the open balcony doors. The ocean twinkled in the late afternoon sunshine. You were sprawled out on the large king-sized bed wrapped in one of the hotel’s fluffiest white towels, legs dancing in the air behind you. Lounging on your front, wet curls drying in the cool air you could hear the faint sound of spraying water from the en-suite shower. It soothed you as you continued to follow the written words on the pages of your, now slightly wrinkled and rough to the touch, paperback.

Your phone vibrated from the opposite side of the room, plugged in and charging atop the rustic, vintage vanity table where your new camera, battery pack and Tom’s wallet had all been left.

The camera had been a special gift from Tom which he’d surprised you with on your birthday, celebrated only the other evening. He’d been so giddy the morning of. The carefully, yet haphazardly, wrapped parcel had protruded just slightly from under the bed in the hotel room you shared, where he’d attempted to hide it. You pretended you hadn’t noticed. Puppy dog eyes shone as he eventually handed it across to you, surprising you in bed as the sun was going down, casting golden specks across your bodies, as he whispered a soft ‘happy birthday’ against your lips. Beaming at you once he saw your sheer shock and joy at his thoughtful gift, he had kept the first photo you’d taken in his wallet from that evening. Just the two of you - both sleepy shadows, full from all the sweet lemon sponge cake that has been especially ordered up to your room - cuddled together, legs entangled as you fell into each other’s embrace.

You’d all taken a boat to one of the smaller islands for a special celebratory dinner the next evening; where Harry had surprised you with the battery pack, his smart quick-thinking leaving Tom with a pink blush upon his cheeks. You thanked him with a smile, the rest of the crew spoiling you rotten with drinks and food. As the boys parted ways, you and Tom had waited around for the sunset, high off the sparkling, sweet tasting wine you’d both consumed all evening – bewitched by each other’s titillating company. A small wrap was knotted around your waist, as you had all stayed in your beachwear, black bikini top on show as a server snapped a picture of you both with your new camera per Tom’s polite request. The sun burned low behind you both, it’s vibrant orange glow glistening across the water towards the cove. 

Posting the photo in your wine induced haze, you captioned it with a simple 23 and a golden heart before tagging Tom in the blurry, sepia quality polaroid.

You knew the vibrating would be your phone going into overload. A common occurrence that happened anytime you posted a photo with your boyfriend, the hordes of fans coming in full throttle to interact in some way.

Leaving it to buzz in the background, you turned your attention to the bathroom door opening. Tom stepping out as he shook his wet hair, towelling it dry as it stuck up in multiple directions haphazardly.

“Come here.”

You sat yourself up, legs crossed beneath you as he walked over to you – that soft smile high on his lips.

He sat on the end of the bed as you brushed through his temperamental curls, “Please leave it curly,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his tanned shoulder blades, running your hands through the brown locks.

“We’ll match.” He said, turning to you as your hands fell back into your lap.

“Would it be too much?” You asked, as he gently tucked a rogue drying curl behind your own ear.

“Oh definitely. But I love it.”

With that, he pushed forward. Noses brushed as you both relaxed into each other’s embrace, mouths eagerly seeking out each other, the sweet smells of lotion and ocean spray engulfing you both.

****

“Right, it’s my round! Get your orders in!” 

The whole group hollered at Tom, who pressed a firm kiss onto your forehead as you tilted it upwards towards him, his two hands cradling either side of your head. Your eyes closed involuntary at the warmth before you turned to watch him leave the table and join the small crowd up at the bar. Dressed in a tropical patterned shirt, unbuttoned and billowing just slightly due to the aircon, you took a minute to admire him from afar. He worked hard to look the way he did, muscles contracting and relaxing again with each breath. 

You pulled the thin material of your summery dress down further, eager to cover up some of the bare skin you had on show after seeing Tom’s. You paled in comparison to the web-slinging actor, and sometimes if you focussed on it too much you couldn’t understand why such a gorgeous man would be interested in you. 

“Hello. Anyone in there?”

A hand waved in front of your eyeline. Shaking your head, you returned your attention back to the table where the boys were trying to mask their laughter. 

“She can’t take her eyes off him for two minutes. Outrageous.” 

“What? I’m on holiday, leave me alone!”  

Tuwaine smirked slightly, as Harrison patted your arm reassuringly.

“Why did we agree to have a couple on this trip again?” Harry complained cheekily, grinning his cheesy grin at you. You reached an arm across the table and pushed a hand against his forehead, playfully shoving him back.

“Shut up, you love me.”

As Tom came back with the tray; a colourful array of cocktails, shots and ciders, the group continued to laugh and joke around, cheers-ing to your recent birthday and to the remainder of their holiday under the heat of the Mexican sun. 

**** “Uh oh, incoming Tom.”

Everyone was rosy cheeked as they tumbled out of the restaurant, laughing and giggling as the sun cast its low golden glow over the glistening blue waters. Waves gently caressed the edge of the shore as you revelled in the drunken clinginess of your boyfriend, and the support and love of your friends. 

You walked with Tom - the pair of you in your own little bubble, as he tucked you into his side, his arm slung casually across your shoulders as you wrapped yours around his waist. You could hear the thumps of his beating heart beneath the now buttoned up fabric of his shirt.

As the words spilled from Harry’s mouth, catching you all off guard mid conversation, Tom whipped his head round; immediately sobering up as his arm tightened around your shoulders. You peeked over his.

Behind a cluster of people, the striking black camera was obvious as the paparazzi pushed forwards, eager to catch a glimpse of the web-slinger himself.

You felt a brush of cold air sweep over your body, the hairs on your arms rising like tiny pinpricks as little goose bumps littered your skin. You straightened up, unwrapping yourself from Tom’s side.

“You okay?” He murmured into your ear, eyes hardening as he focussed on the path ahead of him whilst navigating the drunken, bustling crowds.

You nod.

“How did they even find us?”

You could sense Tom’s frustration and anger at the situation, resting a comforting hand on his arm. You knew what this meant, if the paparazzi had caught wind of where you all were, it wouldn’t be long before they figured out where it was you were staying and you couldn’t imagine that they’d leave Tom alone for the rest of his trip.

“I posted a photo the other night. Someone could’ve recognised the restaurant.”

It was during your worried ramble that the shouting started, camera-wielding men desperate to get a photo of Tom.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault, okay? Let’s just head back.”

Your heart was racing as you were led through the dimly lit cobbled streets of the small village, losing Tom’s hand you were flanked by Tuwaine and Harrison – Harry hurrying up ahead with Tom. The camera shutters were getting louder and louder, the constant clicking ricocheting off the stone walls surrounding you as you attempted to block out the shouting and the grabbing hands of the people around you. The once happy, bustling streets now felt claustrophobic.

It was so easy to forget who Tom was in regards to his public image and celebrity status when you were together. Forcing you to recall that he wasn’t just your boyfriend, he was suddenly an A-list celebrity, ‘Spider-Man’ himself. Back home you could easily be together in public without too much attention – only having to accommodate for the occasional fan photo or dinner interruption. Premiere’s and special events weren’t so bad because the press was supposed to be there, and whilst extremely intimidating, you understood it was part of the job.

You noticed Tom and Harry slip down a small alleyway to the right, a blink and you’ll miss it move – as you and the boys continued up the cobbled paths to the main street. It was a distraction technique discussed every time the five of you went out together and had to deal with any irritating situation.

“They said they’re getting a car, and they’ll meet us back at the hotel.”

As Harrison organised your transport, you reached the main road – twinkling lights from the city and the roaring of cars sweeping past you. The paparazzi slowed behind you, their shouts less desperate now that it was obvious Tom was no longer with the group. Their frustration was obvious as they all grouped together, scanning through the photos that they had managed to sneakily take.

Then there was a stupid comment.

As the paps brushed past you all, one leaned in far closer than you had anticipated, stabbing a pointed finger straight into your chest and leaning in close.

“Think you’re so special. Girl like you. So many other beautiful girls out there.”

Whilst the language was slightly broken, you pieced enough together before Tuwaine stepped in front of you both.

“What the hell man! Fuck off, you’re just a bully, why don’t you just leave her alone, yeah? Pick on someone your own size!”

You grabbed at Tuwaine’s arm, shaking your head in silent surrender.

“Just leave it. It’s okay. It’s not worth it.”

“I just hate them so much. Never let anyone have a bit of privacy. Constantly looking to bring people down, and start fights - assholes!” He shouted down the road at the small cluster of men as they continued on their way, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, “I’m fine. They’re just mad they didn’t get their picture. Let’s just get out of here. Should probably make sure that they don’t follow us back to the hotel.”

Harrison came jogging over, hand beckoning to follow him to a sleek black car parked just around the corner.

“Car’s here,” He paused for a minute. Noticing your smaller stature and Tuwaine’s puffed out chest and frown, he tilted his head, “We all okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. Let’s go.”

Smiling a small, grateful smile you gave Harrison’s arm a comforting squeeze before sliding onto the black leather seats.

***** “Can’t even give us a couple weeks off. I love this job. But I would pack it all in if it meant that paparazzi just fucking left us alone.”

“Tom. Think we should call it a night.”

Harrison nodded over at you. Whilst your body was curled into Tom’s frame, your eyes unfocussed, having found a spot on the wall to gaze into as the boys all had a drink in the private hotel lounge.

You didn’t want to admit that the photographer’s words had any impact. And you really didn’t want to bring down the light-hearted, fun energy that your vacation had been full of. You were usually so good at brushing off any unwarranted comments, which were usually inevitable seeing as your boyfriend had such a large fanbase. There was no way everyone was going to like you, and you could cope with that. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been doing so for ages now. But whether it was the alcohol you’d already consumed, or something else – you just couldn’t stop thinking about what the man had spat at you.

Tom’s body shifts beneath you, holding out a hand for you to take as you both rise from the luxurious chaise. Shaking your head out of your daze, you smile softly as you grasp his hand and haul yourself up.

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow okay. Thanks for tonight boys, and sorry for ruining it.”

“Tom, you didn’t-” Tom waved them off with a shrug, before sliding his arms across your shoulder and entwining your fingers at the other side.

“Night guys.” It came out as more of a whisper, as you processed to walk with Tom up to your floor, your head nestling gently into his collarbone.

****

The hotel room was suffocating.

You lay on your side, facing the firmly locked balcony doors. The room was cold. The air conditioning incessant with its obnoxious whirring. There was a rustle. The thin cotton sheets slide across your body as Tom hops in next to you.

“I’m sorry.”

His soft words caused your entire tension-filled body to exhale.

“Tom.”

You turned to face him. His eyes were closed, tiny creases etched into the space between his eyebrows. Tom didn’t like being vulnerable, you knew he was staving off his true feelings – the striking anger that was coursing through his body. Gently smoothing the creases out with your fingers, he leaned ever so slightly into your touch.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.”

You pressed a soft kiss on his brow bone before settling in next to him, bodies warm to the touch.

“I love you. You know that, right? Whatever they’re all saying, it’s rubbish.”

The lump in your throat that you had been impressively swallowing down all evening came back to the surface, the pressure building.

“How did you know?”

He shrugged.

“I saw some of the comments.”

The pictures had been released pretty quickly. By the time you had all arrived back to the hotel they were already circulating across the internet, which people took as the perfect opportunity to hurl insults at your social media pages.

He shifts his head to the left to look at you, eyes softening.

“Hey. You can let it out. It’s just me. C’mon.”

You curl further into him, as his lips caress your forehead.

“People suck.” You mumble into his chest as he wraps himself around you, lightly trailing his fingers up and down your arm, the skin bursting with tiny goose bumps. You revelled in the soothing comfort.

“Sometimes I just forget. I forget that there are thousands – maybe even tens of thousands - of people out there who just don’t like me,” Tom squeezes you that little bit tighter, “And it’s okay. I don’t mind, really. I just wish they didn’t have to be so vocal about it – about how I look, how I act, how I dress. About whether I’m good enough.”

“You are good enough. You’re more than good enough. You’re amazing.”

Your lips pull up into a small smile as you look into those concerned brown eyes.

“You’re biased.”

He let out a small huff, chest vibrating beneath you, “Am not.” He sighed, those fluffy brows saying a thousand words, “I’m supposed to make all that crap better, not make you feel worse because of some so-called fans on the internet, and those stupid idiot paps; I’m so sorry.”

“Maybe if you just…weren’t so damn attractive. That would help.”

You both laughed.

“Oh, really?”

You nodded, as he pulled you in, peppering more soft kisses along your temple until he made his way down to your mouth.

“You’re ridiculous. And beautiful.”

Another kiss.

“And smart.”

Another kiss.

“And kind.”

Another kiss. “And I am so in love with absolutely everything about you. You’re enough. You’re everything.”

You felt your eyes glossing over. Scrunching your nose to avoid an onslaught of overdue tears, you felt Tom move beneath the covers – his arms wrapping around your torso, his curly messy hair resting on your stomach.

“I love you too.”

[fruitcoops]

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

[bukojuiice]

something in the rain   — todoroki shoto

ೃ you and shoto were once childhood best friends and sweethearts who had lost touch and communication. 12 years has passed since then, and on a fated summer day in june, there was something in the rain that brought two lost souls back to each other’s arms.

ೃ  pairing: shoto todoroki x fem! reader

ೃ  tags: childhood friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff

ೃ  warnings: none! 

ೃ wc: 1k

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! it really helps writers and content creators on tumblr!  if you want to be a part of my mha taglist. send me an ask!  ♡

ೃ song inspo: film out by bts

Puppy Love…

What a sweet and trivial concept.

Was it not?

You and Shoto met each other at the tender age of 7. Roughly two years into his intense and odious training brought upon him by his father. His mother who still unwaveringly continued to support him, would sneak the half and half boy out in between his trainings. Whether to bring him out to play in the local playground, run around in the flower fields, or to just go shopping in the local grocer. These simple things were enough to make the boy happy. Even for just a short moment.

Then, during one fated day, the sun was about to go down, and no other child was frolicking around the playground.

It was just you.

Alone on the swing, your eyes cast down on the ground, wriggling your feet and dipping them into the play sand. You hear a faint creaking sound of the seat next to you and now you were accompanied by a boy the same age as you were. Heterochromatic eyes filled with innocence and love, a smile that looked like it never left the curves of his face, floofy half red and white hair that gave him a very distinct yet striking appearance.

“Why are you all alone?” He inquires, tilting his head. “It’s almost night time too. It’s going to get scary…”

“You came here alone too.” You snapped back, averting his gaze and your mouth forming into a pout.

He shakes his head, “No I didn’t. My Mommy is just there.” He points to a faint silhouette of a woman not far from the two of you.

“Oh.” You blink. “Well, um- my house is just over there! So, my parents don’t need to always keep an eye on me!” You cross your arms, pointing to your house a few feet away from the playground.

“You’re lucky. My dad keeps an eye on me a lot. He’s scary most of the time too and I think it’s because of my quirk…” His shoulders visibly slump as he breathes out a hefty sigh. “Mommy takes me out to go play when I’m done with my training and I’m happy because of it!”

“D-do you wanna play on the slide?” You ask him, twiddling with your fingers. A faint shade of pink present on your cheeks. “If it’s okay, I wanna share my happiness with you!“

His eyes sparkle. “Sure! But…. wait! I don’t even know your name yet!”

“Ah my name’s (Y/N)!”

“I’m Shoto!” He grins, his eyes sparkling once more and you can’t help but become flustered even more.

 Oh, how you wish to see those bright blue and grey eyes again. His fluffy white and crimson hair, and just… feel his lingering presence in your life once more.

Why did time have to go by so fast?

Why did he have to leave?

After a year of feeling nothing but the purest and most blissful emotions whenever you were with him, that all came crashing down when Shoto and his family moved to another city. The reason why was because the neighborhood that you lived in wasn’t “healthy” for him or rather, it was too friendly and Shoto was getting attached to you even though he shouldn’t.

Heroes are built to be as strong as steel after all. Emotionally and Physically. Endeavor doesn’t want his son to be a soft little marshmallow who only beams so brightly whenever he hangs out with the little girl from the quaint neighborhood.

…It’s been 12 years since then.

You’re now a perpetually tired and no-nonsense sophomore college student. Studied hard enough to get a scholarship at one of the most prestigious universities in Japan and now it feels like you’re drowning in a massive amount of school works and extra cred.

Now, looking back at your whimsical childhood life that was only made possible because of one particular Icy-Hot boy, you get a sudden feeling of euphoria course through you as you reminisce the good times.

There was a feeling of inevitability when you met Shoto.

There was something about him that drew you in.

Even at such a young age, you had the sense that the two of you would be together.

That a moment in time would come in where he would look at you in a certain way and the two of you would cross the threshold of friendship into something so much more.

Which proved to be true, as he has always felt the same way as you did.

The two of you knew each other a little better than everyone else.

All the little secrets shared through giggles and fits of laughter, the embarrassing moments shared in a small and dusty playground, and the sweet little memories that the two of you were too young to understand, but what your prying yet loving mothers both noticed.

Your lives were fated to converge like some cosmic dance. Like two shooting stars descending from the night sky. It was always fate.

It was fate that the two of you met. It was fate that the two of you would become friends, playmates, and childhood sweethearts.

But you guess it wasn’t fate that the two of you would remain friends forever.

You are still hoping for a sign in the sky or a word from the stars.

If the two of you are fated to meet again.

The soft boom of thunder and sparkle of lightning awoken you from your slumber.

You had fallen asleep whilst studying for your finals. Just ten minutes of rest. You whispered to yourself.

Those ten minutes ended up becoming an hour and a half wasted and instead of studying and memorizing the chemical formulas, you ended up dreaming about ramen instead.

Some pages of your chemistry book were creased as you had ended up using it as a pillow. You pay this no mind as you mindlessly rub your eyes out of habit, looking out the window, as rain had begun to pour outside.  

You continue to observe the rainfall as the soft sound of droplets hitting the windowpane was so soothing to you, giving you a momentary peace of mind.

Your short meditation moment was soon interrupted with the grumbling of your stomach.

“Mom and Dad aren’t home till 9…” You stretch your arms, groggily murmuring to yourself. “Might as well have a trip to the convenience store.” You hop out of your chair, reaching for a grey hoodie and matching sweatpants from your closet, trying to channel the comfy girl look as you head out.

You lock the door to your house, opening your umbrella as you whistle your way to the convenience store, taking each step carefully hoping you don’t step on any dirty puddles and hoping you see some cute little frogs on the pathway.

You stop in your tracks when you notice a black sedan parked not too far from your house. You raise suspicion a little bit until you remembered that a new family was moving in the house near you, so you decided to just brush off your skepticism.

“Welcome to Conbini! May I kindly ask you to leave your umbrella by the door?” The cashier greets you, trying to force a customer-friendly smile. They might have had a rough week and you don’t want to be labeled as those jerk kinds of customers so you nod at her and leave your parasol at the entrance.

“Oh my god.” You were about to drop the bags of food in your hands when you notice that your umbrella was gone from the parasol stand, another customer possibly mistaking their umbrella for yours. You sigh in defeat. “You know what, heck it. I could care less at this point.” You pull up your hoodie, dashing your way back home, hoping you don’t end up getting sick from this careless situation you’ve put yourself into.

You stop in your tracks once again when you see a dashing-looking man standing in front of the gates of your house.

tall, well built, half and half colored hair that was wet and tangled, wearing a long and patterned coat, hands in his pockets… it felt as if he was waiting for someone to come out of your home.

Could this be…?

He was alerted by the sound of your steps rippling with the puddles in the pavement, turning to face you, his umbrella twirling with him.

His eyes grow wide at the sight of seeing you, and you notice his chest rise up, like a feeling of relief and of hope.

“(Y/N)…?”

“S-shoto?”

These are still the beautiful heterochromatic eyes you know and love. Only this time, it had a darker hue reflecting from his orbs. These are eyes who have seen and who have gone through so much.

You can’t even believe it.

Here he was, standing right in front of you. The boy you loved all those years ago.

Even more handsome, mature, and striking, and yet you could feel this broken emptiness radiating from him. Emotional scars that still run deep through him and… at this moment, you just want him to bare his heart to you. All this pain and suffering he has felt all these years.

You feel droplets of water sliding down your cheek like crystal teardrops.

“It’s really you…” You were about to drop the bags of food in your hands due to your blissful bewilderment but Shoto rushes to you with his umbrella, shielding you from the storm.

He was a bit too close and you could feel the heat rush up to your cheeks again, a feeling you have not experienced in so many years.

“Ah. I’m sorry.” He steps back a little from you and you can hear yourself internally monologue “nooo” as he takes a few steps away. “It’s been 12 years isn’t it?” He catches your attention again.

“It is. Yeah...” You nod, still looking up at him, a certain twinkle in your eyes and an inexplicable feeling growing in your chest. “W-what brings you here?” You add, your voice soft and sweet, whether you did this on purpose or not will forever remain a question.

“My family… we’re moving back here.” He replies quickly. solemn, yet there was a tint of excitement in his tone. “My father thought it was best if my mother, my siblings and I lived in a different house than him after… all the pain that he made us go through… and so… here we are.”

“Oh! Would you like to come inside and have some coffee?” You ask, pointing your finger to your humble abode. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” You giggle jokingly, trying to keep the atmosphere light and warm despite the cold weather present around you.

You start heading to the direction of your house, knowing that Shoto will follow you inside until… 

he grabs you by the arm, enveloping and pulling you in for a tight yet soft and comforting hug. A feeling that you’ve been wistfully longing for such a long time. 

A feeling that only Shoto Todoroki could give.

“I missed you so much (Y/N)… can you share your happiness again with me?”

In the midst of the rainy summer season that brought nothing but dim and grey skies, wet and damp atmosphere, and endless floods of sorrow, you were his spring. The rosebud opening in the watery sunshine.

The whimsical girl with grass-stained knees running around the meadow with him… like a prophecy telling him that new beginnings were about to come, your personality and your appearance reminded him of the cherry blossom trees that symbolized a time of renewal.

You were the rainbow after a storm. Spreading light and color to those around her…

The one who brought back light and color to his life again.

 “from all the memories stored in my heart”

I only picked up and connected the ones of you.”

  ೃ taglist: @chibishae34  @lovelytarou​ @ramunegoddess​, @serossimpy @laudthingcat​

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.2)

Title: Lost in Zero Gravity (Part Two) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 3,072 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: Song inspo for this fic

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“You must have made a really good first impression,” Tatiana commented, blowing out a ring of smoke. Her charcoal lined eyes creased with her pleased smile.

You shrugged, “I was just working.”

“Don’t try to be modest now. It’s not becoming on you,” she laughed in response.

She had called you into her office to tell you that you had been specifically requested for an assignment. It seemed Tony and Steve’s mob were going to be taking a vacation and they wanted you available. You were not one to turn down a paid vacation, especially if they were going to be there. As dangerous as they were, they had been a good fuck and Tony had made sure to get you off. That was far more than probably eighty percent of the people you had been with since you started working the service.

You hated the smell of the cigarette smoke and it was always the hovering stench in her office. She was going to kill herself far too young and maybe shave a few years off your life in return for however she made you stand in here. You adored her, there was no doubt about that. But you wished she would kick the habit.

“Where are they going?” you asked, feigning that you were contemplating about refusing the assignment.

“Riviera Maya.” You narrowed your eyes and she said, “It’s in Mexico.”

An inclusive resort no doubt. It could be fun. Maybe you could ask someone to travel with you so you would not be completely alone when they were not wanting to bed you. Or maybe not… some time alone might do you well.

Tatiana added, “Wives are going to be there though.”

“So, why am I gonna be there?” you asked honestly.

Tatiana snorted, “Oh, stellina.” She took another deep inhale exhaling as she said, “There are so many things there to keep the spouses occupied. They’re rarely together except for dinner. It’s just for appearances.”

Rich people’s lives sounded exhausting.

“You just need to be out in the open, keeping yourself available for them whenever they have an opportunity to slip away and have some fun with you. Otherwise, just keep yourself occupied with the beach and nice drinks. I know you hate suntanning but there are shops to poke around in. I know you like shopping.”

“That I do.”

“Maybe they’ll give you extra.”

“I don’t want to go around trying to get greedy.”

Tatiana smirked at that. “That’s my girl. I trained you well.”

<><><>

Pushing your sunglasses up onto your head, you hopped up onto one of the barstools on the bar you had just walked by and circled back to. You had yet to see either Tony or Steve and you had been here since yesterday. The place was relaxing and the room was great. You had basically sunk into the bed, having one of the best nights of sleep you had had in a long while without any noise from Elisha in her room along your wall back home. Leaning over the counter, you asked for a strawberry lemonade.

“Strawberry lemonade? It’s a party, dollface.”

You recognized that voice and you straightened back up, turning your head to look in his direction.

Steve was standing there, leaning on the counter. He was a sight for sore eyes. He was only in swim trunks, aviator glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. That did not hide the fact you knew his eyes were running unabashedly over your body. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of him, thinking of how he handled you last time.

“I bought this specifically for this vacation,” you said, hopping down from the stool and turning around for him to let him see the whole suit. When you turned back around, he was grinning. “It looks good right?”

He nodded, “You look damn sexy.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“My wife is here,” Steve said, and you frowned instantly at this immediate change in conversation. Was he trying to kill the mood so quickly? He said, “I know. She’s got her little masseuse guy here to keep her entertained, so I should be able to have my own fun. But I’m trying to be good.”

Picking up on his hint, you sauntered towards him. Your hand came up, resting on his chest. “Why do you have to be good if she isn’t being good?”

“I had to hold it in until she ran off,” he told you.

You pulled his sunglasses down to see his eyes, keeping them on the bridge of his nose. You smiled when you were able to actually meet his gaze.

“Well, when do you get to not be good?”

“Right now,” he said and you smiled in response. “It’s why I came and found you. I saw you yesterday. Wandering around. Took everything in me to not come up to you. Looked like you found yourself a nice little boyfriend though?”

“He was trying really hard but no… no dice for that guy,” you told him.

You pushed his glasses back up and your arms wrapped around his neck. He grinned back at you, his fingers tracing along your exposed back.

“I’m assuming you’re liking what you’re seeing?”

“Very much,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the hem of your suit.

You nuzzled your nose to his. “Hmm. So we know where this is going?”

<><><>

You stood in front of the mirror, completely bare. Steve had brought you back to their villa. Tony’s wife was gone, off to a spa treatment. The room had a wide door open to the patio overlooking the ocean. There was a hot tub and pool on the patio and although you wanted to indulge, you refrained. You got undressed for them instead, waiting for them to get antsy enough to take charge. It did not take long as you predicted.

Tony came up from behind you, nude as well. His hands ran across your breasts, cupping.

“Don’t you look marvelous…” he murmured, his fingers tweaking at your erect nipples. You bucked ever so slightly, and he smirked. His nose came to nuzzle into the nape of your neck. “I knew I chose right… a perfect gem.”

“You still seem to like what you’re seeing?”

He chuckled, one hand snaking down to toy with the top of your sex.

“You’re gonna look even better underneath that mirror.”

You turned in his arms, your forehead pressing against his. “A man that likes to review his work. I don’t know if I should be worried.”

“I didn’t get to where I am by being a half ass.”

Steve was at your other side and he enveloped you to him. To both of them, you asked, “Any critiques?”

“Loaded question,” Steve chuckled. “I mean, the biggest is you haven’t sunk one of your holes on either of us. I mean, it’s been a whole five minutes. What’s the hold up?”

“Sorry, I was enjoying the company.”

He kissed the tip of your nose lightly, “And I’m sorry for being so charismatic.”

“I’m assuming you can’t multitask then? Be charismatic and fuck me at the same time?”

A low growl left his mouth now, “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at fucking all,” he told you pulling you over to the bed.

Steve was looking upwards, and you knew he was taking in the sight of you hovering over him as you sunk onto his length in the ceiling mirror. His eyes were swimming with arousal and you hoped to always be the cause for that.

<><><>

“Y/N, you got a gift,” Wendy said, pointing at the table as you walked into the brothel’s kitchen. You had come in to get a drink but smiled seeing the bouquet and gift.

“Really?” you asked, letting your backpack fall from your shoulder and along with your carry-on drop to the ground. You had just gotten back from Mexico; that was quick if it was from who you thought it was. Upon seeing the flowers, you knew your assumption had been correct. They had asked you what your favorite flowers were and even though that was extremely obvious why they were asking, you had told them all the same.

The bouquet was large and there was a nice heart balloon in the center. You smiled, leaning in and smelling the flowers deeply.

“Where’d you get those from?” Elisha asked, coming into the kitchen. You shrugged, smiling sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes, giving a little laugh, “I know exactly where those came from.”

“There’s also this,” you said picking up the gift bag from beside it, waving it at her.

“That’s dangerous,” Elisha commented, grabbing the bloody mary that Wendy had made her. They must have had a rough night.

You shrugged again, opening the bag. Your lips curled into a smile as you pulled out a bright blue teddy. “Cute,” you giggled. Elisha and Wendy shook their heads, taking a drink. You held it up against your body and asked, “Think they want me to wear it for next time?”

“I don’t think they bought it for shits and giggles,” Wendy snorted. “How was the trip?”

“It was nice.”

“Good to hear it. You should relish in this.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, putting the teddy back into the bag. You thought of the extra money that Steve had tucked into your bag, remembering that you should tuck that away. It was smarter to not spend all the money that was thrown at you. That is what fools did; you needed to think ahead.

<><><>

The dress was loose and casual, perfect for the saloon they had asked you to meet them at. They had sent a car for you and met you at the curbside. When you got out, you looked around, cocking an eyebrow at the sight of them dressed in nice, pressed jackets. You were going into a dive bar, what were they doing?

Tony took your arm, Steve trailing behind. “Hmm, a sun pattern,” Tony commented, his fingers pulling at the fabric of your dress.

You gripped his arm, smiling. “I like to be a shining beacon in people’s lives.”

Tony chuckled in response, his grip tightening on your waist. The bouncer did not ask for your IDs; they must know them. It was dimly lit, packed. There were dancers on the stage and your eyes were drawn to their movements. The woman dancing had curves to die for.

“Where we going?” you asked as they led you through the bar. Your eyes ran around the tables the further you went in. Did they have a reservation?

“For the real party, sweetheart,” Tony told you, his lips brushing your ear. You shivered at the touch.

It was dark back here and you tensed. Tony felt it, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got you.”

Two men were standing in front of a door and they opened it when they saw the three of you approaching. There was a table with a group of other men, looking like they were waiting for the three of you. There were a handful of other women sitting around the perimeter of the room behind the players. They made brief eye contact with you, sizing you up quickly before averting their eyes again.

“Took you fucking long enough,” one of them drawled at Tony and Steve.

“Sorry, we were waiting for our lucky dame,” Tony returned.

Tony kissed your hand as you sat, before he turned away and sat in his chair. Steve’s hand grazed you affectionately, before he sat down as well.

You sat quietly, watching them play. It was poker, that much you knew. It was intense, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife. They were taking this seriously and you surmised they were gambling a bunch of money.

Steve was staring across the table at the first man who had spoken to them when they walked in, his eyes narrowed. The other man was not flinching but something must have been a tell for Steve because he pushed chips forward.

“Well, senator… I’m gonna raise you,” Steve commented.

Your heart stopped a bit, hearing him call him that. Your eyes narrowed at the man across the table. You did not pay attention to politics but the way the man’s face scrunched at Steve’s tone… you knew he had to be one. A senator. What had you let them drag you into?

The man chewed on his lip before throwing his cards down on the table without showing what they were.

Steve’s mouth broke into a wide grin and he held out his hands.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” the man snarled before getting up from the table. He buttoned his suit jacket, leaving the room without a second glance.

“Sore loser,” Steve commented, much to the amusement of the other men at the table to your surprise. You thought they would be more angry about losing the money they had but maybe the man had been a common enemy.

They gathered up the chips, tossing them into a bag. Tony’s hand snaked around your waist.

“Wanna spend this?” Tony asked, grinning broadly, holding the bag up to you as he guided you towards the door. You giggled and he kissed your cheek. “Steve’s treated us. But especially you, baby.”

<><><>

Pulling your dress back on over your head, you straightened it, making sure it was covering your ass. It was short and you did not need to be flashing anyone on the sidewalk.

“You sure you don’t want me to order you a cab…?” the man asked from behind you, taking a long drag on his joint. He was still lying in bed, watching you get dressed.

Confidently, you turned around, fluffing your hair. You shook your head, “It’s not too far. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a tough cookie,” he said, shooting you a smile.

“I try to be,” you said winking at him, grabbing your purse.

You left his place quickly, heading back to the brothel. It was not a lie, it was not far.

The distance did not matter though when it came to what was waiting for you outside.

A hand closed around your arm, yanking you into an alley. You screamed but another hand slapped across your mouth as you were slammed up against the wall. Your heart was pounding, your eyes wide in fear staring at your assailant.

Your fear melted away to a mixture of anger and disgust. You would recognize those hazel eyes anywhere. You had stared into them far too many times as he towered over you, beating you into submission. You had run away from them far too many times, locking yourself in the bedroom until he got tired of trying to beat the door down.

Garnering strength from a place you did not know existed, you shoved him away, much to his surprise. He did not expect you to fight back, and he stumbled back.

“Have you been fucking following me?” you demanded, your chest heaving.

“Just interested to see what you’ve been doing since you ran off. Looks like you are visiting a bunch of men,” Jared sneered at you, getting back on his game and closing the space between you. Your fists clenched by your sides and he noticed, smirking. “You gonna hit me?”

“No,” you spat.

“So, what’s got you leaving someone’s apartment this time of night, baby?”

“That is none of your business.”

He shoved you back into the wall and you winced against the cement scratching at your skin. You swallowed it though, clenching your jaw, glaring at him. You were acting far braver than you felt. Jared always had the power to make you feel small and weak and it seemed just his presence had that same power. You felt just as helpless as you did a year and a half ago. He was frightening; you knew what violence he could unleash.

“What’s this?” Jared asked, yanking at your purse.

“Nothing, it’s my purse!” you said, your hands closing around it to try to yank it back from him.

“Looks pretty expensive, Y/N… Marc Jacobs? What have you been up to?”

He gave another hard yank, and the chain broke and you hissed against the pressure against your shoulder as it snapped away from you. You reached for it and he shoved you back again, harder this time and you let out a pained noise. Your eyes searched the buildings that surrounded you, hoping someone would be looking out the windows and be able to come to help you. It looked like no such luck.

He yanked out the hundreds the man you had just left had given you.

His eyes were dark, glowering at you. “Where’d you get this?”

“From work!”

His backhand was swift, knocking you off balance. But he was there to catch your falling momentum only to slam you up against the wall for the third time, his forearm pressed into your throat. You gasped, trying to breathe.

“You left me to spread your legs all over the city?”

“What are you talking about?” you exclaimed pitifully, trying to deny it. Your hands clawed at his arm and he only pressed in harder, making you gasp more desperately.

“I saw you go into that building with that man. Yes, I was following you! And you come back out with all this money? I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were a worthless slut.”

Tears pricked at your eyes and he growled, “You always did cry too soon for my liking.”

Your purse fell to the ground and his other hand reached up between your legs. You tried to fight him, and he socked you this time. Your head knocked against the wall and you saw stars.

Jared pushed away and you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. You squeezed your eyes tightly, trying to gain back some sense of balance.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout from far off.

All you could see was Jared’s shoes coming in and out of your vision. You felt a sharp pain in your stomach making you lose all your breath before his shoes were gone. You blinked again before losing consciousness as you saw a new pair of shoes come into your line of sight.

~~~

Tags: coconutqueen21

[masonscig]

kiss it better

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 3.6k

warnings | mentions of broken bones and blood. nose setting scene but not in gory detail. smut. minors dni

author’s note | i literally could not shut up with this one smh. anyways this is for day 6 of hot in wayhaven – worship. 

•─────────────────•

“Have you broken your nose before?”

She asks out of the blue, running a gentle stripe down the bridge of his nose with the pad of her finger.

He scoffs. “The better question is, how many times?”

She blinks, shaking her bangs out of her face. “I guess I hadn’t considered that.”

“Yeah it’s somethin’ you get used to after a while.”

“It can’t get easier, though,” she murmurs, reaching up to pull a strand out of his eyes. She holds her hand there, fingertips grazing the hair above his ear.

“What?”

“Breaking bones, I mean. It’s still painful, right? Even if it’s a little sting?”

“Yeah, the nose is nothin’. Just a pinch and it goes away as soon as it sets. Ribs on the other hand…” he trails off, grimacing. “Not fun.”

“You’re pretty brave to be running headfirst into missions knowing you’ll probably hurt yourself every time,” she smiles, tucking the same piece of hair behind his ear.

He rolls his eyes, unable to hold back a smile of his own. “Why’re you trying to flatter me all of the sudden?”

She laughs, crossing her hands over his bare chest, balancing her chin on her knuckles, her hazel-eyed gaze mischievous and warm.

“I thought maybe you’d let me practice resetting your nose.”

He cocks a brow at her. “You thought wrong.”

She leans forward over her hands, just enough that she has room to press a kiss on his bare chest.

“I could go another round, you know…” she trails off, easing her thigh between his legs, rubbing just enough that he groans and tightens his arms around her.

“You’d wanna fuck me anyways,” he teases, sliding her back up till they’re nose to nose.

She peppers a few kisses down the bridge of his nose, hovering when she reaches his lips.

“I think you’re underestimating my self control,” she whispers, grazing his lips with her own. 

He runs his palms down the swell of her ass to the top of her thighs, gripping the skin there. She sighs, but clamps her mouth shut. She pulls back, a soft giggle already bubbling off her tongue. “Nope.” 

“Do you hate my nose that much, sweetheart?” He chuckles.

“Oh, no, I love your nose,” she says, kissing it again. “I was just thinking that I learned how to reset a nose back in undergrad and I wanted to try it out again.”

“You know how to do that?”

“I think so,” she muses, shaking her bangs out of her face again. “A kid in my bio class sophomore year learned how to reset his own nose because he’d broken it a couple of times playing soccer. He showed us how on a CPR dummy once during class and I practiced a couple of times.”

“So you want me to be your dummy?”

“You’re already my dummy,” she flashes a smile, laughing when he grunts in faux annoyance at her. “If you don’t want me to, that’s okay. I like your crooked nose.”

She nuzzles his jaw with her nose, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“Ugh,” he grunts once, and taps her ass. “Okay, get on with it. I don’t have all fucking night. I’ve got things to do.”

Sofía’s head pops back up, her messy bun springing with the sudden movement. “Wait, really?”

He shrugs. “I trust you.”

Grinning, she kisses him deeply, just as sweet as the first time she kissed him like this. He doesn’t normally think about past missions that much, but now he has reason to.

Yeah, he was in the hospital bed after fighting off Trappers, but he’d gotten a kiss that’d stuck with him more than any of his wildest sexcapades.

“Sit up, please,” she says, always polite, despite the fact that she knows he likes it when she’s rude.

He hasn’t had her fiery side aimed at him in a long time, and he’s not sure if he misses it (or if this version of her is his favorite).

Scooting so his back is against the armrest of the couch, he keeps his grip tight around her waist. She shifts, straddling him, her eyes fluttering at the brush of his cock against her.

“If you distract me, I’ll do it wrong,” she breathes, squeezing her thick thighs around him.

“Practice makes perfect,” he says, curling his hips ever so slowly, feeling himself slot between her –

“No. I wanna do this right,” she says, her brows furrowed in determination. “I’ll be right back.”

She hops off of him, stark naked, and tiptoes across the cabin to the kitchen. He’d never get sick of the sight of her.

He watches as she grabs an old rag from the drawer, a box of tissues, and a plastic bag, filling it with ice.

She bounds back towards the couch, her face bright.

“Sit with your back against the cushions, please,” she says, before tugging the blanket over his bare lap, straddling him again.

“Oh, so I don’t get the privilege of skin to skin contact? ‘S’kinda cruel of you,” he smirks.

“Ah, stop it. You get enough skin to skin contact with me,” she laughs, before combing her hands through his hair, gathering the top layer into one hand.

Yanking the hair tie out of her bun, she shakes it out, pausing to resituate her hair for a second before she’s onto the next thing.

She gently twists the elastic around his hair. “Is this alright?”

He’s watching her face, which is screwed up in determination to get it right the first try. “Mhmm.”

No one’s ever taken care of him the way she does. He’s always been averse to the idea of being babied (both in and out of bed), but maybe it’s because he hadn’t met a person who balanced the task of challenging him and caring for him the way Sofía did.

And now that he has that balance, he couldn’t really imagine his existence without it.

Deep down, he’s always craved this, he thinks, but figured that he was itching that scratch with physical gratification. No one told him how good sex is when the other person actually cares about you. Nate probably tried, but he wasn’t listening.

She brushes his hair off of his shoulders, runs her palms down his shoulders and chest. “You always look so handsome with your hair back.”

Compliments without ulterior motives didn’t come easy to him. For the longest time, when a person complimented him on his looks, he’d assume that was the ice breaker before tumbling into bed with them.

He’s gotten used to Sofía’s mindless affirmations, and he kind of… liked them.

It wasn’t hard for him to fall into the pattern of telling her what he liked about her. It was truly so damn easy to praise her.

While he muses, she tucks the old rag underneath his chin, splaying it out across his chest as far as it’ll go.

“What’s this for?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ll bleed or not.”

He chuckles. “Can’t remember the last time I had a nosebleed.”

“I still wanna keep you clean, dummy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Hold out your hand, please.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She plops the box of tissues in his hand, then the bag of ice on top of that.

“Okay, I’m not so sure if I’m strong enough to re-break your nose, Mason.”

Her hands are forming a triangle, her thumbs pressed together. She places her nearly cupped hands around his nose, massaging the bridge of it with a gentle touch.

“I think this might be for freshly broken noses –”

He cups his hand around hers and snaps his nose, just enough that it curves to the left.

“– Mason!” She jolts in surprise, and he raises a brow at her.

“You’ve got about ten seconds before it resets, sweetheart. Hop to it.”

He thinks she’s gonna bicker with him, but instead she springs into action, tightening her fingers around the bridge of his nose, squeezing lightly and pulling downwards towards the tip of his nose.

When he winces, she mouths a quick “sorry” and resets her hands, tugging down over and over, the sting nearly gone by the third round.

“It’s healed.”

She drags her hands till she’s cupping his jaw with both palms, inspecting his nose thoroughly.

“Oh shit, it’s actually straightened out,” she murmurs, her pretty, pretty face an inch away from his own. “Not bad for a rusty bio student, huh?”

“You did a great job, Sofía.”

At the mention of her name, she meets his eye.

He doesn’t use her name that often. When he does, it’s a reward for the both of them – she notices, and he gets to savor the taste of her gorgeous name on his lips.

“You haven’t even seen it yet,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Don’t need to,” he shrugs.

She snatches a tissue and delicately dabs away at his cupid’s bow. “Just a little bit of blood,” she murmurs. “You’re okay.”

When she says it, he actually believes her.

“Keep that away from me,” he gestures to the bag of ice balanced on top of the box of tissues.

“Fine,” she agrees, snatching the bag from his hand, before tearing it open and tossing a small ice cube in her mouth, crunching away.

“It’s just frozen water. I don’t get it.”

“It’s water that you can eat. What is there to get?” She laughs between chews, attempting to stand up.

He tosses the tissue box to the ground and flings the rag across the room with lightning speed, snaking his arms around her waist before she can react.

The bag of ice topples out of her hand and onto the wood floor, cubes littering the ground around them.

“Agh, really? You know I’m gonna have to clean that up, right?”

“Don’t care. I told you I’ve got things to do,” he smirks, turning up the charm as high as he can. She’s nearly immune to it at this point, but not completely.

“Okay, okay,” she laughs as he trails kisses up her collarbone and nips at her neck.

He stands with her still wrapped in his arms and flips them around. She’s sitting on the armrest of the couch and he’s on his knees in front of her, the thin blanket they’d been using abandoned on the floor with the ice.

“What… Mason…” she’s panting his name and he hasn’t even touched her yet.

“I wanna take care of you, now,” he mumbles against the skin of her inner thigh.

She hums as he kisses higher, each press of his lips to her skin eliciting a crescendo of soft whines.

When he makes it to the crease of her hip, she’s trembling in anticipation already. He wasn’t a fan of denial until her.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he’s whispering, more to himself than anyone else.

“Thank you,” she responds, peering down on him with gratitude before his tongue even touches her.

“You don’t have to thank me every time I compliment you. Stop being so damn polite all the time,” he says, running his palms up and down her thighs.

When he made it back to her knees, he pushed them open wider, wider, till she was spread for him, wanting and waiting.

“It’s a reflex, I think,” she huffs, her stomach stuttering as he suckles against the skin of her inner thigh, face close enough to devour her.

“There’s no one to impress here, sweetheart,” he smirks, kissing and nipping at her flesh again. “I’m the last person you have to be nice to.”

He’s so focused on lavishing every inch of her inner thighs with attention that he doesn’t realize she’s staring at him, only catching on once she reaches down to brush a stray hair away from his face.

“Well, you’ve earned it,” she says, no hint of humor in her tone, just raw sincerity. “I’m nice because you mean a lot to me.”

He’s not used to this level of candor in any relationship he’s ever had. It’s not that he hates it or anything he’s just… not sure how to respond. He’s still learning.

“I dunno, I kind of miss when you’d argue with me. It was kinda hot,” he laughs breathily. Just as she’s about to give a bratty retort, he drags the rough pad of his thumb as slowly as he can from bottom to top.

She sucks the words back in and exhales a soft whine instead, her head lolling to the side when he circles his thumb on her clit.

“You… liked it when I stood up for myself?” She snorts, her laugh devolving into another moan. “I thought it was pretty unbecoming.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about what’s appropriate. All that matters is if we’ll ‘be coming’ or not,” he chuckles to himself at his joke, and she’s even giggling.

“Oh my god, you’re so corny,” she sighs, trying to concentrate on the conversation while he’s graduating to a finger (knuckle deep) inside of her. “Maybe I miss yelling at you just a little bit.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you bossed me around a little bit,” he smiles against her skin, pumping his finger slowly, curling it the deeper he gets.

“Like what?” She pants, grabbing onto the back of the couch for support.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you and don’t be nice about it.”

He’s watching her face, waiting for her reaction, and he’s excited. She’s always known what she’s wanted, but she’s too considerate.

He’d already made up his mind that tonight’s about her and her only. He’d gotten his fill earlier, and he could care less if he did again.

Mason wants nothing more than to make her come until she’s putty in his hands.

He knows he’s not good with words, so this is the way he’ll show her just how much he cares.

She’s screwed her eyes shut, focusing on the movement of his finger, so he encourages her again.

“What do you want, baby?”

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it. “Eat my pussy like you mean it.”

He grins, her no bullshit tone sending shockwaves down his spine straight to his cock. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

His lips are around her clit as soon as the words are out of her mouth. He licks slow, soft stripes until her hips are grinding faster than his tongue.

He’s testing her – teasing her.

“I said like you mean it,” she pants, and he feels her palm pressing against the back of his head, his mouth and nose nearly submerged.

His tongue’s moving faster now, focusing every flick against her clit. She’s huffing a few soft “don’t stop”s and “right there”s so he knows he’s doing it just like she likes.

Her thighs clench around his face when she finally comes, and she digs her fingers into the back of his head. It stings, but it eggs him on.

“Oh my god – Mason – I’m –” She’s sensitive and barely able to get a grip on the English language, so he takes advantage of that.

He hooks his arms around her thighs and rises – she falls back onto the couch and he’s dragging her hips back until her pussy’s in the air, her lower back balanced against the arm of the couch.

She’s fully at his mercy in this position, and they both know it.

She’s flushed and her chest is heaving, her half lidded gaze watching as he bends down and hooks her legs over his shoulders, delving back into eating her once again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” her voice raises an octave and she’s already tightening her legs around him.

They both know there’s another orgasm on the horizon and she’s barreling towards it, and he’s guiding there albeit roughly (just like she likes it).

He’s added two fingers this time, pumping in and out while he’s alternating soft and rough flicks of his tongue.

“Don’t you – dare fucking stop –” she demands between pants, grinding her hips against his face and mouth.

She shakes this time, just a soft tremble of her thighs, but he notices the soft tremors, already grinning to himself. He loves how much practice he gets in perfecting his formula – he’d gotten real good at making her come over the years and he was damn proud of himself for it.

She was the prettiest woman on the planet when she came, and he’d do anything to witness it over and over and over.

“Goddamn,” she groans, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“What, you don’t want another round?” He asks, still bent between her thighs.

“I don’t know if I can handle it,” she says through a breathy laugh.

“You can make it to three,” he murmurs, kissing her tender clit again, revelling in the way her hips bucked when he did so.

In a flash, he’s laid on the couch and she’s on her knees above his face, bracing her palms on the arm of the couch.

“Shit, Mason, why’d you move that fast –”

“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. You up for another one?”

She sits back, ass on his chest, looking down at him. He can’t resist leaning up to grab the swell of her ass.

He thinks she’s going to say some sweet anecdote about the first time they fucked or something very Sofía, but instead, she’s not breaking character.

“I’m gonna ride your face till I’m spent,” she says, peering down at him, cheeks pink, bangs clinging to her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks, before giving her cheek a soft push upright, and then he’s nothing but a means to get off, and he’s savoring every second of it.

She’s grinding against his open mouth, her chest heaving, her expression slack jawed.

The mix of groans and heavy breathing are echoing off of the walls. They’re both slick with sweat, their skin sticking and sliding against each others’ with each buck of her hips.

When her movements get erratic, he hooks his arms around her thighs and takes lead.

With each firm stripe of his tongue, she’s struggling to stay upright. She doesn’t manage to stay up, instead falling forward, bracing her forearms against the soft leather couch.

“Shit, keep going – just like that –” her words are unintelligible at this point, just a chorus of whines.

Her hips arch and stutter against his mouth and she goes limp, lungs heaving with effort.

He slides out from underneath her, gathering her in his arms while she catches her breath.

“What’re you doing?” she asks, voice hoarse, curling into his chest.

“Taking you to bed, whaddaya think?”

Her half lidded eyes widen and she shakes her head. “I can’t handle another one right now – let me rest up first, please –”

“– I mean to sleep,” he chuckles, kicking her door in, shuffling in sideways. “You’ve got tomorrow off so we’ve got plenty of time.”

“Oh, thank god.”

He slides her onto the bed and she lays back, making no move to get under the covers. The apartment’s in a perfect spot – the moonlight always manages to sneak into her room and dimly light it.

It’s streaking through the window, across the bed, her torso, her cheek, hitting the sliver of gray hair in her bangs. She looks ethereal, practically glowing on top of her dark comforter.

He knows he’s staring, and she’ll catch on soon, so he cracks a joke to play it off.

“So much for the self control you speak of.”

“Hey!” She laughs, chunking a pillow at him.

He catches it with ease, tossing it right back, it smacking her on the leg. “What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to say it.”

“You just hate when I’m right.”

“No, I just hate when I can’t resist you,” she rolls her eyes, patting the bed next to her.

He hops onto the bed, jiggling the both of them. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, smacking his chest with her palm, cuddling up to his side.

Before he can tilt her chin up to kiss her, she’s already pressing her lips to his, the taste of her lingering on his mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispers when he pulls away.

“What’d I say about being polite?” He says, voice low, holding himself back from leaning in to kiss her again.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she smiles against his mouth. “You would know.”

His eyes flicker up to the crumpled pack of cigarettes on her nightstand (the ones that hadn’t moved from that very spot for months).

Needs turned into wants and wants turned into waning cravings which turned into the most futile efforts to match whatever the fuck Sofía does for him.

He’s still figuring out how to navigate this existence of his with her in it, but he knows he wants it to be like this for as long as she’ll let him stay.

And yeah, Mason’s awful with words, but as long as he can show her, he knows it’ll be alright.

[some-dr-writings]

Hajime/Izuru x Childhood Best Friend Reader One-shot: The Ties That Bind

One moment Izuru was sitting in that plain, empty room, hidden away from the world, the next he was suddenly being dragged through those halls, bursting through some door to be blinded by the snow-white world. He was being dragged along by you. Just as always you were a wild card, and because of that, you were predictable. It had been quiet for a month now, so he was expecting you to do something, but breaking him out from that cell so directly instead of sending him a note telling him to do so himself because you were too tired to do it was a first. Still…

“This is boring.” You slowed your pace, a yawn escaping you turned to him. Shivering you hugged him, resting your chin on his shoulder, allowing him to hear the soft humming rumbling deep in your throat. “Then… if that’s that case, why don’t we go on a date?” “A date?” Taking a few steps back he could see your ever droopy eyes, a tiredness that always clouded them, making them almost nonexpressive, yet in that moment he could still see a smile. “Do you not care for your red string?” You were perplexed for a moment before realizing what he spoke of. You just shrugged walking away for the street. “Who cares what a string says, I just wanna have fun with you today. Though if it concerns you, I’m not tied to anyone, it broke.” “Broke?” Now THIS was new. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” “…… Mmmmmaybe, but it’s true.” As you climbed up onto the fence that surrounded the school to walk atop it, Izuru looked to his pinkie, his gaze tracing that red ring.

The red string of fate. He knew of it, how the individual or individuals at the other end of the twine was one’s soulmate, a person absolutely perfect for them. He also knew how not everyone had one, like himself... almost… He did have a red string, but it was more like a ring around his finger, there was no extra to lead anywhere, only himself, though there was one section that seemed a bit frayed. He also knew that if a person’s soulmate died the string would either disappear or if there somehow was absolutely no one else compatible it would simply lead to the deceased’s grave, but breaking… what could that possibly mean? After you hopped off the end of the fence Izuru caught you, and just held you close, studying you for a moment before placing you down.

Adjusting your backpack you skipped down the walkway, occasionally slowing your pace and turning around to see Izuru. “Hmm… What to do, what to do.” You had hopped up onto another stone fence, balancing atop it with your arms outstretched, attempting to keep balance even as that wintry wind raced past. “Did you know who your string was attached too?” “My old best friend, Hajime.” Before Izuru could say another word, you disappeared behind the fence, a loud sound of metal crashing followed by footfalls after. Leaping up he managed to grab on and just barely pulled himself up, throwing half his body over it, finding you hopping off a garbage can and dragging yourself onto a roof. “What are you doing?” “Shortcut… I thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiink.” You hummed to yourself as if still mulling over it despite already going through with the idea. And so Izuru followed.

You trotted across snow covered roofs, skipping from one building to the next, occasionally going up a few steps only to go down even more. “What happened to Hajime?” You slowed your pace almost coming to a stop, but not quite. You sat on the edge of the roof, letting your feet dangle off the edge. You wiped those sleepy tears from the corners of your eyes, leaning against Izuru who stood beside you. “I’m… not sure actually. He could be dead, he could be alive, he could be somewhere in-between like… uh…” You yawned, scooching yourself off the roof, landing on another roof, taking a few steps forward in order to keep balance, slipping on the slick ice. You turned around, watching Izuru hop off the roof, landing effortlessly. “maybe a coma, or just asleep? I think I see an’ hear him sometimes, but…” You locked eyes with him, as if doing so would serve as some hint to puzzle out the swirling thoughts in your mind. “it could just be me seeing something that’s not really there… like my mind playing tricks.”

Suddenly that loud whistle sounded, startling the daylights out of you. You looked to Izuru in confusion, him holding you close. “You were going to fall.” “Ooh… Thank you!” You so earnestly smiled, a bright blush flushed on your cheeks, a little giggle escaped you. “Ah~ I feel so giddy right now.” When that whistle sounded again you seemed to notice something. “We should go before we miss the train!” Ripping yourself from his embrace you skipped across the roof reaching the little train station, and with a mighty leap, you landed on the train that had just began to move. Izuru raced after you without a second thought. You just did whatever, but you weren’t dumb. Why did you leap onto a train them? You knew how fast they could get. Were you going to break in or jump somewhere else? But… you just… sat on the train? Izuru sat behind you, letting you lean against him as he held on, keeping the pair of you from falling off.

The loud wind crashed about, and your vision was blurred. Though this was a possibility it was not a likely one, even for you, he was more so expecting that if you were going to hop on a vehicle it would be sneaking onto the bed of the truck. This train… were you perhaps leading him to the beach? It was the most likely option, which was not likely of you, but because it was unlikely for you, you would do that, since you on occasion would do something more likely to spice up not doing the likely things, though it’s not like you were doing it on purpose, you just did whatever you wanted, and it happened to be in this pattern. This was what he tried occupying his mind with on the train ride. His mind kept drifting back to your red string, and your old best friend. What could have happened? For the first time in his life, Izuru was at a complete loss as to an answer. The more he thought on it, the more lost he got, and knowing such an endeavor could drive him mad he tried preoccupying himself with over-analyzing you, but… what happened to your old friend, and why did you look to him for an answer, was it because he reminded you of this Hajime character? This thought process kept going on for several stops till you suddenly leaped off, and Izuru chased after you.

He watched as you took off your shoes, tossing them behind yourself to which Izuru caught. You spun around lightly kicking up the sand by the calm drifting waves. “So it was the beach.” “Yeah… there’s not many people, it beautiful, I think it’s romantic.” “… Did you tell Hajime about your string leading to him?” “No, and I never asked if he knew who his lead to either.” You came to a stop before that bright, crystal clear ocean. The whole world seemed to be at peace in that moment… too peaceful, like something was missing or it was empty. “Huh?” Your companion lifted you off the ground, one arm cradling your shoulders, the other holding your legs up under your knees. “You’ll hurt yourself if you leave your feet out in this cold for too long, let alone if they touch the water.” “… Okay.” You simply leaned into him, snuggling into his shoulder, a bright smile creasing your lips, along with a blush dusting your cheeks. Izuru held on tightly, making sure you wouldn’t run off again. Then he began to stroll along the shoreline. Even if he didn’t care for much, he had to agree that this view was objectively beautiful, many people would likely pay good money for a photo of the moment, but this was one for only you and he to share.

“… Why didn’t you say?...” Looking down to you he found you had fallen asleep… for a moment. “Hmm? Kamukura? You say something?” “Why didn’t you tell Hajime?” “Why I didn’t tell him?” You kept seeming like you were going to fall asleep any moment, your eyes closed, but Izuru could feel your breathing and heartbeat, you were still awake, even if you were fighting to do so. “Hmm… why I didn’t tell him… Well… I’m not sure if I remember… Oh, uh. Maybe if I try remembering him, I’ll remember why.” You shifted yourself, now sitting up in Izuru’s arms, your hands simply resting on his shoulders. You just stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. Then you ran your fingers through his hair, pulling it all back, away from his face. “… Yeah, that’s more like it.”

“Hajime Hinata. He was my best friend for my whole life till he disappeared, and I met you. Even in my earliest memories he was there. When I was little, before I was diagnosed with narcolepsy Hajime and I would sneak out at night and he’d stay up with me, flashlight in hand, protecting me from the dark. I think I only stayed awake then because I was scared of the dark…” A light chuckle bubbled up from you. “One time, the batteries in the light died and we both panicked because we were going for a walk in the park at night, and we had no idea how to get back home without it, so we ended up hiding out in the gymnasium pretending it was our secret base and we had to protect it from the monsters that were coming after us. The moment the sun began to rise we booked it home. We almost got away with it but being little kids, we accidentally let it slip and our parents found out and grounded us… and, uh… Yeah! We, we started sneaking out as retaliation for not getting to sleepover with each other anymore or at least for a while? but us sneaking out was why we weren’t allowed to sleepover anymore. But we were little kids then, so I guess we didn’t completely understand the situation… or we just wanted to be spiteful brats…” You smirked, nodding to yourself and crossed your arms. “Yeah, I think we just wanted to be brats, that feels right… Hmm, but I don’t remember much about any red string back then…”

You stared at Izuru, searching for something, just like before. “Before Hajime moved to Hope’s Peak we lived in a more suburban area. There wasn’t much around, so we’d usually walk or take a train to the big city. There was this one arcade we always went too. We’d spend whole days there sometimes and…. Hmm… I remember as we got older, we started going to restaurants and cafes. We’d also visit museums and the like. Hajime always carried some of my medicine on himself so should I forget it, he could help. I was always sleepy, but around him especially, like I am with you. Hajime was very reliable, and I always felt safe with him. He’d always do all he could to keep me awake, so I wouldn’t miss anything, but sometimes if not much was happening he’d nap with me. It was rarer for me to wake up before him, but when I did, he always apologized. He didn’t have too, but he did anyway, feeling bad for leaving me alone. He wanted to make the most of all the time we had together when I was awake. He told me once that when he was little, he thought I was asleep all the time because I thought the world was boring, so he always wanted to make things exciting or give me a reason to stay with him a little longer, and though he knew that wasn’t the case, he still felt that compulsion. When he didn’t fall asleep, I always felt so safe waking up in his lap or on his chest. Even if others stared and he felt uncomfortable, if it was for me, it was worth it he said.”

Your expression slightly shifted, the subtle jubilation morphing to something… not crestfallen or sad, something more neutral. “Though, as much as he wanted to be with me… I’m not sure when it started but at some point, he stopped being completely with me, some part of him, even very tiny almost minuscule was not there. It was actually today two years ago was the last time I saw him… It was his birthday, and it being New Year’s Day it was rather noisy, so I took him and ran away. The night before I took him on a train so we could go to a less populated place and on the first, we ended up on a beach. We were having a fun time, having extra party supplies like hand fireworks, and party poppers and things from new year’s celebrations. We had a snowball fight in the snow, dared one another to go swimming in the ocean, and things. There I noticed Haji seemed a bit sad so when I asked him what was wrong, he started talking about things I already knew, like how he really wanted to go to Hope’s Peak, how it was his dream, but he wasn’t satisfied. How he wanted to belong there and not just pay to be in the reserve course. And… Ooooooooohhhhhhhh. That’s why.” You pat Izuru on the head. “I remember now!”

A yawn escaped you before you continued to speak. “Haji had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. And I definitely liked him, and I know he liked me back, so I didn’t see the need to tell him about my string. I sometimes thought about it, but… I just didn’t do it. And I knew I never would after that day. He told me about something he swore to me to keep secret, and I still will. I’d never break my promise to him. Basically, what I can say is that he himself couldn’t say much, but he told me that I might never see him again. In the moment I was scared. I thought I should tell him, but… but he wanted to do whatever he was going to do so badly. If I told him, it might stop him, and I didn’t want to stop him, well, I did, but I was scared that if I did, I’d hurt him, and I wanted him to be happy, so I let him go… that night I couldn’t sleep, and I watched as my red string broke and the other end just… withered away… And he became someone entirely new, a guy named Izuru Kamukura. I think at least. I think… I think in a past life you were Hajime, you look so similar, and sometimes I can hear his warmth and kindness in your voice. I don’t know if a part of him still exists in you, but I know he had some part in creating you. But… Your and Hajime’s connection doesn’t matter, you may have his body, but you’re completely different people, like how you’re warm and kind in your own ways. So, don’t you ever dare to think I like you and you are my current best friend because of your connection to Hajime, alright?”

This was new. Izuru was always stone faced, no expressions, yet you could always find the tiniest warmth from him, and now, you could see it, or something at least. He looked up to you, his lips ever so slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something perhaps? He just placed you down and kept staring… before hugging you.

Why was he hurting? Why was his chest hurting so much? And now he felt something on his cheek? Reaching up, he softly gasped, finding tears cascading from his eyes. You were absolutely right in him not being your former best friend, he was someone else… So why did this hurt so much!? He clutched you tightly not caring if you felt how his heart pounded, how it had begun to do so the moment you started speaking of your childhood memories. He felt his throat choking up, his breath tremble. Why was he hurting so much? He had you, his best friend. You were right by his side just as always, so why was he hurting so much, you were here with him!

“I’m… sorry for your loss.” “… it’s okay…” You snuggled into him, unable to keep your eyes open any longer. After wiping the tears away, he took a few steps back. “Hmm? Izuru? You… look different.” “… Is your red string severed?” “Huh?” Though baffled you lifted up you hand. “Yeah… still is.” You yawned, feeling absolutely exhausted and getting frustrated at yourself for doing so, you wanted to say awake and answer Izuru’s possible other questions, but you just couldn’t anymore. “and your other hand?” “Uh… I don’t see anything.” While you were accepting this fading reality, you didn’t notice how your best friend stared at your other hand, tracing a single line that connected from your pinky, to his, the frayed part now connected to this string. Though thin and just holding on by a few threads, it was there.

[writemekpop]

Grown Ups | Park Chanyeol

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: You can’t stand your ex Chanyeol, but you put up with him for the sake of your son. Today, it’s your son’s birthday, and you’re taking him to visit his dad. Can you and Chanyeol act like grown ups for one day, or will there be flames?

Genre: Ex-Husband!Chanyeol, Parents AU 

Word count: 1.4k

Gif source

“I can’t wait to see daddy! I wonder what birthday present he got me…” Your five-year-old son Robin jumps up and down in excitement, clapping his chubby hands.

“I’m sure it’s going to be great, sweetie,” you reply, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “Now don’t forget to hold mummy’s hand when we cross the road.”

Your face is a cheery mask. You can’t let Robin see the frustration that grows every time you see your ex-husband Park Chanyeol… the man who unfortunately happens to be the father of your child.  

You hate to admit it, but Robin is the spitting image of his father: bouncy black curls, wide shiny eyes and adorably large ears.  

Robin runs up to the peeling front door of Chanyeol’s house and knocks excitedly. He hops around and peers in through the letter box. “Daddy it’s me! Let me in!”

You walk up behind your son, blood already boiling at the fact that Chanyeol is making him wait on his birthday.

You knock on the door as well, but get no response. God, you could just kill Chanyeol – he promised he would never miss Robin’s birthday again. Well, that’s what he said the year before. And the one before that.

You ring Chanyeol’s mobile twice, but each time it goes straight to voicemail. Typical.

You take a deep breath and crouch down in front of your son. The last thing you want to do is disappoint him. “Baby, it looks like daddy’s not in. It’s… it’s mummy’s fault,” you lie. “I got the timing wrong.”

Robin’s eyes begin to glisten, and he pouts his pink bottom lip out. Your heart lurches. You’re going to kill Chanyeol when you see him.

Suddenly, the front door flings open and Chanyeol leaps out onto the porch. “Robin!” he bellows, large arms outstretched.

“Daddy!” Robin squeals, jumping into Chanyeol’s arms, his disappointment long forgotten.  

Chanyeol nods in your direction. “Sup, Y/n?”

You glare at your ex-husband. “Where the fu… fudge were you Chanyeol?”

Chanyeol just rolls his eyes before turning his attention back to squishing Robin’s chubby cheek. “How are you, buddy? This is a nice surprise!”

“Mummy got the timing wrong,” Robin rolls his eyes at his father. Where did he learn that?

“The timing of what?” Chanyeol asks, raising his brows at you.

“Have you forgotten, daddy?” Robin asks forlornly.

You step in. “Of course not, Robin. Daddy’s only joking. He knows it’s your birthday.” You stare at Chanyeol, praying he’ll understand.

You watch as realisation dawns on Chanyeol’s face. His mouth falls open, and he flashes you an incredulous stare.  

“G-gotcha!” he says to Robin, just a little too loudly. “Did you really think daddy would forget your birthday? Silly boy! Why don’t you go inside and I’ll bring your present.”

Chanyeol sets Robin down. The birthday boy runs into the house, his tiny feet pattering on the cracked tiles.

“God, Y/n, why didn’t you remind me?” Chanyeol jabs at you, frowning.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you every fucking time about your own son’s birthday! It happens on the same day each year, ya know?”

Chanyeol opens his mouth with a retort, but Robin’s laughter from the living room distracts you both.

“You better have a present for him,” you warn, following Chanyeol inside.

“Aright, woman! I’ll think of something, jeez.”

Your heart thaws a little when you see Robin sitting politely on the frayed couch, his little hands clasping his cherry red cheeks. He’s positively bursting with excitement.

You shudder at the crisp packets and empty beer cans stuffed between the sofa and the wall.

“Please can I have my present now, daddy? Mummy got me a digital camera!”

“Well…” Chanyeol says, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “My present is waaay better than a stupid camera.”

“Wait for it…” Chanyeol roots around his pocket for a good minute, tongue sticking out his mouth with concentration. You watch Robin’s face slowly light up in anticipation.

“Here!” Chanyeol holds his palm out in front of Robin. When you see what he’s holding, your eyes nearly pop out of your skull. Sitting in his palm is nothing but a creased, sweaty pack of chewing gum.

Still, your bright-eyed boy takes the gum from his father’s hand and looks at it carefully. “Is this special gum, daddy?”

“T-that’s right son, it’s magic gum… I’ll show you why later,” Chanyeol replies.

Robin jumps into Chanyeol’s arms and buries his face in his soft sweater. “Thank you, daddy! I love it!”

Your heart nearly breaks at your son’s innocence. You can’t stand Chanyeol anymore, but you’ll do anything to keep your Robin believing that his father is Batman for as long as you can manage.

“Daddy told me he has another present coming for you in the post,” you say.

“Yay!” Robin squeals. Chanyeol sits down with Robin in his lap. “Is it more magic stuff, daddy? I love magic! Uncle Baekhyun knows magic too, he’s been showing me his tricks!”

Chanyeol shoots you a dirty look. “Oh… so Baekhyun’s been coming over, I see.”

Chanyeol lowers his voice so only you can hear. “You can’t keep your legs shut can you, Y/n? You just have to go after my friends.”

“Oh, shut up,” you retort. “Tell that to all the women you screwed behind my back when we were still together.”

Chanyeol just scowls. You’re both so caught up in arguing that you don’t notice Robin is standing in front of you with his new camera in his hands.

“Mummy, daddy, I want to take a picture of you together!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy,” you say, instantly.

“Pretty pleeeaaase,” Robin whines.

You and Chanyeol look at each other for a moment and nod. The only thing you have left in common is your love for your son. Surely you can sit through one picture together…

“Daddy, sit next to mummy and put your arm around her!”

“Alright, bossy boots,” Chanyeol says, sitting down beside you.

Chanyeol avoids your gaze as his large arm comes to rest on your shoulder. His fingers subconsciously trace patterns across your skin as you both pose for your son.

You can’t help but notice the faint blush that tinges Chanyeol’s cheeks when he realises that he’s been stroking your bare skin. He silently retracts his fingers.

After a few failed attempts and a couple of thumbs in the way, Robin finally manages to snap the picture he wants.

“All done,” Robin says, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Okay darling, it’s time for us to go home.” You sweep your son up into your arms and pat his head.

“I had the best time with you and daddy,” Robin mumbles, before drifting asleep on your shoulder. Calm washes over you.

Chanyeol disappears into the next room and returns holding a fluffy purple knitted blanket. He drapes the blanket over Robin’s body and rubs his back gently.

“I didn’t realise you still had this,” you say, nuzzling your cheek slightly into the blanket.

“It was the first thing we ever bought together, how could I throw it away?” Chanyeol says, scratching his head bashfully.

“Do… do you remember how Robin used to cling to it when he was a baby?” you ask, smiling at the memory.

“Of course… He really is the best thing in the world, isn’t he?” Chanyeol says softly.

You nod, gazing into Chanyeol’s deep chocolate eyes which are the exact shade as Robin’s.

“Well…” you say, clearing your throat. “We really should get going now.”

Chanyeol watches silently as you walk out the door and head down the driveway, Robin still fast asleep in your arms.

Just as you reach the gate, Chanyeol calls your name.

You turn to face him. He’s leaning against the door frame, looking almost… sentimental.

“I’m sorry we always fight, Y/n.” he calls from the door. “I don’t tell you enough, but I think you’re doing an amazing job with Robin.”

You smile. It’s times like this when you remember why you fell in love with Chanyeol in the first place.

You walk away with your heart just a little bit warmer.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

           Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

           Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

           They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

           Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

           Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

           Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

           Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

           Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

           Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

           It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

           Not how he always envisioned it, but…

           Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

           Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

           “Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

           He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

           Knock Knock Knock

           Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

           Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

           “Hello, Dean.”

           “Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

           Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

           Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

           He’s back!

           “I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

           Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

           “Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

           Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

           “For you?”

           “For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

           “Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

           “Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

           “What the hell?”

           “He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

           Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

           “I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

           Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

           “We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

           “I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

           “Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

           “Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

           Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

           “…I don’t see any problems with that.”

           Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

           “Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

           Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don��t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

[scxrsgxrd]

Office Hours // Subby!mickey

Part Two

Part one here

Hello friends! I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve written a subby!mickey piece, but the inspiration for this second part hit over the weekend and I’m so glad it did because I’ve missed the big idiot A LOT. If you’re reading this, thank you for your support and I’d love to know your thoughts!🖤 

Mickey had been checking his phone every twenty seconds ever since he sent his girl that video, anxiety beginning to bubble in his stomach when he noticed that she had read it, and that there was no reply. Part of him expected to hear the front door swing open, the clacking sound of heels filling the downstairs of the house before thudding steps made their way upstairs, but after an hour, there was still no sign of his girl, or of a reply.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, noticing that his eyebrows were furrowed and that his right leg was bouncing up and down. A small whine left him as he checked his phone once again, but there was nothing. Still naked, he sprang off the bed and began to pace up and down, phone still in hand as he made his way back and forth across the bedroom. He tried to hum a random tune to distract himself, shuffling his feet across the pristine carpet as he attempted his best moonwalk, resulting in a small friction burn as he collapsed back onto the bed and hurriedly tried to blow cold air onto the bottom of his feet.

Ding.

A scream almost left him as he swiftly grabbed his phone, the device flying into the air in slow motion as he tried to unlock it a little too enthusiastically. When it landed on the floor with a thud he threw himself down after it, eyes lighting up when he finally managed to access the text.

I miss you too, baby boy. Why don’t you come over to the office at lunch?

Mickey had never gotten dressed so quickly in all his life. He was still shoeless as he left the house, hopping on one foot as he tried to shove his boots on and tie the laces whilst making his way to the office. His hair was ruffled and the zipper on his jeans was undone as he bustled into the building where his girl worked, flashing a grin at the receptionist as his eyes darted around the lower floor, trying to hone in on the woman he was so desperate to see. Mickey was fully aware of the bemused glances he was receiving from his girl’s colleagues as they all made their way to the cafeteria for their lunch break, but he didn’t care, they weren’t the people he was trying to impress. 

He had just began to flick through a company brochure when he felt a hand on his arm. A gentle, but characteristically firm grip. Immediately he flung the brochure down and set his eyes on her, gulping as he saw that look in her eyes. The one he hadn’t seen for a while, but the one he had been aiming for when he sent over his video earlier that morning.

“Come on, my office is this way.” Her voice was smooth, and she kept her hand on his arm as she led him to the elevator. Mickey could feel the buzzing sensation running through him as he happily followed her, gazing at the masses of buttons on the inner wall of the elevator that were practically screaming to be pushed.

“Don’t even think about it.” There was an air of amusement in her voice, but her brow was cocked, and Mickey knew it was best for him to comply. The doors began to close, so painfully slowly, and Mickey silently prayed that nobody was to interrupt their time together. 

He was gazing upwards at the intricately decorated ceiling of the elevator when the doors finally closed, and was snapped out of his trance when he felt a body move against his, and a hand wrap around his throat. He was about to open his mouth to gush about how much he had missed his girl when he felt her leg press up against his crotch, her perfectly tailored pinstripe pantsuit starting to crease slightly as she applied more and more pressure, causing Mickey’s jeans to immediately tighten.

“Mommy.” His needy whine was music to her ears, and she carefully closed her hand around his throat, giving it a small squeeze before loosening her grasp to brush her thumb over his soft, plump lips.

“Save it for when we get to my office.” Though her tone was soft, Mickey noticed a glimmer of mischievousness in her eyes. He was panting already, the anticipation of what was to come making his heart thump in his chest, and the way his girl looked in her pristine pant suit only caused his heartbeat to become more erratic. 

The elevator dinged as it reached the desired floor, and his girl gestured for Mickey to follow her once more as she weaved her way around multiple desks toward her office. Thankfully most of the workers were out for lunch, there were just a few tapping at their keyboards that gave him a knowing glance before turning back to their computer screens. Mickey walked closely behind his girl, watching as the red soles of her heels clacked against the floor, her glossy hair swishing from side to side as she strode towards the office at the corner of the floor.

She held the door open for him before letting it swing shut, her hands immediately reaching for the string to close the blinds that encased her office, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as they flitted shut, leaving Mickey at the mercy of the punishment he had spent all morning daydreaming about.

Mickey’s eyes were fixed on his girl as she moved over to her desk, leaning against it as she stood facing him, her eyes raking up and down him as she rolled up the sleeves of her jacket to her elbows. She breathed out through her nose, and Mickey could see the cogs turning in her mind as she considered each option, which would be most proportionate to his actions.

“Undress yourself.”

“Wha-”

“Do you really want me to repeat myself?”

“Can you at least turn the A/C off? You know he’s shy when I get cold.” Mickey gestured to his crotch and his girl snorted a little, reaching over to the dial to turn the A/C in her office off.

Mickey nodded and clutched the bottom of his sweater before raising it over his head, his hair ruffling even further as he wriggled his way out of the orange sweater, throwing it over the back of his girl’s desk chair before starting to unbuckle his belt. His girl watched him closely, admiring the way that his long fingers tugged at the belt buckle until it loosened, his hand curling around the leather material as he tugged it free of his jeans.

She took the belt off him, running her fingers up and down it as Mickey’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

A blush started to spread across Mickey’s cheeks as he watched her toy with his belt while he pushed his zipper down, taking a deep breath before starting to shimmy out of his jeans. He pinched the waistband of his boxer shorts, the material becoming increasingly strained as he watched his girl’s teeth sink into her bottom lip while she wound the belt around her wrist, keeping a firm grip on the end of it.

Although he was nervous at the sight of his girl grasping his belt, the bratty streak that had plagued Mickey since he woke up that morning hadn’t disappeared, so a small smirk appeared on his own lips as he released the waistband of his boxer shorts and began to palm himself over the thin material, a guttural moan escaping from him as he felt a twitch, and then a small wet patch on the front of the strained underwear. He maintained eye contact with his girl, who seemed too shocked to react, her gaze quickly darting toward his large hand as he rolled it back and forth over his crotch.

“You like that, mommy?” Mickey’s voice was low and already thick with pleasure as he whimpered quietly, further attempting to provoke a reaction from his girl, who had remained frozen to the spot.

She took a deep breath, desperately trying to process the scene before her. It wasn’t often that Mickey was so explicitly bratty, but when he was, he went all the way. A large part of her knew that this was most likely down to the fact that it had been a while since she’d last dished out a punishment, so it was only fair that she too went all the way.

“Take them off, and bend over my desk.” Her voice was stern, and this time Mickey opted to obey her, pushing his boxer shorts down until they pooled at his ankles before striding over to her desk and bending over the cold, dark wood, his hands instinctively gripping onto the sides of the large desk as he heard the sound of his girl ridding herself of her jacket behind him.

“That’s right, so I get a good view of that pretty little ass.”

Mickey shivered as he felt her fingers ghost down his back, her perfectly manicured nails ever so slightly grazing against his skin as she travelled downwards toward the curve of his spine, taking a few moments to admire his peachy ass that was stuck up in the air.

“Did you like the video?” 

She was surprised to hear Mickey pipe up once more, the cocky tone to his voice becoming more prominent as he further attempted to push at her boundaries.

“I did, sweet boy. But you know what I didn’t enjoy?” She grabbed his ass, the sudden movement making Mickey jolt as he felt her deliver a harsh squeeze.

“What didn’t you enjoy?” Mickey’s voice was now a mere squeak, the throbbing in both his ass and his cock beginning to make his vision hazy. He almost moaned as he felt his girl hover over his back, her chest pressed against his bare skin as leant down to press her lips against his ear.

“A breaking of the rules, which you know that I will not tolerate.” Something else was now running up and down the side of his thigh, only it wasn’t her hand. It was his belt.

Mickey wanted to respond, but as he parted his lips he found that he was unable to form a coherent sentence. He felt his girl move off him and stand up straight as she began to trace circular patterns across his ass with the end of the belt. There was a silence between them for a few seconds as she gathered her thoughts.

“I’m going to spank you four times, okay? And each time I want you to tell me which rule you broke, and that you promise never to do it again.”

Mickey nodded, already starting to pant.

“Tell me your word if you need me to stop.”

“Cantaloupe.” 

She watched him tense slightly as he braced himself for the impact, and she gently coasted her hand across his soft skin, delivering a light tap to help ease him into the punishment. Mickey wiggled his ass in response, and she sucked in a deep breath.

Then, almost without warning, she delivered the first blow, the cracking sound of the belt mingling with Mickey’s yelp filled her office, echoing around the room as she studied the newly reddening patch on his ass. She was careful to be gentle, to not let herself get carried away. Though this was a punishment, she wanted Mickey to enjoy some sense of pleasure from it as after all, this was only the second time she had used something other than her own hand to spank him.

“I promise never to touch myself without mommy’s permission.” Mickey’s voice was more gravelly now, his teeth clenched as the stinging sensation began to ebb through the lower part of his body.

“That’s my good, sweet boy.” His girl purred in response, stroking over the welts that had begun to form as a result of her disciplining.

She repeated the process, and by the fourth and final smack Mickey was a mess, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his knuckles whitened from gripping onto the desk so tightly. Small whimpers were emanating from him as his girl dropped the belt, satisfied with his repentance. She made sure to be mindful as she gently stroked her fingers over the crimson skin of his ass, bending down slightly to press a kiss between his shoulder blades as Mickey began to tremble.

“You did well, little one. I’m proud of you.” She spoke softer now, her voice muffled slightly as her lips were still partially flattened against the dip between his broad shoulders.

Mickey hummed in response, feeling as though his stomach had been glued to her desk as his body refused to allow him to move, the throbbing was continuing to flow, and every muscle in his body began to ache as he finally relaxed, pressing his damp cheek against a sheet of paper he hoped wasn’t important.

She allowed Mickey his own time to recover, watching as his eyes fluttered open and shut, every so often a twitch forming in his lower back which caused him to let out a soft, strangled groan. His girl made her way over to the front of her desk, resting her forearms in front of Mickey’s head as she lowered herself onto her knees before him. A grin immediately appeared on his lips as he noticed her presence, and he shuffled forwards to deliver a light kiss on her nose, extending his arms toward her so that he could stroke his thumb against her cheek. Her grin matched his as she felt his warmth against her face, and in that moment she decided to cancel the rest of her meetings for that day. 

They spent another hour in her office, her hands starting to wander to other places on Mickey’s body as he remained perched on her workspace, the stinging pain in his ass soon overridden by a much greater sensation. They could have remained in her office for the rest of the day, exchanging kisses (amongst other things), but by that time Mickey’s stomach had begun to grumble. After all, he had come to her office under the pretence of eating lunch.

[syilcawrites]

for your zelink prompt,,,how do you feel about a modern AU where the two bike to the beach and have a picnic?

a/n: I added ‘high school’ to the prompt too hope you don’t mind asghjjhas (’: Also this turned out a lot longer than I planned hope that’s okay ;-; I want to practice writing in Link’s voice more so this is in his pov!! Anyway! I hope you enjoy this, and thanks a lot for the prompt <3

ao3

hot buttered apples with chamomile tea

There are two types of monsters: ones that sleep under your bed and ones that sleep behind your eyes. For Aryll, it's the former.

And Link saw a lot in the latter.

He rubbed his eyes to try to erase the bags that rest stubbornly underneath them, but he wondered if he was just making it worse. Probably. But why did it matter anyway? He usually got three hours of sleep tops, so he always liked to think that darkness had become a permanent edition to his features. He tapped his toes against the pavement, waiting, peering around the corner of the school's brick fence, trying to catch a glimpse of the black car that Zelda usually pulled up in. With five minutes left until school started, he was beginning to worry—she was never late. And for the first time in his entire high school career, he was early.

It was a last minute trip they had planned, when they had snuck onto the school roof after class yesterday.

"I want to see the ocean," she had told him, under the summer's unrelenting heat. They were both sticky with sweat, even though they were sitting under a shady area, and the next thing she said made no sense to him. "I've never been to the beach before." Living here and never once going to Hateno Beach? He thought she was kidding at first. But she stared at him dead in the eye with her lips pressed into a thin line, as serious as ever. When he jokingly proposed that they ditch school the next day to go to the beach, she didn't hesitate to say yes.

It had taken him practically the whole day yesterday to convince her to sneak up onto the rooftop, and yet she was completely fine with ditching an entire day of school to go to the beach.

She was weird and unpredictable and he loved it.

He decided to check his backpack again for the twelfth time in the past hour, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. His memory was pretty terrible to begin with. He always found something new that he had forgotten whenever he went to check his backpack. The first time he checked, he realized he didn't bring any cups. Just that one thermal bottle whose lid doubled as a cup. The second time he checked, he realized he had forgotten napkins. If worst came to worst, he guessed he could just offer up his jacket or something, if she really needed to clean her hands or wipe her mouth—would that be any better though? When was the last time he washed his jacket?

"Link?"

Before he could try to sniff his sleeve, Zelda's voice pierced his thoughts.

He zipped up the backpack once more and peeked around the corner again—and finally, he saw her familiar twin braided blonde hair bobbing up and down as she ran toward him.

With… a frenzied kind of pace.

"Link!" she shouted again, breathless, as she waved her arms up and down in panic. Behind her he could hear another person shouting—but it was hard to hear their voice, since it was drowned out by the sound of Zelda urgently telling him to go, go, go.

Fumbling, Link lifted the bike away from the brick fence and rolled it out, hopping onto the front seat.

"I thought you said you had two bikes!" Zelda exclaimed, quickly tossing herself over the second seat without missing a beat.

"I mean, this is kinda like two bikes isn't it?" She only learned how to ride a bike three days ago and he wasn't comfortable with leading her down a rather windy road to get to the beach on her own. The last time he taught someone how to ride a bike was Mipha, years ago, and she almost face planted into a cliff because he let go of her bike and had forgotten to tell her how to brake.

Besides, he had to bribe Aryll fifty rupees to take the tandem bike out today. If he wanted to borrow her regular bike, she would've asked for a hundred. That was equivalent to a week's worth of mowing Tokk's front lawn.

Link was probably getting scammed by Tokk, but he was only 40% sure about that.

"Won't we look ridiculous riding this around?" Zelda scoffed as they began pulling out onto the road. "I thought we were supposed to be discreet? A tandem bike—Oh Hylia!" She kicked his shin with her foot, urging him to hurry. "Impa's coming!"

"Who?" Impa? He didn't think Zelda had mentioned her before.

"Miss Zelda!"

Link glanced at the direction that Zelda had come from, and he saw an angry looking young woman in a black suit racing toward them at an alarming speed. A chill ran down his spine as they locked eyes.

"You!" Impa shouted, pointing a furious finger at him. "Who are you!"

Without a second left to waste, Link clicked into gear and pedaled away fast before that angry finger could intentionally poke out his eyeballs. They shot down the road, with Zelda's exhilarated laughter mixing in with the sound of the rushing wind whistling by them.

For some reason, it was a strange and distinct sound, like it was reverberating all around him; he felt trapped in it.

Until her laughter abruptly stopped.

"Look out—!"

He looked up; but by then, it was too late. An apple that hung low from the tree smacked him square on the forehead with a resounding thud.

——————————————————————

"You know," Zelda said, accepting his hand as he helped her down the rocky cliff that led to the shoreline, "the beach looks different from above."

Link hadn't been to Zelda's home before, but he knew what it looked like from below. It was an odd-looking building that used to be an abandoned lighthouse, but then someone moved into it a couple of years ago, and that someone had hammered on weird platforms and objects to it, so now it looked like Hateno's novelty sculpture.

"Your room's at the top of that lighthouse building right?" Link asked, grunting as he jumped down onto the sand with a hefty thud. He turned around and held out both of his hands to her.

"Mhm. Purah let me have the upper loft when I moved in with her. The view's amazing at night, you can see all the stars." Zelda crouched down and gratefully accepted his hands. Her hands were rough. She jumped down.

Link couldn't see the stars from his bed, because a gigantic tree was right in front of his window.

Her prickling stare withdrew him from his thoughts—she studied his face as if she was observing every detail on it. He could count the sun freckles that had begun appearing around her cheeks; heat climbed to his cheeks as he leaned back a little, finally aware of how close they were.

"I hope that apple won't leave a bruise on your forehead," she muttered, her eyebrows furrowing together, with that little crease appearing between her brows. Always one crease, never two. "You took quite a hit back there."

"I—" he paused, his mouth still slightly ajar.

What was he gonna say? That he was too focused on the sound of her laughter to the point where he wasn't paying attention to the road?

She tilted her head quizzically, waiting for him to speak.

Link let go of her hands to adjust the straps of his stiff backpack. "I know a spot near the rocks," he muttered, turning to a cluster of boulders near the water. It was flat enough that they could place the blanket down and set the lunchboxes and thermal bottle without having to worry about them falling over.

They walked side by side.

"The patterns on the rocks are so symmetrical," she murmured, tapping her chin with her finger. "Like the cliff we just climbed down from—you could tell during high tide the water reaches it, just barely though. I've always found it fascinating that exposure to water erosion could create such beautiful patterns. Don't you agree?"

Link nodded, and a smile quirked up on her lips. The hop in her step was a little higher than usual as she sped up to reach the cluster of rocks faster. He liked listening to her observations of little details, even though he didn't offer much opinion of his own. It was nice to hear and see Hyrule through a different kind of lens.

She was already climbing up the rock by the time Link reached it, and she stood there proud and tall with her hands on her hips, facing the vast ocean.

"We should eat before the food gets cold," Link called up to her, unzipping his backpack to hand her the picnic blanket. It used to belong to his mom. At one point he stole the key to his dad's chest and opened it up to find a bunch of things that used to be hers, probably, because there was a picture of her in there, squished in with a bunch of other stuff. He stole that picture too. And to this day, his dad still hadn't noticed anything was missing.

Link wondered if his dad knew, and just let him... have it.

"Of course," she said, her eyes glinting hungrily. She grabbed the blanket from him, and with it, his thoughts.

She spread it out as he climbed up to her.

Her reactions were always funny whenever Link brought food for her. For some reason, she always tried to mask her excitement—but she was terrible at hiding the anticipation that gleamed in her green eyes, and even more terrible at trying to keep a smile from erupting on her face while he pulled out the two lunchboxes.

"Chamomile tea," Link stated, as he pulled out the thermal bottle next. He paused to watch her, and her mouth formed an 'o' as she greedily grabbed it from him, opening the cap up. He popped open the lid of one of the lunchboxes and slid it toward her.

There were sliced hydromelons, egg pudding, honey crepes and fruits, and her favorite—

"Hot buttered apples!" Zelda exclaimed, reaching for one.

In the other box he had a handful of savory foods—maybe he should've opened that one up first.

"I'm glad you took my suggestion." Her fingers paused just before she picked the slice up. "But first, the tea," she said quickly, as if she was reminding herself. She poured it into the lid of the thermal bottle, handing it to Link.

"I want to see your expression when you try it," Zelda insisted, beaming. She was smiling a lot today—more than she has in the past two years that he'd known her. "You take a bite out of the apple first, and then drink the tea, and then it tastes amazing."

"Just like that?" he asked, eyeing the light crisp color of the chamomile tea she handed to him. It reminded him of apple cider.

"Trust me, Link. You'll want to keep eating it," she promised, tugging down at her two braids. She always did that when she was waiting for something—every time she was standing in line at the vending machines to get the both of them candy pop sodas at school, she did that same little tug. "I'm picky with my food, so you know I wouldn't simply be saying this without meaning it."

Link picked up the slice—the hot buttered apples had turned into warm buttered apples by now, but he figured it wouldn't change the taste all that much. As soon as he took a bite out of it and took a sip from the tea, her eyes sparkled.

The combination of the two warmed his stomach—the pinch of cinnamon she had recommended he put on it really kicked it for him, and he had to refrain from shoving at least ten more into his mouth. Considering how much she was staring at the hot buttered apples, he wanted to save the majority of it for her.

"Good? Right? They both have that toasty taste but it's a different kind of toasty. The chamomile tea, when brewed correctly of course, has that touch of floral kick to it too! And the hot buttered apples with that sprinkle of cinnamon just melts in your mouth and it's the most wonderful thing ever, isn't it?" She quickly thanked him as she accepted the tea when he handed it to her, and she picked up a slice to take an eager bite of her own.

"It's really good." He wasn't the best at expressing himself through words, but despite their simplicity, it seemed to have gotten through to her, as that gleeful glint in her eyes only gleamed brighter. "Did your parents—" He paused mid-chew, realizing just a little too late that his question was going to dampen her brightness.

And it did, just a little.

Idiot.

Whenever he asked about her immediate family, she would tense up—just like now. She cast her eyes down at the lunchbox, eyeing all of the food that he had prepared, her lips pursed. She would always be on the brink of telling him, but then she would turn away in the end.

Maybe… she needed a little push, to talk about it.

"My mom hated apples." The words felt weird in his mouth—he's never spoken about his mom to anyone, and he only brought her up once to his dad. Link raised his eyes to meet hers. Zelda had stopped chewing too, and looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

"That's what my dad told me at least, when I asked him what she hated the most." No one in his family ate apples that much, and it all made sense when he found out about that little fact a couple of years ago. It was hard for his dad to talk about her—time didn't heal the pain behind his voice when he told Link those three simple words: She hated apples.

And behind those three simple words were years upon years of grieving, and he never asked his dad about her again.

He watched as Zelda picked up another slice, her mouth parting slightly. "My mother loved making all sorts of meals with apples."

Loved, Link thought.

Past tense.

They sat in silence for a bit, just munching on those hot buttered apples, while passing the tea back and forth between each other.

"My mother made a snack for me that always involved apples in some way—whenever I was sad, angry, or when she was proud of me." He expected her to look lost in thought as she spoke, but she wasn't. She was as present as she could've been, and he was... it made him feel a little better. Less alone. "Hot buttered apples with chamomile tea was my favorite. She made it for me quite often," she said, chuckling. "What was your mother like?"

She gave him the last slice.

He hesitated; both in accepting the last piece and at her question. The only thing he had was a worn out picture of her, weathered down by age. And that blanket. "I don't know, I don't remember anything," he admitted, taking the slice from her.

Her gaze softened.

Link once punched another classmate in grade school because they asked him, how could he be sad? If he had no memories of his own mom? What was there to be sad about, since he couldn't remember anything? And for the longest time, he didn't let himself be sad over her. How could you be sad about someone you had no memories of?

But one day, Aryll barged into his room—her face red, with snot running down her nose, crying, because she had an argument with their dad. "What if I forget about her, Link?" Aryll had said to him in between her choked up sobs. "I feel like if dad never talks about her, she'll disappear forever."

He knew then that there was pain with memory, and pain without memory. One wasn't more valid than the other.

Because either way, no one won anything in the end.

"I wish I could've met your mother," she said. "I'm certain I could've changed her mind about apples."

There wasn't a lick of a tease on her face. She was serious.

For the first time in a while, Link laughed.

[yanyanderederechan]

Mercy

Prompts- 42, 44, 47, and 48

Summary- in which kaya losses interest in you, but she doesn't have the heart to get rid of you.

Warnings- mentions of killing, breaking a nose, rage, and poor life decisions.

Footsteps sounded in the suffocating silence of the darkness, screams of protest muffled by the gag; turning your head, you could hear the metal echo in your ears as it clanked together. Arms held down in between your legs and your ankles held down to a cold, damp surface, hands feel on your shoulders, and they gently ghosted over your clothes to trace the line of your spine in between your shoulder blades.

"You know I love you right...(y/n)," her breath fanned against your ears as the sound of her voice filled them. A warm yet pleasant sound you had come to love, its melodic tune calming you instantly. The soft caresses on your spine ceased as she began to trace patterns in between the gaps of your blindfold and gag. Till her fingers dipped down into the crease of the fabric, pulling it out of your mouth.

"Of course, kai, is something wrong," Your voice echoed in her ears, pulling at her heart, "You like making things difficult for me, don't you?" She hummed, tugging the blindfold from your eyes, allowing you to take in your surroundings, an old office building a few stories up from the ground; everything almost looked normal if it wasn't for the scattered supplies and paper.

"what...what do you mean by making things difficult for you," the question hung in the air unanswered as she roughly pushed herself off of you. Her footsteps echoed as she moved into your line of vision, crouching down in front of you. Her sapphire orbs stared into yours; the tank top and shorts she wore were the most you had seen of her body in the year you had been together. It was now you focused on the flowers that appeared to be blooming from her skin, each a different kind and shade, words of English and another language filled the petals. Her hands flew to your face to rub the back of her knuckles against your cheeks. Only for her to roughly pressed her palms into your face, hooking her fingers behind your ears.

“That's almost adorable," Her resonance dropped, a tone she'd often use on Lucas when she was mad at him without being visibly angry, " I wish we didn't have to do this, but sometimes things are necessary," she stood up to peer at the old desk behind her.

"Are you...are you breaking up with me," you examined her face searching for any hint or sign she was joking before markings on her thigh caught your attention, the head of a snake that seemed to be biting into the back of her knee.

"No, I don't break up with people," She inspected something before placing it back onto the desk. The next item she picked up, she released a satisfied hum. She pulled the gun into view, checking it for any bullets before pocketing it in the side of her waistband.

"Wait... so you're going to kill me, but I thought you loved me, you said you'd protect me from harm!" tears stung your eyes as you trashed around, allowing the chains to sound.

"I don't want to do things, you know I don't," She sighed, "But all my previous lovers are dead. While I did say I'd protect you from harm, I never said that I'd protect you from myself as greedy, selfish, and harmful as I may be," She grabbed a bat and lifted her arms to swing, "I just think it'd be best if we never met," you began to thrash, "Lucas!" The chains tightened, unable to move, and a crack sounded as everything went black.

"Ka....kaya," Lucas muttered.

"What!" she snapped, aiming the gun at your unconscious body.

"Y...Your crying," Kaya's hand shot to her cheek as she wiped away stray tears; she stared at her hand for a good minute before her face contorted in anger. Marching up to you, she brought her foot up as it cashed into your skull, successfully breaking your nose as she screamed.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you!" with each stomp of her foot. Her strength weakened till she broke down into sobs.

"Kaya...we should go home," he reached out to touch her. and she collapsed into him.

"Yeah," she pulled away from him as she began to exit the building.

"What do we do about (y/n)," he called out to her.

"Just go dump honey bunny near a hospital or somethin'," she turned around to face him as the elevator opened,

"Also, pack your stuff when we get home; we're moving," she told him as the elevator doors closed.

Kaya flung open her apartment door, slamming it shut as she grabbed the kitchen scissors heading towards the bathroom. She stared at her reflection, running her hands through her long brown hair that fell to her hips.

"I'm going to miss you," she said as she grabbed a chunk up past her ears and cutting it.

"Kaya, I did as you asked," Lucas mumbled as he entered her apartment, bags in hand.

"Come here," she hollered from the bathroom; when Lucas entered, he was surprised to find kaya with her hair butchered, "Can you fix it," she muttered, looking away from him.

"So you want..." he threaded his fingers through the underside of the longer side of her hair to the shorter side.

"Yeah, and this color, we leave tomorrow at eight, so we'll have time to do yours as well," he grabbed the razor and began to buzz her hair.

"Why are we moving," He asked as he now began to bleach it.

"I don't want (y/n) to find us," as she avoided eye contact with him in the mirror.

"Why didn't you just kill (y/n)," he looked away as you began to strip to hop into the shower.

"I don't know, but it sure as hell pisses me off,"

[alkhale]

Desert Sun (Male!Vivi x Male!Hoku) Memos AU Ko-fi request

Hi! Recently i begin to love Vivi(theres dome amazing fanarts about genderbender!Vivi that i found ). so i would like to get an Vivi x Hoku or M!Vivi x Hoku or M!Vivi x M!Hoku ,please.

Pictures for reference! Male!Vivi by @bab_119

Male!Hoku looks a lot like Allen from D. Gray Man with just a bit shorter hair. He keeps the side braid with Mihawk’s ribbon or uses it to tie off a little ponytail at the base of his neck.

“What are you drawing, Hoku?”

Hoku paused, his fingers loosely holding the pencil in his grip. The lazy, light sketches looked back at him over the expanse of thick paper and he grinned a bit at the sight, looking up at Vivi’s voice. “Couldn’t sleep, prince charming?”

Vivi rolled his eyes at him, lightly running his fingers through the soft blue tufts of his hair. He came down the set of steps onto the lower deck where Hoku was leaning against one of Nami’s tangerine trees. A few peels sat at Hoku’s bare feet in the grass, his only evidence.

The front of Hoku’s wispy white bangs were pulled up over the top of his head, tied together in a silly looking tuft. The sight made Vivi want to chuckle, but he withheld it for now in case Hoku just started making fun of him for something else. The artist tended to be quick to bite back with retorts at Vivi if he tried to tease him too much, like stepping on the end of a cat’s tail.

Maybe it means we got closer. Vivi wondered, sighing as he looked over to the side. Or not.

The air was cool outside, another sign of their closeness to Alabasta’s own climate. Hot, rolling sun throughout the days and dark, cold nights across the endless expanse of sand and rolling desert. A sight and sensation Vivi never got sick of, not once, only missing it more as he got closer and closer to home.

Hoku shifted a bit to make room for Vivi underneath the tangerine tree. Vivi smiled a bit at that, trying not to get too hopeful and lowering himself down and getting comfortable beside Hoku, carefully stretching out his legs and watching how his legs stretched out just a bit further than Hoku’s.

Hoku’s feet weren’t as scratched up or scarred as Vivi thought they’d be. Well-protected by the sturdy, worn material of his boots sitting on the other side of him. Hoku’s hands were a different story though. Calloused, smoothed over, and then calloused all over again, only soft at the fingertips.

“It was getting too stuffy in the room,” Vivi said. Hoku snorted. “I wanted a bit of air.”

“Told you to just take the hammock outside,” Hoku said, pointing his pencil at the hammock he’d drawn from sheets and set up between Nami’s tangerine trees. Vivi raised a brow in amusement. “Nothing can beat a good hammock under the fresh air.”

“What do you do when it rains?”

“Just draw a tarp or a big umbrella, what else?”

Vivi laughed, a soft, elegant sound. Hoku rolled his eyes, turning his focus back to his sketchbook. Vivi watched his slender fingers move in silence, taking in the careful strokes and quick shifts of Hoku’s finger across the pages. He was never one for drawing or artistic crafts, but Vivi sometimes felt like he could watch Hoku do this forever.

Hoku loved what he did. He always looked like he loved down what he did.

Vivi wondered how much of that love Hoku could see himself.

“You’d die for your country, right? That’s good. I’ll lend you a life then if you need it.”

Their shoulders pressed against each other, warm still, from the earlier sunlight. Vivi idly rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the small space between his and Hoku’s legs before he quickly turned them away. Vivi winced, realizing his eyes landed instead on the bare expanse of Hoku’s stomach, left exposed from the shortness of the tight white turtleneck he wore, showing off the lean, taut muscle.

Vivi’s eyes quickly shifted to the side of Hoku’s face instead, quietly following the red ink pattern blended into his skin, curving softly around his eye. Vivi almost laughed again, realizing normally Luffy didn’t let him get away with looking this long.

“Tell me about Alabasta.”

Vivi blinked, looking up in confusion. Hoku didn’t look up at him, never taking his eyes off the page. “Go on, anything. Or you could just give me a bit of blood too.”

“Alabasta?” Vivi said. Hoku nodded, once. “I—well, is there a reason—”

“Don’t have too if you don’t want to,” Hoku said, sketching absently at the bottom of the page. “Up to you. Running out of ideas.”

Vivi kept silent for a moment, thinking it over. Hoku was warm beside him, reminding Vivi of the first rays of sunlight in the morning, not too warm, just barely there and gone in a blink. Hoku smelled like ink, a hint of iron and something else, like a flower maybe underneath the heavier smell of tangerines all around them. 

“Guess I’ll just draw Usopp,” Hoku muttered.

Vivi quickly straightened, clearing his throat before he started to speak, a little hurried at first. “It’s a lot larger than people realize. Across the desert it seems like it stretches as far as the ocean, but there’s all kinds of small spots that mark what’s what. The towns are all different, unique in their own way and filled with history.”

“Okay, tell me about one.”

“Alubarna—it’s where I grew up,” Vivi quickly continued, trying to keep Hoku’s attention on his words, on his home. Hoku’s pencil lightly shifted over the paper. “So big, a small child could easily get lost in the columns, fit right behind them.”

“What were you like as a kid?” Hoku mused. Vivi brightened.

“I, well, I wasn’t quite the picture perfect image for a prince. I got into trouble a bit and fought with some of the local kids, but we also became friends! I followed my father around—”

“You look more like your mom or your dad?” Hoku asked.

Vivi hesitated a second before saying softly, warmly, “My mother.”

Hoku’s lips curled up into a crooked smile. Vivi stared at it a bit in wonder. “Me too.”

Vivi felt the words gathering up at his throat. He tried to figure out the most elegant way to say it, to ask— “What was your home like? What were you like as a child, Hoku?”

“Keep going,” Hoku said softly.

“T-The palace is grand and white, huge, swirling columns and massive statues of Alabasta’s guardian deities stand in front of it,” Vivi said, hoping his chance would come again. “I think people from Artopoki were paid years ago to help build them.”

“Oh~” Hoku said. “Must be real good then. Keep going.”

Vivi’s voice grew smoother, warmer as the memories came flooding back to him in perfect clarity. They appeared, bright as day and perfectly clear in all their entirety, as if he’d never left the sand and the smell of the sun and the dry, warm heat. Hoku’s hand continued to move, quick and effortless across the page and Vivi followed it with a sort of hypnotic ease, feeling his shoulders unwind, his back relax. Hoku’s warmth didn’t disappear beside him.

“I love Yuba too,” Vivi said slowly. “My best friend is there... Yuba’s a great center of commerce and life...”

“What are the seasons like?” Hoku murmured.

“Always warm,” Vivi mumbled, his eyes drooping a bit. He tried to shake his head awake. “But the nights get cold... you might... like it...”

“Keep going,” Hoku said, soft by his ear. Vivi continued, mumbling the words out, his eyes drooping a bit. He tried to keep going, feeling the heavy, heavy fatigue pulling at his eyes.

Vivi could feel the sun behind his eyelids, warming his skin. He wondered if Hoku wouldn’t mind the heat too much. He said he liked the sun, right? Hoku had never tried food from Alabasta either. Would he like the palace baths? Maybe not, since Hoku didn’t seem fond of water. There was a lot Vivi wanted to show him, lots and lots.

More of my home... would you like to see it?

Hoku waited a few more minutes until the soft sound of Vivi’s breathing filled his ears. He sighed in amusement through his nose, shifting his shoulder under the weight of Vivi’s head resting on it. Hoku snorted, ripping out the page in his book and folding it up, tucking it into the waistband of Vivi’s pants.

Hoku debated his options for a bit until the silky ends of Vivi’s hair started to tickle his chin, the soft warmth of Vivi’s breath against his neck. Hoku rolled his eyes. Look at this guy.

Hoku carefully maneuvered Vivi’s head onto the soft grass, standing up. He took a moment, considering Vivi’s poor looking figure on the lonely floor before he finally threw a quickly drawn blanket over him. Vivi shifted, groping around on the grass and Hoku tossed a body shaped pillow down beside him too, watching with a snort as Vivi wrapped his arm around it and sighed, content.

Hoku rolled his eyes again, lightly nudging Vivi’s slumbering form with his foot before hopping into his own hammock with a satisfied sigh, grinning up at the stars as he shut his eyes.

“Sleep tight, prince charming—hngh?”

Hoku let out a garbled shout, a strong tug ripping him entirely out of his hammock and back onto the grass. He tried to sit up, hissing at the pain in his back when a sudden weight tossed itself over his stomach, pinning Hoku back flat to the ground. His eyes bulged from his head, jerking over to where a completely knocked out Vivi was sighing in deep content, the crease in his brow relaxing as he tightened his arm around Hoku and let his cheek rest on Hoku’s shoulder, snuggling up to him.

Hoku experimentally pried at Vivi’s arm, wheezing in surprise at the young man’s grip. Goddess!

Hoku scowled, grumbling in discontent. He threw his arms behind his head, cushioning it and shutting his eyes with a sigh. I’ll just wait till he lets up. When he wakes up tomorrow he’s gonna get it.

A few minutes passed and Hoku’s own brows relaxed a bit, body growing slack as sleep overtook him. Somewhere along the way Vivi shifted, one hand sleepily guiding Hoku’s head to rest on his chest while the blanket was strewn over them, Vivi’s arm returning to encircle Hoku’s shoulders.

Hoku muttered something in his sleep while Vivi let out a relaxed sigh, looking pleased.

- Luffy threw a fit in the morning, Vivi hid his face in his hands and Hoku simply packed up his hammock and decided he’d set up camp up in the crow’s nest

(this was more fun to write than i expected hahahaha, i get such student council president and lazy, not really a delinquent but unmotivated, complicated art student dynamics from these two)