#i just can’t resist making wips instead of finishing a piece | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviaju · 4 years

Text

forgiveness

pairing: belphegor x GN! reader, hints of everyone x reader

words: 8.1k+

genre: angst, fluff at the beginning and a bit at the end if u squint

warnings: mentions of mc and lilith’s death, foul language

preview: “I’m sorry,” He begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. “I know that will never cut it, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

hey guys what up. so... i’ve done a lot of thinking about belphegor’s dynamic with MC, and, like many others, was really bothered by the sudden switch after... he killed them. u know. typical stuff. i wanted to fill in the gaps!!! if im being completely honest, this has sat in my wips for.... like half a year. it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope that everyone’s not too terribly ooc LOL

anyways yeah. i mention how belphegor killed mc a couple of times, so proceed with caution! hopefully, if i get any ideas, the next stuff i write will be a lot lighter. hope you enjoy! (also requests r open soooooooo)

The weight on your chest crushed your rib cage, threatening to snap your bones like they were nothing more than twigs. All you could see was the pitch black of eternal night, and whether your eyes were opened or closed you couldn’t tell. What commanded your attention was the searing pain in your lungs, growing exponentially every half-second, and the unrelenting grip that was slowly shattering your esophagus. No matter how hard you struggled, squirmed and fought against the weight holding your body down, there was no use. It was pointless. The pain spread from the raging fire in your lungs to the tips of your fingertips, and everywhere felt as if you had been set aflame. Slowly, a light illuminated the force keeping you down.

You couldn’t make out much, save for the cackle that rang insufferably through your ears, and the intense eyes that were staring you down.

They held no remorse.

Bones ache as you rest against your bed, finally allowing the tension in your muscles to melt away. You’d never mistake this feeling for regret of a busy day, having spent so much time with the people you care about, but it certainly took its toll on you.

It began with Satan, who’d asked you the night before to accompany him on an early morning walk. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence — he’d invite you to join his morning routine on every day off, and you’d never refuse — hence, at the wonderful time of 7:00am, you were venturing around the Devildom, hand in hand with the Avatar of Wrath. The two of you would walk, occasionally resting on a park bench for longer than either of you would like to admit, for about an hour and a half before you took an official break. The time was filled with pleasant chatter and comfortable silence. Every so often he’d squeeze your hand, and when you’d look over, the fondest of smiles crossed his face. It was a reminder of how glad he was that you joined him.

At around 8:30, he took you into a café for breakfast, and two of you spent only about thirty minutes there chattering away happily. For the most part, he was vividly and excitedly discussing a book he’d just finished the night before…

Until you were interrupted.

“Hello, lovely!” Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you from behind, just before pressing a kiss on your cheek. Satan sighed, resting his head in his hand as he watched the interaction.

“My selfish older brother’s been hogging you all morning, I couldn’t help but want to whisk you away!”

Despite the glare Satan was sending his way, Asmodeus took a seat next to you, happily engaging in conversation as he completely ignored his brother. He told you that the mall was opening in about an hour, and Asmo desperately wished to get his perfectly-manicured hands on a new makeup product being revealed that day.

“But of course I can’t go alone! How positively dreary that would be.” His fingers twined with yours as he looked at you hopefully, and you ran your thumb across his hand. A sheepish smile crept its way onto your lips, and you looked over at Satan. He simply nodded, flicking his hand as a gesture for you two to leave, and Asmodeus didn’t hesitate. He was quick to stand and pull you with them, holding tight to you as he whisked you away. You called out to Satan, now alone at the table with a reluctant smile on his face as he waved goodbye.

“Thanks for breakfast! Get home safe!”

You almost missed the chuckle that left his lips, the café door closing behind you.

Asmodeus kept you until noon. He got a hold of the lipstick he wanted almost right away, but insisted on buying an outfit to match the colour. Regardless of what you’d initially thought, the outfit wasn’t for him.

“Oh, we’ll look positively stunning together!” He exclaimed after about two hours of forcing you in and out of changing rooms, putting his hands all over you to “adjust the clothing” as he deemed necessary. Near the end, you could feel soreness deep in your muscles creeping in from such an active morning, but Asmodeus’ cheery face and constant flirtations helped you forget about it almost completely.

It wasn’t until you got home that you truly felt the effects of on-and-off walking since early in the morning. Be that as it may, your stomach was growling, loudly reminding you that it was now past lunch. As much as you wished to give up on food for the time being and instead head to your room to collapse, the pain in your belly was enough to urge you to cease any arguments, instead ready to try and ignore the ache in your bones in order to quell the angry rumbling of your stomach.

Unfortunately, when you finally made it to the kitchen, there was no food prepared. Instead, what you found was a dejected Beelzebub, frowning softly as he once again was at the receiving end of a lecture from the eldest of his brothers. As quiet as possible, you snuck into the kitchen, trying to listen in on their conversation.

There was silence, followed by a sigh.

“It’s easier to simply ask what’s going on as opposed to trying to eavesdrop, MC.”

You jumped, then bashfully made your way into the kitchen, a sheepish grin on your face. Lucifer was rubbing his temple.

“Beelzebub was supposed to be on lunch duty, but ended up ‘taste-testing’ to the extent that he ate it all. Again.” Lucifer sighed. The typically perfect eldest brother was being run ragged, if the bags forming under his eyes told you anything. “So, instead of working on the papers I have to get finished for tonight, I’m stuck making lunch while he cleans up.”

Beelzebub’s frown tugged at your heartstrings, and in spite of the exhaustion clawing relentlessly at your bones, you relented.

“Why don’t I help? Four hands are better than two,” you proposed, and a small smile graced Lucifer’s face. He lifted his hand to brush the disheveled black hair out of his face, and your chest ached just a bit at the sight. You made a mental note to drag him to bed for a nap the next time you saw him like this.

“That would be more than welcome. Please, if you may.” Already you turned to start working, but Lucifer’s voice made you pause.

“But no feeding Beel. He’s eaten more than his fill already, he can wait until we’re all done.”

Needless to say, every so often you’d slip Beelzebub a piece of chopped vegetable or cooked meat, and he’d very happily (but quietly!) munch away, his expression radiating warmth and joy. And Lucifer, who seemed to almost be omniscient at times, never once mentioned it. Once the three of you were done cooking, Lucifer placed his hand on your head, patting you gently.

“Good work, MC. I must leave now, but I trust that the two of you will be able to clean everything up. Your help was much appreciated. You will be paid back in kind for all of your hard work.”

If nothing else, the slight blush on Lucifer’s face as he ever-so-gently pressed his lips to the crown of your head was more than enough payment.

“Thank you.” Beelzebub cleared his throat, washing the dishes as you dried them. “I… Thanks for helping. And feeding me.”

His smile warmed your heart, and you nodded, bumping your arm with his gently. The small bit of pink that dusted his cheeks compelled you to coddle him, but you resisted the urge. Barely.

“Anytime, big guy.”

After you ate lunch, the only thought in your mind was the prospect of curling up under your covers and passing out. The fretful, broken sleep the night before wasn’t helping at all in keeping you awake, and that on top of the rest of the day’s events had you yearning for the feeling of your pillows.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t even made it through the door when your phone began to blow up, one notification after the other in quick succession.

GGKKJFLFJG

CMOE QUIC K

PLS

SUPE R RARE EVENT IN MONONONOKE

PELASE

YOU HVE TO BE PARTNERED WIHT SOMEONE TO GTE THE PRIZE

PL E A S E

HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHURRYHHHUUURRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY

You found yourself in Leviathan’s room, sat in his lap as he explained the event to you. Your half-asleep brain did its best to keep up with his quick speech, but that, along with the warmth of his chest against your back, became the most soothing lullaby.

“Hey! Normie! I agreed to let you sit here so I could easily help you through the event, but if you’re going to fall asleep on me, I’m pushing you off—“

“I’m awake! I’m awake.

...Now, what was I supposed to do?”

The unintentional giggle that escaped your lips at his expression caused Leviathan to huff, exasperated, despite the flush of his face. Diligently, however, he thoroughly explained the event, for the second time, and the method to obtain the rare prize: a level 2000 I’m Going To Murder You So Hard That You’ll Come Back To Life Just To Die Again Death Sycthe, the strongest weapon ever released in the game. It was a partner event, which explained Leviathan’s desperate and urgent request for aid. You didn’t mind though. While yes, you’d probably never be able to get to his level of gamer, you were more than happy to go along for the ride. It made him happy!

Leviathan rested his chin against your shoulder as he played on his phone, focused to such a degree that the usually easy-to-fluster demon was completely unphased by your proximity. Your phone, set to AutoFight, rested untouched near Leviathan’s leg, abandoned on the floor. You watched him expertly take out enemies that would have one-hit KO’d you through heavy eyelids, and every time he beat a wave of enemies, his attention would momentarily avert from the screen, looking at you from the corner of his eye expectantly. A kiss on his cheek was more than enough to motivate him to continue on, albeit with a pink glow on his cheeks until his attention was once again completely wrapped up in the game at his fingertips.

“Levi! I said open up, goddamnit!”

The pounding against the door was enough to distract Leviathan from his game, subsequently killing his character in the process. He groaned, cursing the demon who interrupted the two of you as he gently lifted you off of his lap, before getting up to open the door.

“The hell do you want?!”

To be completely honest, you were so wrapped up in watching Leviathan play his games that you had forgotten about your weekly movie night with Mammon, who had come over to his younger brother’s room to drag your ungrateful ass back to your own. Leviathan had cleared the event in Mononoke Land hours ago, but not wanting you to leave just yet, invited you to keep watching him play. Setting aside how tired you were, how could you say no? You’d wanted to spend time with him, too.

Unfortunately, you lost track of time, and your phone, battery completely drained from the event, rested uselessly in your pocket. A consequence of this happened to be missing the countless messages and calls Mammon had sent your way, before he began his hunt for you throughout the house. The last place he checked was, of course, Leviathan’s room.

“Come on, human, I ain’t got all day. No one keeps the Great Mammon waiting!”

“Except for MC,” you heard Leviathan mumble under his breath, and a laugh escaped you before you had the chance to slap a hand over your mouth. Mammon flushed deeply, before striding into his brother’s room.

“Hey, wait, you moron! I never said—!”

The force of Mammon throwing you over your shoulder wasn’t enough to hurt, but it certainly was enough to leave you breathless for a moment. “Let’s go, fragile human. I picked the perfect movie already.” Mammon’s words came out in a bashful mumble, but he had enough courage to lift his head and smirk at Leviathan as he carried you out of the room. All you could do was smile apologetically at the blue haired demon before Mammon turned, bringing you out of sight.

Mammon was all complaints as he carried you to your bedroom, but you knew it came from a place of love. Even though he’d never admit it, you could tell he was hurt by you unintentionally ignoring him. Because of this, instead of demanding he let you down, you allowed him to hold you like this, not a single complaint leaving your lips.

When he brought you to your room, you were set on the bed you’d missed dearly and he went to put the movie in the player.

“Hey! No sleepin’ on me, alright? I wanna watch the movie with ya, and I can’t if you’re passed out, now can I?”

And so here you are now, bed frame creaking as Mammon climbs onto the mattress. Rubbing your eyes, you nod, and lean into him once he gets close enough for you to.

“Seriously, I’m gonna hafta have a serious talk with Levi,” Mammon grumbles, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in so that you’re almost in his lap. He pulls the blankets over the two of you as you rest your head on his chest, and hum quietly in return. “He used up all your energy, and now we won’t be able to get to enjoy the movie as much! Honestly…”

The vibrations of Mammon’s words can be felt through his chest, and you simply cuddle into him more and try to train your bleary eyes on the television screen. The Avatar of Greed shuts up completely when you take his hand in yours and press a gentle kiss to it, before doing your best to focus on the movie. As time passes, however, the idea of giving into your whims grows more than tempting, and oh-so-easy for you to do.

“Hey! Yo, MC! Seriously… You’re hopeless.”

A chiding, yet gentle voice draws you from the confines of rest. You puff air from your nose in response, cuddling closer to whatever it was that had been so comfortable in the first place.

“MC… Come on. Ya gotta wake up, ya didn’t even watch any of the movie! It was really good, y’know.”

Mammon’s hand rubs circles on your back as you mumble incoherently, a noise to acknowledge the fact that he‘s been talking, and that you are indeed awake now.

It takes a good amount of time, as well as some gentle encouragement from Mammon, to get you to finally open your heavy eyes, and even longer for you to be able to apologize to him for missing out on the movie he was so excited to watch. He pouts a bit, but the blush on the highs of his cheeks lets you know that he didn’t mind all that much. You smile and yawn, and his chuckle resonates in your ears.

“I gotta go now, otherwise Lucifer’s gonna kill me for staying so late. Sorry I woke ya up, but ya look so tired now that you’ll probably fall back asleep right away.”

And so, after a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek (which made Mammon turn the prettiest shade of red), you close your door and… sigh. If you had been able to stay asleep, the fact that you aren’t in pajamas and haven't brushed your teeth wouldn't be that much of an issue. Now that you‘re slightly more conscious, however, it’s hard to convince yourself to simply climb back into bed. Your breath is bugging you a bit, and the jeans you’re wearing certainly aren’t at all as comfortable as your pajama pants. For that reason, to your own dismay, you begin getting ready for bed — properly this time.

A small “finally…” tumbles from your lips after you finish your nighttime routine. Lacking any form of grace, you plop into bed once more and pull the blankets to your chin, nuzzling into the pillow. Your bed still smells like Mammon’s cologne, and you hum softly to yourself before closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take over once more, and hold you hostage until late in the morning.

Alas, sleep seemed to be evading you now, similar to how you had ignored it during the day. The mattress you lay on simply isn't comfortable anymore, and the blankets that hug your body cause you to overheat. Unfortunately, if even one limb is out of the blanket, you get so cold you start shivering. None of your typical sleeping positions are anywhere near as effective as they typically are, and you’re left to wrestle with sleep alone, hoping to beat it into submission so you can finally get some proper rest.

After about 45 minutes of tossing and turning with no results, you finally relent. The nap you’d taken while watching the movie royally fucked you over, and you groan. Eventually you decide to give up on trying to fall back asleep, and huff as you sit properly on your bed.

Blanket dragging behind you as it drapes from your shoulders, you slowly make your way through the silent hallways of the House of Lamentation. The only sounds floating through the walls were the light buzz of electricity running through the wiring of the house, and your own footsteps as you began walking up one of the many staircases in the large building.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, the passage of time different at night to a hazy mind, but eventually you arrive at your favourite area in the house, second only to your lush bedroom. There are no artificial lights, only the gentle cast of the night sky providing the ideas of shape in the planetarium. You’ve never seen stars so vibrant and bright, and there are so many more in the Devildom than anywhere you could go back home. Even though the only light comes from the stars, it’s enough to create soft, fuzzy edges around everything in the room; this includes the bundle of various blankets mussed in the centre of the floor. Slowly, cautiously, you make your way towards the pile.

Since you’d arrived in the Devildom, the planetarium at the top of the House of Lamentation became your safe haven. Your room, without a lock on the door, was way too easy for intruding demons to enter without permission, and on nights when everything became too much for you to handle, you’d head up to the planetarium to clear your mind. There’s just something so calming about a starry sky on a clear night that releases you of your fears and anxiety, and helps you get a grip on the situation around you.

After freeing a certain someone from their attic-based captivity, however, you learned that the planetarium was a place favored not only by you. Since he’d been freed, you’d been kind, but there were still fears plaguing your mind, reminding you of everything that has transpired between the two of you. It’s something that you can’t escape, following you even - especially - in your sleep, when you wished you’d be the most at peace. It makes sense, considering the sin he embodies, but you wish it wasn’t like that nonetheless.

Once you’d learned that this was one of his favourite rooms in the house, especially on nights when he can’t fall asleep, you found yourself avoiding this area. It’s not that you hate him; it’s the opposite, really. Nevertheless, you can’t help but feel the tightening of his fingers around your neck, and the burning sensation in your lungs that’s screaming for oxygen, and the desperation to alleviate the seer of deprivation.

Still, you trek on. Closer and closer to the pile of blankets, your gut cries to you to run away. You ignore it. The nearer you get to the nest of blankets, the faster your heart beats, the more lightheaded you feel. But you continue.

Eventually you get close enough to make out the shape of a familiar pillow, the cow print on the case worn and well-loved. From the moment you walked in the room, you knew he was here. All the same, you walk on, and the only sounds in the room are the gentle taps of your clothed feet against the tile, and the quiet noises of your quickened breaths.

You’ve avoided being alone with him since… Since you… Since the event. Your heart screamed at you to forgive him, to love him just as much as you love his brothers. That said, there’s nothing in you that can stop your stomach from churning whenever he gets too close.

Butterflies beat aggressively within your heart and stomach, and it’s years before you get within his range of sight, but you sit down on the floor, holding the blanket tight to your body.

There’s one beat,

two beats,

three beats of silence before you can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. In your peripheral you can see his lips parting, closing, parting again as he tries to find the words. He heard you walk in, and was pleasantly surprised when you didn’t immediately bolt in the opposite direction. However, this proximity leaves him with an entirely new predicament. He wants to talk to you, he wants to laugh and joke with you the way his brothers do, but one look at your face and he notices the dark bags under your eyes, and the frown that tugs at your lips as you stare up at the stars. He can hear your heart racing, and feel his own in the tips of his fingers. He opens his mouth again, but the crack in his voice betrays his usual collected personality.

“I’ll go,” Belphegor begins, begrudgingly starting to gather his blankets. His body freezes when his eyes pass over your figure and you’re looking right at him, through him, and he swears he can feel the blood in his veins stop pumping. Your expression is unreadable, almost scary, and he’s never in his life been in fear of a human until this moment.

The seconds pass as years do, both of your bodies chilled to the bone but neither of you able to look away. In the end, the one who casts their gaze somewhere else is you, and he exhales loudly.

“Don’t.”

Your reply is simple, but he’s stuck in place. Slowly, he nods, sitting down again the way he had been prior, and pulling his beloved pillow close to his chest. He can’t breathe, the tension suffocating. It doesn’t help that now you refuse to look at him.

“... If you want,” he replies dumbly, staring at the floor. He feels trapped in place, afraid to move and scare you off. Despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to leave you be, he stays. You told him to, after all. Slowly, you sit down, his blankets creating a low wall between the two of you.

It’s only now that he gets a good look at you. You're tired, he knows, watching as your eyelids droop and your lazy movements when you get more comfortable under your blanket, but there’s more to it than just that. You seem so fragile, like sugar glass, breaking with even the slightest amount of pressure. He feels he can reach over and shatter you with the gentlest of touches, and that thought alone roots him in place. Since you came back, he’s never seen you without a smile. Your genuine smile was the prettiest, he decided rather early on, one that lights up your face and brightens those around you. Belphegor really, truly loves your smile.

He knows there was a point in time, not long ago, where he could have made it so no one saw it ever again. He can’t help but be grateful he didn’t succeed when he sees you smiling at his brothers.

That’s never the smile you show him though. It’s not for lack of effort; you certainly try, and he loves you for that. But the smile you show him is always plastered on, and he knows you’re doing it for his sake. With Belphegor, your smile never reaches your eyes. Be that as it may, you’re never weak around him. Fake smiles prove exactly how strong you really are, but your heart races every time he enters the room. As much as he wishes your palpitations are out of excitement, he knows better than to give himself false hope.

That’s why he’s so taken aback when he looks you over and you seem so vulnerable. Never, not in a million years, would he ever let himself believe that you’d allow yourself to look weak in front of him, not after what he did. Even so, here you are, shaking, knees drawn into your chest, and his heart soars because you’re showing him a new side to yourself. It aches at the knowledge that you’re feeling so vulnerable because of him.

His eyes burn holes in the side of your head. You know he’s watching you, studying you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not when the hands he uses to pull the blankets over his body are the exact same ones that led you to your untimely and violent demise, and not when every time you look at his face, you can also see Mammon’s above you, sobbing as he tries to will you not to fade away into nothingness.

There’s no putting it nicely. You were murdered, and Belphegor was the one who killed you. As much as he tries to pretend it never happened, to act around you the same as his older brothers do, you would never forget. Neither would he, regardless of the effort he puts into pushing the memory out of his mind. His chosen way of coping was to laugh with you, to get close and have you forgive him without acknowledging the situation. It was too painful to talk about, after all. He willingly, happily snuffed out the life of someone his brothers love, and someone he’d find himself loving too. You became someone who changed him, helped him grow and be better. It was easier, simpler to act as if you’d met him the same way you’d met any of his brothers.

Belphegor killed one of the last remaining parts of his past, a part that, while once warm and light, mutated and infected him, causing his anger to grow out of control, like a weed that suffocates any flower that tries to flourish. He killed a descendant of his sister, and the fact that you’re here now is more of a second chance than he thinks he could ever deserve in all his millenia of living.

And yet, here you are. Scared and shaking, but here. The silence has stretched on for longer than he’d like; he wants to be able to love you, openly and happily, but knows it won’t happen. It can’t, unless he does what he thought was the very last thing he’d do.

“I’m sorry,” Belphegor begins, voice much weaker than anticipated. He can hear your heartbeat pick up, and he curses himself mentally. Your lip between your teeth, you remain silent. His nerves force him to speak more.

“I know that will never cut, and it will never be enough, but I’m sorry.”

There’s more silence. He feels like he can’t breathe, the tense atmosphere forcing its way around his throat and tightening its grip. He doesn’t know how long it takes you to even contemplate replying, let alone allow yourself to respond. Belphegor’s ears ring almost deafeningly loud. He can’t take it.

“You’re right.”

His eyes, which he trained to the ground, dart up to your profile once more. You pause, wetting your lips.

“You’re right, Belphegor. It won’t cut it.”

There’s not enough time to process your words before he really, really looks at you. Almost fearlessly, you meet his eyes.

Almost fearlessly.

The shaking of your hands betrays the strength of your voice. Belphegor’s chest aches.

“But…”

There’s a pause as you speak. He can’t look away again, even as your eyes meet the stars once more. There’s no chance he’ll miss a word you say, even if it tears him apart.

“It’s… it’s really difficult. I know you know that, but…”

Each time you pause, Belphegor’s mind begins storming. He can’t figure out what you’re going to say, or how you’re going to react, and it drives him crazy. He’s usually so good at reading people, but you’re an enigma. It sends a chill down his spine.

His throat is caught. Even if he had words to say, they wouldn’t be able to come out. So he sits in silence as you find your own.

“I don’t want you to feel worse than you do.” You lick your lips. “Or maybe I do? I… I really don’t know. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you, Belphie.”

The nickname tugs at his heart, more than he could ever admit. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to do anything other than look at your melancholy face, knowing he’s the problem. He wants to run and hide, to sleep forever. He can’t, though. Not when you’re here. Not now.

Knuckles turn white as he clutches desperately onto his pillow. His breath shakes as he draws in air.

“I want to love you. I want to love you as much as I love your brothers, and care about you as much as I care for them…”

You struggle to find the words.

“... But it’s hard.”

You curse your lack of eloquence. Now, of all times, when your words are the only thing that enable you to communicate how you truly feel, they fail you. This might be your only chance to ever properly show Belphegor how you feel, what makes you so conflicted every time he walks into the room with a smile on his face, and yet all you can say is “it’s hard”. Obviously.

A breath finds its way into your lungs, and the sound of your lips parting in the otherwise silent planetarium echoes in your ears.

You continue.

“It’s hard because every time I see your face, or I hear your voice, or I-”, you falter, heart catching in your throat, “or you touch me, I can’t help but be reminded of what happened.”

Belphegor doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from your form. The grief that settles into his face perfectly matches your own, eyebrows upturned and bottom lip quivering just the slightest bit. Even the trembling of your hands is replicated in his own. He’s never seen you like this, so incredibly vulnerable, and it tears him apart inside to know that he is the cause of it.

A shuddery breath comes from Belphegor, and you fight your instincts to check if he’s okay. You know he isn’t.

The silence deafens you, thundering in your ears so harshly that you're tempted to place your hands at the side of your head to muffle how quiet it is. You don’t, however, and whether it’s because you don’t want to look crazy, or because you’re afraid you might shatter if you move, you’ll never know. Do you want him to talk? Do you want him to say anything? Do you want an apology?

If you had an answer for that, you’re sure that things would have patched themselves up much quicker than this. You caution a glance at Belphegor, and the weight pressing down on your chest gets heavier at his expression. It feels almost as if you can inhale the guilt he feels, the emotion radiating off of him in waves.

“I… Logically, Belphie, I get it.” Again with that cursed nickname. Usually, hearing it from your lips makes Belphegor feel warm and goddamn near giddy, but now it only seemed to drive the knife in his gut further.

“I understand what happened and why you did it. I may not agree… but I get it, you know?” You swallow.

“In the end, I’m still here. And… and I’ve come to learn that you’re nothing like that anymore. You’ve grown, and changed, and the guilt and anger that consumed you took control, and that's why you-- that’s--”

You pause, clutching the blanket around you to try and ground yourself. The shakiness in your voice is not missed by Belphegor, and even if it had been, there’s no way he’d be able to ignore the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. Slowly, subconsciously, one of your hands comes up to rest against your neck, a phantom of the grasp that once threatened to crush you.

“S-So… I understand why you did it. And I’m alive, and we’re friends, so it should all be okay, right?” Belphegor casts his glance away.

“But Belphie… as much as I want to forgive you, I also know that I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. It’s there in my dreams, and it’s there in your smile, and it’s there every single time your arm brushes mine and I flinch like a total loser.”

A weak chuckle makes its way out of your chest, and the halfhearted smile that follows forces a tear from your eye. You’re quick to wipe it away, hopefully quick enough so that it goes unnoticed by Belphegor.

It does.

What he does notice, however, is the frustration that holds tight to the edges of your sentences. The frustration is not directed at him, no. You would be yelling if that were the case, and maybe that would be easier for him to hear. No, this frustration is directed at yourself. You’ve been trying so hard, and all Belphegor has been doing is running away. His teeth dig so hard into his bottom lip, trying desperately not to show any anger he feels at himself, that he tastes iron.

“And then we became all buddy-buddy, you know? Like I was never lied to, or used, or manipulated, or-- or--”

Belphegor is torn from his self-pity when you continue, and he almost wishes you’d stop speaking. The thought that you might break him with your words has him shaking, and a feeling similar to fear courses heavily through his veins. Please, stop. He wants to go back to running away.

But you continue, as you always have.

“And I’m left not knowing how to feel. I’m so mad at myself for being such a coward and not being able to just get over it like everyone else, and I’m so fucking pissed that I can’t just exist around you like I do for everyone else. I mean, I used to be terrified of Lucifer, too.” Another fragile laugh, and you sweep the hair from your eyes with a shaky hand. Belphegor swallows hard.

“But I… I can’t pretend like nothing happened. As much as I want to be near you, and hug you, and take naps and play pranks on Luci with you… I can’t. I can’t act as if what I feel isn’t real, and what you did didn’t happen. It’s so hard, Belphegor.” You sigh, and finally look at him once more. He can’t meet your gaze, slumped over himself and hugging his pillow so tight to his chest it seems as if he wishes to disappear into it. “Especially because I really, truly want to understand why everyone loves you so much. And I want to love you, too. I want to know why Beel smiles every time you’re brought up in conversation, and I want to smile just the same. But… But right now, I can’t.”

Talking has gotten easier. The words that used to escape you have become accustomed to being used again, and confidence has restored in your gut. You sit a bit straighter as you watch Belphegor carefully, a sad smile lifting your cheeks.

Belphegor knows that this is when he should swoop in, say something so intellectual that you’re caught off guard, and he can save you from… himself. This knowledge does nothing to save him from himself. He can’t even open his mouth to mime a sentence, let alone actually speak. The thought of how pathetic he must look settles under Belphegor’s skin, and he can feel his irritation rising. Not at you though, never at you. Not even when… When it all happened. His anger was misplaced, but he has never been angry at you.

Finally, when the quiet becomes too much, he forces himself to meet your gaze. The way you look at him, just as vulnerable and bare and scared as he is… he feels safe. He knows, even though your words sear his heart, that you never mean to hurt him, especially now. You’re being honest, and simply expect the same from him.

Belphegor inhales a deep breath, before willing himself to speak.

“I thought--” he croaks, and quickly clears his throat. Fuck. “I thought that if… if I could pretend that nothing happened, then I wouldn’t have to face any consequences.”

He curses audibly. Just how pathetic can he sound? Belphegor’s voice is hoarse and quivering, and weak. “Weak” is never a word that he would have used to describe himself, but now it echoes hauntingly against the confines of his skull. One of the most powerful demons in existence, and he finds himself quaking before a mere human. He cares for you, though, and he cares for you viciously. Something in Belphegor knows that he’s never going to be able to prove that to you unless he pushes his way through this.

So he forces himself to continue, even with every cell in his body desperately screaming at him to stop.

“I did what I did out of a place of guilt… and regret. I couldn’t stand the fact that it was because of me, that it was my fault, that I’m the reason that Lilith--”

Belphegor stumbles over his own words, and he sets down his pillow before he accidentally tears a hole through it. Instead he braces himself on the cool floor, in need of something steady to hold onto. This whole conversation shook him to the core. He can hardly believe he’s talking about his sister. She’s a topic that he’s avoided even around Beelzebub…

But if Belphegor ever wants even the possibility that you’ll forgive him, he knows he has to. Everything is on the line. His blunt nails press against the tiles and he focuses on steadying his voice.

“I couldn’t accept that it was my fault.” A newfound steadiness weaves its way around his words, and he finds himself sitting a bit straighter. “I’m the one who introduced her to the human world, and kept bringing her back. I’m the reason she suffered, and why the war started, and why we fell, and why she…” Belphegor coughs. “In the end, I couldn’t accept that I’m the one who killed her.

Your heart yearns to tell him that no, he’s wrong, it’s not all his fault. You know it won’t help right now, though, and that it isn’t your time to speak. Settling back a bit, you let your blanket fall from your shoulders.

Belphegor’s heart stutters, and pounds so hard that he feels like it's trying to tear through his chest. Even so, he doesn’t miss the way your hand reaches out to smooth over his own, and for a moment he feels himself wanting to melt just from the simple touch.

Belphegor pulls away. He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not yet.

“So… So when you said that you’re a descendant of Lilith, I-- I couldn’t help myself. I jumped at the chance to get to know you, learn about what makes you similar and what makes you different. Her blood flows through your veins, and I was quick to ignore what I did in favour of getting to know you, and… and inevitably, becoming just as fond of you as my brothers… but that can’t erase what I did.”

The feeling of understanding floods you and you find yourself nodding at his words. To be completely honest, even now, you’re scared. Your heart beats for many reasons, fear one of them, but you don’t run away. Not anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to even if you wanted to.

Your hand, abandoned next to Belphegor’s, lay dormant. The need to comfort wills you to once again place your hand on his, but you don’t move. When he’s ready, if he ever is, you’ll be there.

Just as he’ll be there for you.

“I killed you, MC. And in doing that, I killed Lilith. Again.”

Countless emotions storm their way through Belphegor’s conscience, despair clawing at his throat, regret snapping his back, and guilt slowly crushing him under its weight. How is it that one can feel so empty, and yet so filled to the brim with misery?

“And not only that, but if I succeeded… I would have completely missed out on getting to know you, and caring about you as much as I do now. It would have been a loss that I never would have understood, but know for a fact that I would have felt. Even… Even when I was proud,” he spits out the word as if it’s poison, “of what I’d done, watching my brothers’ hearts break at the sight of your body… Even then, I felt it. The ache. It’s so fucking stupid.”

His tone, now bubbling with anger, stills you. It’s not directed at you, and you know this, but despite yourself, you freeze. Belphegor notices, and quickly clears his throat, relaxing his shoulders. He allows your heart a moment to slow as he regains his composure, and you find yourself breathing again.

“I know that me saying sorry is never going to cut it.” Belphegor turns his body to fully face you. He’s no longer running from his feelings, or from you. He knows he can’t anymore. Hesitantly, he lifts his trembling hand to place over yours. The muscles in your fingers tense, and he pauses to gauge your reaction. When you slowly nod your head once, he delicately places his hand on yours, using his thumb to gently begin massaging the tension away. “And I know that even if I do everything right from here on out, that there’s a chance that you won’t ever forgive me. And I understand why.”

Your heart sinks at his expression, his gaze locked on your joined hands. As aloof as he normally is, you can see none of that on his face now. When you turn over your hand he quickly pulls away, but your shaky movements to bring his hand back and intertwine your fingers urges him to go on.

“But I want to try. And really try this time. I want you to be honest with how you feel, whether I’m frustrating you or scaring you or anything like that, and… and I want to be honest with you too. I…”

Belphegor trails off, but you squeeze his hand. He draws in a slow breath.

“No matter what happens, no matter how you feel, we’re stuck together for the next few months. I want to spend that time getting to know you, and I want us to be as close as you are with any of my brothers… but I also want you to know that you shouldn’t feel forced. If it’s ever too much, I need you to tell me, and I promise I’ll back off.”

The smallest of smiles makes its way onto your face as you quietly agree. Belphegor doesn’t allow himself to try and figure out if it's genuine, out of pity, or sadness, but in spite of everything, it makes him feel a bit lighter. Just a bit.

“This won’t fix everything right away,” you say, and he now knows that your smile is a combination of the three. Along with this, though, Belphegor also knows the small sparkle in your eyes is hope, and he’s willing to take that hope and nurture it for however long he must.

“I know,” he sighs, but even he can feel the small tilt of a smile on his face, “but I’m willing to take as much time as you need to decide how you feel about me. And… And if you decide you hate me, which is fair, and that you never want to even be in the same room as me, I’ll respect your wishes.

Until then...Until you decide that you really, truly hate me, I won’t stop trying.”

There’s no way of telling how long his words linger in the air around the two of you, circling around your heads and making their way through your body. Even so, Belphegor diligently watches you, wanting to make sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. He even contemplates letting go of you, but is reassured when slowly, almost unnoticeably, you begin smoothing out the lines on the back of his hand with your thumb.

As much as you want to tell him that you could never hate him, you also know you can’t promise anything. Still, for now, just as much as him, you’re willing to try. You stay in silence, more comfortable than you’ve ever been in his presence, gently caressing the hand held in your own.

Eventually, Belphegor clears his throat once more. The vulnerability has made him tense and rendered his voice weak.

“Can… can you hug me?” He all but whispers, fragility making his body quiver once more. He was completely open about his feelings for the first time in a lifetime, and the intensity of it left him craving affection. He knows how unfair this is to you, but he can’t help himself. He wishes to be held, for his fears to be quelled by someone so much stronger than him. “If you don’t want to,” he falters, speaking quickly, insecurely, “I won't even touch you. I-If you do, I promise I can keep my hands behind my back, and I won’t even--”

His words end abruptly as he feels you release his hand, and his heart sinks. He debates running away again, until he hears you moving towards him, and he finds he’s frozen in place. Slowly, but surely, with more courage circulating through your veins than you’ve had all night, you make your way over the blankets that divide you and position yourself right next to Belphegor, pulling him into your chest. Even now, he can feel how quickly, persistently your heart races, and yet you stay. True to his word, Belphegor rests his hands on the ground behind his back, but he doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling into your chest… and he cries. The complete, uninhibited release of his emotions hit him like a truck, and he sobs heavily into you, tears slowly but surely staining your shirt. You adjust yourself so you can hold him closer, slowly and reassuringly rubbing his back as he lets go of everything he’s been holding on to for longer than you can even imagine. This is a man who’s run from his emotions for centuries, and the fact that he’s willing to face them for your sake comforts you, cradles your heart and presses gentle kisses against the cracks. You know that you’re not going to wake up tomorrow with everything okay, but for now… for now you’re comfortable with his touch. Heaving in a deep, steadying breath, you reach down just enough to take Belphegor’s arms, and guide them to rest his hands on your hips. At this silent permission, he slowly, delicately wraps his arms around your waist, despite craving your body closer, wanting to hold you tight and never let go. He cradles you like you’re made of the most brittle glass, and you smile. The gesture touches your heart, and… and you feel safe. You know that all he wants to do is embrace you as tight as he can, but he doesn’t, even with permission.

Here, in Belphegor’s arms, you feel safe. Here, where Belphegor’s grip on you is so gentle that it wouldn’t even crumple paper, you feel loved. As he cries into your chest, holding you as if you were an antique, hope slowly fills your heart.

Everything is far from perfect, but it’s still on the right track, here in the quiet planetarium.

1K notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 3 years

Text

ana’s bnha x reader masterlist

first updated 11.17.20 last updated 07.13.21 desktop version found here bkdk masterlist: desktop | mobile

fics [38] drabbles [13]

Thanks for dropping by! I want to note that I no longer write x reader and instead am writing bakudeku shipfic. So! By all means, read, like, comment on my fics here! But I can't recommend that you follow me unless you like bakudeku. Hope you enjoy your time here regardless! <3

legend:

character x character

Title w/ link | [rating] | word count | genre

Synopsis

ratings are bracketed: e.g. [g], [t], [m], [e]

[g] - appropriate for general audiences [t] - appropriate for audiences 13+ [m] - contains non-graphic adult themes [e] - explicit, 18+ readers only

🌸 = personal faves

characters x reader: no ship (1), aizawa (2), bakugou (12), endeavor (1), iida (2), kaminari (1), kirishima (4), midoriya (7), shinsou (2), todoroki (19)

Everything is in alphabetical order <3

no ship

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

The results are in and your class is all with you as you process the results

aizawa x reader

Stress Relief | [e] | 3k | smut

There's a new regulation that forces you to take an extra class before you can graduate college. When you learn that Eraserhead is teaching the class, you’re a little more interested.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

Aizawa reminds that you were prepared for this and, together, you can handle it.

bakugou x reader

Can’t Find My Breath | [e] | 4.2k | smut 🌸

At the beginning of the day, Ground Zero was just another hero you wrote articles about. Now it’s nighttime and you’ve just left a bar together. Companion to The Rest with No Sound

Christmas Cold | [g] | 1k | fluff

You and Katsuki manage to make it to your parents' house for the holidays, but you've come down with a little cold.

Doing Something Right | [e] | 1.8k | smut

You’re pregnant and happily enjoying domestic bliss when Katsuki comes in, unable to resist you.

Frustration | [e] | 3.1k | smut

request. After a long day of work, Katsuki comes home frustrated and you, suffering from a different kind of frustration yourself, know exactly what will help you both.

Gorgeous | [e] | 1.5k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. When you have a negative response to Katsuki touching you in a moment of insecurity, he intends to do whatever he can to alleviate your fears.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

Magic | [e] | 2.2k | smut

request. Katsuki comes home early and catches you...taking care of yourself.

Miniskirts | [e] | 0.8k | smut 🌸

After a long day, Katsuki takes a shower and his thoughts turn to you.

On the Job | [e] | 4.5k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You.

The Rest with No Sound | [t] | 8.5k | slow burn, fluff 🌸

Bakugou thinks that people who wake up not remembering where they are are idiots. This is confirmed when it happens to him, head aching from a night of drinking. Idiot. But when he looks over, and sees you there, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything. So he has to gather the scattered pieces from the day before to figure out exactly how he ended up with you. Companion to Can’t Find My Breath

Stay | [g] | 2.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

ask. The last thing you want to do on a rough day is worry Bakugou with your problems. So you try to hide it. You should have known better.

Steamy | [e] | 2.7k | smut

request. You're a pro hero, rising in the ranks and, happy though he is for you, Katsuki's old jealousy begins to roil. After you've been paraded around all evening as one of Japan's finest, Katsuki finds himself feeling more than a little possessive, and can't help himself from taking you as his.

Steel and Lace | [e] | 3.8k | smut

The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

endeavor x reader

When the Smoke Clears | [e] | 17.4k | slow burn, smut

Soulmate AU. After his battle with Hawks against Hood, Endeavor wakes up in the hospital to find that a young doctor saved his life, their quirk being able to counteract the negative effects of his own. His first thought is that he has to talk to you–you might be able to fix the drawbacks of his quirk. His second thought is oh no, not again.

iida x reader

Broken Glass | [g] | 1.8k | fluff, mild comfort

request. In a quirk-related accident you find yourself surrounded by shattered glass. Worst of all, most of that glass is from every single pair of your boyfriend’s glasses.

Flotsam, Jetsam, Lagan, and Derelict | [g] | 1.5k | hurt/comfort

ask. Trying to hide a panic attack from your boyfriend isn’t easy when he’s right next to you. But you’re determined to suffer alone.

kaminari x reader

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

You share your unsteady hope with Kaminari.

kirishima x reader

Silhouette | [e] | 1.8k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. Before a gala, you’re stuck in the mirror, caught on all your old body insecurities. Kiri comes in and loves you regardless.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

We’ll See | [g] | 6.3k | gen, light romance 🌸

demisexual!Reader. After a fateful meeting, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you fear the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to.

What We Look For | [t] | 15.5 | slow burn

Last time, you and Kirishima became friends—nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being something more sounds nice. But you can’t. You just can’t. So you won’t. Whatever happens will be on your own terms. Sequel to We'll See

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Kirishima freaks out while you experience a numb calm. You meet in the middle.

midoriya x reader

Bad Days | [g] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

Izuku helps you get out of bed.

Sunlight | [e] | 2.1k | smut 🌸

request. An early afternoon in bed with your husband, Izuku.

Surprised, Just Once | [e] | 5k | smut

request. You were planning on just another predictable night out with the girls. What you got was much, much more.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.3k | hurt/comfort

Izuku holds you close while you watch the results.

Multiple unrelated oneshots with Deku with an s/o with an eating disorder | ask

Gratitude | [t] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

After having been with Izuku a while, you’re suffering a relapse and he helps you through with some gratitude practices on date night.

Picnic | [t] | 1.8k | hurt/comfort

Izuku surprises you with a picnic on your second date, much to your horror.

A Start | [t] | 1.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

You ask Izuku for help when you realize you need it.

Trust Yourself | [t] | 2.3k | hurt/comfort

Shortly after moving in together, Izuku learns of your struggles and tries his best to comfort and encourage you.

shinsou x reader

Passing the Night Stars | [g] | 3.2k | hurt/comfort

The party was neon and you needed darkness.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Shinsou helps you prioritize yourself.

todoroki x reader

All Dressed Up | [e] | 4.6k | smut 🌸

quarantine fic. It’s been months since you’ve dressed up, felt pretty, and felt seen by anyone. Your husband’s birthday is a perfect excuse to get all dressed up. And then take it right off.

All the Wasted Time | [e] | 3.2k | smut, fluff

Three months ago, you’d been ripped from Shouto’s side with something less than a love confession, something more than a show of feelings. Now that you’re back, you’re eager to make up for lost time. Siberia sequel, First Snow prequel

Bad Days | [g] | 0.9k | hurt/comfort 🌸

Shouto comforts you when your demons arrive unexpectedly.

First Snow | [g] | 2.2k | fluff

A year after the events in Siberia, you and Shouto are happily together, and it’s the first snow of the year. Siberia and All the Wasted Time sequel

On the Job | [e] | 3.4k | smut 🌸

You. Sequel to On the Job (Bakugou); can be read alone

Siberia | [e] | 13.8k | pining/angst, smut, fluff 🌸

On the field, you and Todoroki are rising stars amongst hero pairings. Off the field…you’re kind of in love with him. After a successful capture, you’re boss brings you in to let you know you’re being sent on assignment in foreign country…alone. Before you leave, you have to act. You’re not partners anymore, after all. And with a little liquid courage you do. Then, the next morning, you still have to leave. All the Wasted Time and First Snow prequel.

Worth it | [t] | 0.3k | gen

The morning after with your boyfriend, Shouto.

2021 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.5k | hurt/comfort

The stress of election day comes back swiftly during the Georgia runoff and Todoroki’s quick to notice.

all works below are within the world of the a spare heart series:

A series about a fem, American reader who had to transfer to U.A. partway through second year. You’re there to become a hero, that much is obvious, but why else did you come? And, more importantly, what—or who—makes you stay?

timeline

may, year two:

- reader finishes junior year of American high school early

- reader transfers to u.a. from the united states

The Meeting | [g] | 0.1k | gen

Reader meets Tokoyami for the first time. Sequel to first impressions from my wip list

Hollow Victory | [g] | 9.6k | gen, action

chapter 1 | chapter 2

You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. No one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on and you have the advantage: surprise.

june, year two:

Illiterate | [g] | 2.1k | fluff, comfort

Being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks.

sequels

The Offering | [g] | 0.4k | fluff, gen.

The Mission (Shouto POV) | [g] | 0.3k | fluff, gen., silly

september, year two:

Impetus | [g] | 2.1k | friendship

Ever since Shinsou found out what your quirk was, the two of you have been each other’s best friends and confidantes. But when he turns a casual training session into a tease over your supposed crush on someone in your class, that trust might just break.

january, year two:

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive | [g] | 1.2k | fluff, comfort

You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps.

sequels

The Questions (drabble) | [g] | 0.1k | gen.

The Sweetness (double drabble) | [g] | 0.2k | fluff, comfort

february, year three:

Between Fear and Guilt | [t] | 2.5k | light angst, comfort

You and Shouto only started being intimate a couple months back, but you’re already experiencing a dry spell. Today you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

fifteen years after graduation

Something Perfect | [e] | 3.7k | smut, fluff

After years of questioning if Shouto would ever want children, he’s finally decided that he really does. Overjoyed, the two of you decide to get started.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #deku x reader #iida x reader #ida x reader #kirishima x reader #aizawa x reader #shinsou x reader #endeavor x reader

794 notes · View notes

pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 3 years

Text

Gravity | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 2764

A/N: I’ve had this one in my WIP doc mostly finished for a while now, I’m so happy i’m finally putting it out in the world!

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR 09x23 AND 09x24, violence, hospitals, general CM stuff

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

You pulled in with Derek and heard gunshots at your arrival. You jumped out of the SUV, simultaneously unholstering your gun and moving into a better position, catching Spencer ducking behind the door of the Sheriff’s car out of the corner of your eye. With your best friend in check, you turned back to the direction of the gunfire and started pulling the trigger.

Between gunfire you heard Spencer yell, with Morgan shouting slightly after. You had to assume they were ok, because your eyes couldn’t leave the vague movement of the preacher inside the diner. Morgan then came from behind you, JJ on his heels as they moved towards the building. You followed the pair, gun drawn in front of you.

Morgan entered the diner first, and as if in slow motion he was knocked down by bullets hitting his vest. As you returned fire at the preacher, you made a brief mental note to check if Spencer was wearing his own kevlar when you met up with him next. You loved the genius, but he had a really terrible habit of taking off the protective gear when he was in bad situations.

You had to focus up as the preacher ran, your small team following him then clearing each twist and turn of the building he tried to hide in. You hit the floor when you were shot at again, feeling the cool concrete against your cheek. Morgan was able to take out the suspect, breathing heavily once the local police joined you.

“One of your own is in bad shape,” she said. You flickered your eyes to Morgan, who nodded outside before moving back towards the diner quickly.

“Do you know who it is?” you asked harshly.

His reply, a gentle “kid…” was the only answer you needed. You increased your pace to get back to the flashing lights, scanning the crowd for your best friend. You saw Blake first and figured she was a good place to start.

“Alright, Derek, you should go get that looked at,” JJ directed, touching his shoulder gently before grabbing your wrist tightly, “we’ll meet you there.”

An officer came over to tell your group how to get to the hospital and as he spoke JJ’s grip never loosened.

“Thanks,” she said, starting to walk towards the SUV with you in tow. You were still frantically looking around for Spencer, finally catching a glimpse of him being loaded into the back of an ambulance as JJ lightly tugged you in the other direction.

“Wait, I have to go with him,” you said, resisting her pull.

“We’re meeting him there,” JJ’s hand made contact with your other wrist. You knew she was expecting you to bolt, to run towards the one person you knew you couldn’t live without.

“I can’t leave him.”

“Derek is with him. Derek won’t let anything happen,” you didn’t get how she could be so calm when his life was in danger. Of anyone on the team, she should understand how you feel.

“Let’s go, then,” you plopped yourself into the passenger seat, letting JJ drive. You didn’t know what had happened between Spencer and Blake, but you could tell she was feeling guilty about it. Though you really liked the older woman, you found yourself getting increasingly frustrated as you sat across the waiting room from her watching the way she gripped at the bag of Spencer’s personal belongings.

Your fuming only became more ferocious when you heard her tell JJ how Spencer had pushed her out of the way. You weren’t sure who you were more angry at, Blake for having to be pushed out of the way or Spencer for being so… Spencer and choosing to put himself in danger to save her.

Garcia’s arrival made things marginally better for you. She tried to convince Blake to rejoin the team, and when that failed Penelope sat down next to the chair you were curled up in and handed you a figurine.

“You look like you could use some help from the Doctor right now,” she said gently as you turned the plastic toy in your hands.

“Thanks… Chris Eccleston isn’t quite the doctor I’d like to see right now, but he’s a close second,” you tried to give her your best smile.

You pocketed the figure when you were finally allowed into Spencer’s room, resuming your folded position with your arms around your knees in a chair in the corner. Penelope set up the remaining figurines on the small tray in front of Spencer, a gesture that made your insides feel just a bit warmer.

“It should have been me,” it took you a minute to register that Blake was talking to you.

“I know,” you gritted your teeth and exhaled, knowing it did the team no good for you to be angry with her at this moment.

“I’ll stay with him if you want to go back to the team. I’m sure they could use your intuition on this one.”

“Oh, I don’t leave when he’s in the hospital unless he tells me to himself.”

“Right, you’ve been in this position before,” she remembered.

“More times than I would like to admit. Sometimes I wish it could be me for once, he’s been through enough already…” you trailed off. If Alex had something to say it was interrupted by the doctor coming in to check Spencer’s stats.

You didn’t truly settle until Spencer woke up, although you silently hovered in the corner while he talked with Alex and Penelope went to get him some form of food. Your mood improved even more when Spencer convinced Alex to rejoin the team.

“You should go too, they need you,” he rasped, turning his head slightly to get a better look at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm,” he shifted to get more comfortable, grimacing in pain as he did so, “Garcia’s here.”

Penelope gave you a reassuring smile that made you feel a little bit better. If you trusted anyone to stay in the hospital with Spencer, it was Penelope.

“Fine, but call me or Morgan if anything happens, ok?” You had a feeling something shady was going on and leaving him so vulnerable made you uneasy. Penelope reassured you once again that everything would be fine and practically pushed you out the door after Alex.

You could have cut the tension between you and Blake in the elevator with a knife as you headed back out to the SUV.

“(y/n),” she started softly once you were in the privacy of the vehicle. Your efforts to hold your composure started to falter.

“I don’t want to hear how sorry you are. Honestly, Alex, sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. Sorry doesn’t even begin to make up for how the most important person in my life almost died because of you.”

“He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.”

“No, I’m lucky to have someone like him,” you corrected, “if he had died tonight I would have been the one to tell his mom. Not you, not Hotch, me. You don’t get what that will do to her, so I’d suggest you get over whatever complex you have so we can keep him as safe as possible.”

“I understand.” You both stayed silent until you pulled into the station. Somehow a silent agreement was made between you and you walked into the building as if there was no tension. It was the right move, because you could tell something was up when you rejoined the team. Rossi offered to take Blake for a ride to go get Dinah’s son and fill her in.

“Kid, you’re with me,” Morgan nodded down a vacant hallway. You followed him, listening to him tell you a random story about the dinner he and Savannah had ordered the other night, until you were out of earshot of anyone else and he ducked into an empty storage room, “start looking through the files. The force is corrupt, you get me?”

“Yeah, what am I looking for?”

“Anything.” You nodded, pulling open the first cabinet. Derek found the first piece of helpful information, snapping a picture just as the doorknob rattled. You instinctually hit the floor, pulling Morgan along with you and into the first hidey-hole you could find. Heart pounding, you listened to the steps of the person who had entered. Morgan was pressed between you and the wall, eyes practically boring holes into your skull. You chose not to look at him, instead focusing on keeping your breathing as even and shallow as possible.

When the officer finally left, you transferred your grip from Morgan’s arm to your gun, cautiously revealing yourself. If you weren’t going to be at the hospital with Spencer, you had to make yourself useful in some other regard. You deemed the room clear, then signaled to Morgan to follow you.

“How did you do that?” he asked as you were slipping out of the door.

“Do what?” you dismissed.

“You melted into that corner. I swear he looked right at us.”

“He probably did,” you shrugged, “are you going to call Garcia? You found something, right?” He sighed, shaking his head and putting his phone to his ear.

“He’s right there isn’t he?” Derek’s tone changed drastically when he was talking to Penelope. You immediately turned away, trying to get to where your jacket was without drawing too much attention to yourself. You pulled the SUV keys out of your pocket as subtly as you could, then pulled a pen out as well and made more of a show about bringing the pen back to Derek, just in case anyone was watching you. As soon as you reached him you both walked calmly towards the door and out to the vehicle.

“What did you tell Garcia?” you couldn’t handle not knowing what was going on at the hospital, so as soon as you were safely in the SUV you demanded answers.

“She’s taking Reid into the hallway and pulling the fire alarm so they get lost in the crowd until we get there,” you didn’t say anything, instead just looking out the window and willing Derek to drive faster, “they’re going to be ok.”

“I should have been there, Derek. He told me to leave so I listened, but if I was there we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t blame yourself for this. You both didn’t know dirty cops were involved when you made the choice to leave, and if you hadn’t left then I would have gotten caught in that file room. Even if you were there, you’d need backup and I wouldn’t have been able to get there in time to give it to you. You made the right call, and now we’re going to help them. Don’t you go doubting yourself on me now, kid.”

He had a point, you knew, but it didn’t change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be in that hospital room protecting your friend when he couldn’t protect himself. Derek didn’t say anything else, instead calling Garcia to confirm that they were still safe and to let her know that you were five minutes out.

When Derek pulled up to the hospital you jumped out of the SUV and started running up the stairs to the floor where Spencer’s room was, flashing your credentials to anyone who looked like they might stop you. You heard the gunshot from the stairwell, drawing your own gun as you made it to the floor, Derek on your heels.

Seeing the way Garcia and Spencer were looking at the man on the floor broke your heart. Garcia wasn’t trained for this, she actively avoided looking at the goriest crime scenes and often emailed you photos of kittens when she noticed you working longer hours than normal. Penelope Garcia was a woman you loved very much, but Penelope Garcia was also a woman who should never have to have a gun in her hands.

Spencer seemed to share the sentiment, you noticed the way he put his hands on hers to lower the weapon onto the bed. You took it from them and stuck it in the back of your belt, checking both of them over quickly to make sure they weren’t hurt while Spencer filled you in on what had happened. He looked and sounded exhausted, even more so than you would expect from someone who had been shot in the neck hours prior.

“(y/n),” Derek nodded towards the hallway after he finished cuffing the man Garcia had shot.

“This was a distraction,” you reasoned. He nodded, confirming your theory.

“I’m going to call JJ and see where they want me next, are you coming or staying?”

You didn’t have to think about it, you knew where you were needed most, “I’ll stay here with them, just in case someone else tries to finish the job.”

“Are you sure?” you appreciated that Derek was double checking your choice to stay back from the action.

“I can’t leave him again, not like this. As badass as Penelope was protecting him, I don’t think she’s in the right mind to do it again.”

Derek half smirked at your comment, “keep them safe.”

“Call if you need me,” you called after him as he walked away.

You reentered Spencer’s room, immediately met by Penelope’s relieved smile.

“You’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying, I have all of the guns,” you half joked, pulling a chair up to the end of Spencer’s bed. You perched on top of it, feet on the seat and facing the door. You ignored Spencer’s comments that you were overreacting every time you questioned and searched the nurses that came into the room, but Penelope echoed your reasoning that you couldn’t be too careful.

Hotch called you when they took down the unsub, and Penelope took it upon herself to arrange Spencer’s discharge from the hospital. You sat on the floor next to the couch where Spencer was sleeping on the jet, mindlessly flipping through a book you found in his bag. It was in Russian, so you didn’t know what the words were saying but the shapes of the letters were beautiful and soothing to your tired eyes. More than once, Cruz offered you his seat, but every time you politely declined.

After the jet landed, Blake insisted on helping Spencer get home. You didn’t want to say anything, Spencer didn’t need to be involved in the frustrations you still felt about Blake. You would be honest with him if he asked, of course, but you weren’t going to tell him on your own fruition.

“(y/n), are you coming?” Spencer surprised you by inviting you along too.

“Sure,” you shrugged, though your brow furrowed, “is Blake not…?” you trailed off.

Spencer looked at you with the most pure innocence, “she is, but you still want to watch all of the Doctor Who Christmas specials, right?”

“Of course, Spence,” you couldn’t help but smile, picking up your go bag and following him and Blake out of the airport. You still kept to yourself, clearly something had happened between them when Spencer had gotten shot that they had to talk about. Your suspicions were confirmed when he asked about Ethan and Blake started telling her story.

It was a moment between them that you didn’t want to interrupt, Blake walking out of the door to Spencer’s apartment before you got the chance to say something. You followed her out quickly, catching her in the stairwell.

“Blake,” you panted, “the things I said about telling Spencer’s mom if he died… I didn’t know-”

“You were just looking out for him, it’s alright,” she was calm, more accepting of your frantic outburst than you expected.

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly.

“It’s alright,” she repeated, “goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight, Alex,” you watched her walk down the rest of the steps, then rejoined Spencer in his apartment. He was standing by the window, watching Alex hail a cab.

“She’s leaving,” he said, still looking out the window.

“Did you want to invite her to watch Doctor Who with us?”

“She’s leaving the BAU,” he clarified, stepping away from the window and closing the curtain. He crossed to his bag and held up her badge and credentials for you to see.

“She’s going to be ok,” you decided, “are you?”

“Going to be ok?” you nodded, “yeah, I think so. Which Christmas special would you like to watch first?”

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #platonic imagine #platonic soulmates

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chyrstis · 3 years

Text

WIP Sunday!

Got a few ideas here to share for sure! @jackiesarch @starsandskies and @fadedjacket were all kind enough to tag me throughout the week (thank you all! <3) and usually if Fridays aren’t able to work, Sundays definitely do.

Tagging: @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @hunnybadgerv @shallow-gravy @painterofhorizons @ma-sulevin @tommymillers @nightwingshero @princess-underthemountain @chazz-anova @faithchel @consumedkings @vasiktomis @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @aceghosts but no worries or obligation intended at all!

First, a little Trap fic, maybe? And maybe I’ll get this chapter done today too? *crosses fingers hard*

---

Now she’d messed around with a few things when she was younger. Played some pranks, knew her way around a few locks, and tried making a cherry bomb or two when one of her friends wanted to piss off an asshole that had been tormenting them, but hadn’t fully committed to dabbling in it more than that. Especially since the last thing she needed her mom to find at random on her after coming home was a set of improvised explosives.

But this wasn’t exactly the same situation, and the improvised explosives that Hurk affectionately dubbed ‘party favors’ had a hell of a lot more bang to them than any cherry bomb she’d put her hands on. Enough to throw Hana down to the bed of the truck she was standing in after pitching one towards a nearby billboard, and couldn’t stop cackling the minute she caught what was left of it.

So she might’ve made a mental note to get together with him and Sharky later on to make a few more of these, because at this rate it wasn’t just about getting their people home safe and doing the Resistance a solid.

She could have fun with this. A hell of a lot of fun, she decided as she gave the charred remains of John’s message the finger on the way out.

And two silos, and one ruined roadblock later, they were all feeling pretty good about the hell they were raising. Took turns behind the wheel and with Gina - with Hurk’s enthusiastic blessing, of course - and Hana almost held her breath until the call finally came through. That the other tanker had reached Fall’s End safely, and once they’d shaken the lats few cultists that were tailing them, headed on home.

But that was it.

The only call that she received, even after managing to score a bullseye shot at another one of John’s billboards, tagging him right in the middle of his smarmy face.

---

And how about some more Hana/Sharky nonsense too? Since this idea’s coming along pretty well, it’s just a matter of getting these two to hush up for a bit so I can have a chance to actually finish it. (not that I’m discouraging them /at all/ here)

---

“You two really mean a lot to each other, huh? It’s nice.” She took one look at the dwindling cigarette in her hand and held it out to him.

“Yeah, we give each other shit, and I might’ve told him to take a ride to hell on a lubed up slip n’ slide after he said he liked having me around just to have skeeters divebomb me instead of him, but…there’s nothing mean behind it, you know?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I get it.”

“He’s my bro. Don’t got anyone else like him around, though you’re getting pretty close, so…” She saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and quickly took the cigarette after that. “How about you, H? You got any family outside of here?”

“No.”

The answer slipped out so easily it left her stunned for a second. In fact, the last time she’d even gotten into family history had been back with Whitehorse, and even then he’d been able to read her discomfort from a mile away.

But here as she looked over at Sharky, it didn’t seem like such a bad thing to consider.

“I…there were a couple of people that counted for a while, but no. No huge family, no white picket fence, all of that jazz. Just me, my mom, and one of the most boring sedans on earth. Cruising from city to city seeing which one would be the one to work for us.”

She cracked a smile as she remembered the chips in its paint. The fabric of the seats, the sound of the radio and her mother flipping through stations until music started filtering through the static. How she’d try singing along to it while holding the map in front of her, unsure whether to keep her legs folded under her, or to stretch them out.

“I loved that old piece of junk with all of my heart, even when it kept on trying to die on us, and the day we finally had to sell it off, I was inconsolable for a week. Cried and fussed and didn’t even want to look at anything else, because that was-I think that was the closest thing to a home that we had, if that makes any sense.”

“Let’s see.” Sharky raised his fingers and started ticking them off. “You got four walls and a set of doors and windows. Keeps you warm when it’s cold, and cold when it’s hot, and you can hide and store shit whenever you want,” he pointed out, grinning at her. “Plus, it’s on wheels, which is pretty badass when you wanna go somewhere and ain’t got much else, and a winnie’s as good a home as any other, so I’d say that all counts.“

He held out the cigarette to her. Hadn’t even used it after taking it, and it took a few seconds for that to sink in as she looked at him.

But she returned the smile. Tilted her head towards him as she took the cigarette back, and raised an eyebrow. “You really think so?”

“I know so, H. Think I spent more Sundays down in my old car than any of the Peggies did with Broseph, and we’d be in it in now if I hadn’t packed it full of C4 and launched it at some Angels.” He sighed. “Might’ve shed more than a tear or two once the smoke cleared and the fire really started, but if I had to pick a way to send it off, that’s a top fucking choice right there.”

“Really? That’s - that’s how it went?”

Sharky whistled as his arm swung down in an arc, only to spread both of his hands out after.

A giggle burst out of her. Had her clapping a hand to her mouth as she visualized it, and almost couldn’t stop.

“…You know what? I really can’t argue with that.”

#wip #this is probably still rough around the edges #but I've been having a lot of fun digging into both of these #especially since it won't take long for thing to go pear shaped for her once things kick off #like the actual statue takedown which I've wanted to tackle for over a year now too #and I want to write so much more with her running around with Sharky and Hurk

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katie-writes24 · 3 years

Text

Fell Into The Same Arms

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, implied material, angst, a sliver of fluff, and injured reader.

Part 2

You know what, this is on me, because I was on Pinterest YET AGAIN and came across prompts that made me want to vent!!! So here is this!! Also, I’m really struggling with this one WIP and I jsut wanted to post soemthing, so I don’t even really know if this is “finished” yet. Let me know if you want to be tagged, and give me some feedback. I apologize in advance if I hurt your heart! But...it’ll be worth it I swear!

Rain was in the forecast the entire weekend, and it didn't seem to stop anytime soon on Monday. It took a toll on traffic, that was for sure; the roads were starting to flood and the bus routes were changed unexpectedly. The streets were in no shape for anyone to be out.

But Y/N didn't pay no matter to that. Instead, she kept walking, despite the throbbing in her thigh and the blisters on the back of her heels. She ignored the piercing feeling in her back when she tensed. That pain in the back of her head: didn't bother her. Not now, not when she's in the wet streets alone at night, having someplace to be.

Another lie. It was someplace she needed to be, and maybe she wasn't welcomed, but she had no other option. Every other door that used to be open was now closed after comments like you're better than this and don't come crying to me when I'll only say I told you so were thrown at her.

Y/N should be getting her keys out to unlock her apartment door, heading to the shower and ignoring the worried cries from Hercules. She could even be knocking on the screen door and letting Eliza draw her a bath while they sipped on hot tea. Hell, she was even considering jumping the gate and climbing up to John's window and letting him hold her as she cried herself to sleep.

What was she doing instead? Knocking on the hardwood door in front of her, not knowing what the outcome ahead would be.

Seconds felt like hours before the door was opened quickly, only going so far as the small chain up top would let it. She was met with brown orbs, in a flash they were wide in shock.

She couldn't blame him.

She could only imagine what she looked like, it obviously wasn't a pretty sight if the feeling in her bones had any say in it. But something told her that her appearance was not why he had the reaction.

At this point Y/N believed that he was, in fact, in shock because it's still pouring rain and she can feel her limbs start to grow numb from the cold. He's still staring at her with that look...

"I didn't know where else to go," Her voice sounded raspy even to her, and she guessed it was loud enough for him to hear, considering he shut the door before the sound of a latch being pulled again was heard, and he fully opened the door.

He looked good; dressed in his pajamas, but still good, considering the last time she saw him. He looked fresh out the shower, and she took that as a sign that he didn't have company over.

Thomas hated leaving people waiting. Something they didn't share in common, apparently.

He stepped aside and Y/N didn't waste a second before stepping into the warm house.

"Just- wait a second," Thomas walked down the hallway, soon returning with a towel that he laid across the floor. "Don't want to ruin my floors."

She snorted. Still the same stuck up she remembers. "Could you spare one for me, you think?"

"I was actually going to offer you a shower, and maybe help you patch things up. Looks like you need it," He gestured to her head, which had a small gash, or at least that's what it felt like.

"That'd be nice," She cleared her throat once more, removing her shoes. She stopped after stripping of her jacket, standing awkwardly and hoping to give the man a hint.

Instead, he scoffed and went down the hall again. "It's not like I haven't seen it all before. Just leave your clothes on the towel, I'll throw them in the dryer."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but did as he said. She quickly walked to the bathroom and stepped into the tub. It all looked the same, including the bottle of shampoo he bought her months ago, still in the same spot.

She cleared her throat, mentally shaking herself clear of those warming thoughts.

A few minutes after she turned on the water, she heard a knock on the door, his silhouette behind the curtain.

"I brought a towel, and some fresh clothes," There was some shuffling before he sighed loudly. "Did you eat? Can I get you something?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Y/N cut him short, trying to ignore his caring need that he normally hid from the public. She wasn't any different, not anymore.

"Well, knowing you, you probably had a large coffee this morning and called it a day. And I'm not quite sure what you got yourself into yet, but I'm sure it didn't happen over a meal." Thomas sounded so sure of himself, and damn him for knowing her so well. Her silence gave it away, and he soon clicked his tongue in assurance. "I'll make you something quick."

There was no resisting the water in her eyes. Pain expanded all over her body, she had an excuse. Plus, he couldn't see her get emotional behind the curtain, and there would be no tear tracks on her cheeks later.

It might seem odd to others, to those who see Thomas as a public figure, a politician. He carries power, and never lets anyone outside these doors see his vulnerability. To them, he is a man with high standards and a precise wardrobe.

But she knew the real Thomas.

He was sensitive, caring for others, acting like he was just now. The newspaper titles were full of shit, they didn't have any right to criticize him because that wasn't the real him.

Of course he was passionate about his job and position, but they didn't know what Thomas acted like in the morning. They didn't know what Thomas's favorite meal to have when he's had a long day was. About his constant need to have a book to read before he goes to sleep, no matter what time it is. About what he looked like when he was in complete bliss, when he was really happy....

No, Y/N knew though.

She reached for the shower handle, turning the knob on the cold setting. She finished up washing her hair as quick as she could, then carefully dabbed her body with a washcloth, avoiding direct open wounds.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a rather large t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/N found Thomas at the table. He was standing over scattered papers, rubbing his chin softly as he thinks to himself.

While he's distracted, she takes in the house, knowing she really shouldn't, it will only hurt her or, worse, make former feelings reappear. But she can't help but look over to the wall beside him, where dozens of picture frames line up in a pattern. Some are of his parents, some of Thomas and James, there's even a group photo of his colleagues standing before Washington. She remembers how excited Thomas was that day, to finally be getting the recognition he deserves.

She also remembers that there used to be a frame below it, one that held two photos of Y/N and Thomas, holding hands, smiling. She remembers that the photographer wanted their hands close to the lens, getting a good capture of piece of jewelry that looked so simple, but held so much promise.

Was suppose to hold so much promise.

Should she really be sad that he took it down? Y/N didn't deserve to feel angry or disappointed that it wasn't hanging on the wall, to be a constant reminder to anyone that walked by of what used to be.

"Food should be ready soon. I just put it in the oven to warm up." She jumped as she was released from her thoughts, Thomas now looking over at her.

"Thanks," He soon walked over to her, only feet away when he lifted up his hand. She instantly flinched, swallowing hard as she realized what she did.

Thomas slowly put his hand down, looking at her with wide eyes. "I wasn't going to-"

"I know," Her voice was shaky, but she held a hard expression, looking at the floor.

Nodding, Thomas cleared his throat before heading to the bathroom, moments later coming out with a tube of ointment. "Let's get you cleaned up?"

Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just Y/N's luck. Whatever it may be, she would never stop thanking whoever was watching over her that she got to feel Thomas's soft touch once again.

Yes, maybe she'd like it better if it was under different circumstances, but she was appreciative of the light touch he had against her head, one hand holding it still while the other gently dabbed the cream against her bruises.

The quiet was disturbed when he winced at the scrape right above her hip. There was no hiding it; it was already layered in dried blood, purple outlining the crevice of the soon-to-be scar. Thomas shook his head slightly, and she didn't know if it was from shock or disappointment.

Once he cleared the wound completely, Thomas pressed his thumb against her hip bone, rubbing her skin in soothing motions. Y/N smiled sadly.

"Can you stop, for one goddamn second, and just talk about this?"

"I can't, Thomas! You don't understand why, but I just can't-"

"Do you know why I stick around? Do you care about what I have to say? Don't you know that I love you? I would do anything for you, Y/N, why can't you trust me on that?"

"I do! I trust you with my life, Thomas! That's the problem!" The room grew silent, Thomas forming a sudden frown, eyes teary.

Her own were wet, as well. Vulnerability was not her thing, so Y/N quickly turned around, not bearing to see his reaction.

Lost in her own self deprecating thoughts, she felt a hand on her hip. His long fingers began stroking her bone, her skin lighting on fire every under the fabric of her underwear. Somehow, the simple touch completely broke her, letting out a shaky sob. Thomas wrapped his free arm around her chest, grounding her. Y/N allowed her own arms to grab at his as she shook.

“We’ll get through it,” Thomas whispered, his own voice a bit shaky. “Together.”

There used to be moments where Y/N would allow herself to completely fall into him, would just let go of all the pent up frustration and troubles she had. Because she knew Thomas would catch her, she knew that he would let her release all of her worries for him to fix, and if not fix, just to listen. He would offer comforting phrases that would make her feel like the only woman in the world. He would physically comfort her, whether it was a bath or his touch or his body, he would take away her stress.

And no matter how many times Y/N would experience such ache, Thomas never turned away. Not once. Not even after all this time separated. And she knew damn well that if she did the same thing now, he would let her.

That’s what scared her.

She couldn’t do that to Thomas, not again.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Apparently, him knowing exactly what she’s thinking didn’t change either. His soft voice rang loudly in her ears, traveling all throughout her body. Y/N had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from breaking down.

“You can let go...” It sounded like a promise.

Maybe she could count on him to catch her again, even if it’s just this one last time.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

@notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @tinywhim @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @daveeddiggsit @ohsoverykeri-blog @astralaffairs @i-know-i-can

#thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson x oc #hamilton imagine #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton fanfic #my writings #thomas jefferson #wow anyways #didn’t mean to make it so sad?

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alma37 · 3 years

Photo

I checked on AO3 and, a year ago today [02/02/20, for those of you who are a few hours behind France], I started posting for a deliciously wicked fandom, Dracula 2020.

So, to mark the occasion, I decided to post here (on AO3 later today), a little one-shot I thought about a few days ago. I wanted to put it in one of my wip, but it didn’t quite fit. I still liked the idea, though, and I needed to write it.

This is also kind of a gift for @hopipollahorror and @lady-of-the-wolves, my steadiest supporters of late. Thank you, girls, I am not sure I would have started writing again without your support.

For @thebeautyofdisorder, I know you had a rough year and I wish you a great 2021. We have so many tastes in common, It seems I continuously reblog from you. I am well aware it won’t make your troubles disappear, but I hope this little piece will make you forget them for 5 minutes (and that it won’t be perceived as further punishment or what’s the phrase? Cruel and unusual punishment!😉) .

For my other mutuals, I know we don’t talk much, if at all, but I am glad you came to see and stayed.

And, of course, for all my followers, occasional readers and everyone else who took the time to come and check my little nothing of a blog, leave comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you guys.

And now, i leave you with a small piece I had great fun to write. As usual.

I apologise for the long-ish introduction.

*************

This is a Dragatha, sometimes in the future (theirs, not ours; perhaps it is our present, in fact, who knows?). Dracula turned Agatha into a vampire. A long time before this fic.

Some sort of enemies with benefits.

And it actually answers to this prompt. I think.

Title : A [h]arrowing evening

Fandom : Dracula TV 2020

Relationship : Agatha x Dracula

Rate : I’d say T or light M

Words : I don’t know, I didn’t count, go check on AO3 when it’s posted!

- Come on, Agatha. Just admit it : you like me!

The former nun turned vampire, Dracula's most fervent opponent, was backed up against the wall, a small wooden arrow in her hand. Why did she decide to come and see him in his own apartment, she’ll never know. Her nemesis was crowding her, a triumphant smile on his face. She defended herself.

- Stop being so arrogant, Count. I don't like you.

- Oh but I think you do. Very much so.

His growing smirk, his roving hands and, mostly his acumen were too much for her. Suddenly blinded by years of pent up rage and frustration, she drove the arrow into his chest with ferocious intent. The small stake slid under his ribs upwards towards his heart.

For a moment, they stayed still face to face, Dracula's smile slowly fading, morphing into an expression of utter stupefaction, as his eyes fell on the weapon thrust into his thorax. Annoyed, Agatha pushed him backwards. To her absolute consternation, he stumbled with a groan, then bent over, his hand reaching blindly for the small piece of wood. His face was now wearing an expression of agony before his legs started to give out under him. With horror, Agatha watched him slowly falling to his knees before his upper body followed suit and he went down like a dead weight. By chance or instinct, he fell to his side, only just avoiding the stake from driving through his heart. Once on the floor, he started writhing in pain, barely able to hold his screams. Finally, Agatha understood : the arrow must have stopped short of piercing the heart, but was probably touching it if his convulsions were any indication.

After a moment of indecision, Agatha grabbed his shoulders to hold him flat on his back then straddled him.

- Stop squirming. You'll only succeed in piercing your heart yourself.

- As if you didn't intend to do it!" Her victim hissed through his pain.

Agatha opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, before she finally replied, surprised with herself :

- I... don't know.

His face was deformed by the unusual pain he was in. She supposed he probably hadn't felt this bad in centuries. Serves him right, but... His strained voice made her jumped out of her thoughts.

- Whatever you intend to do, Agatha, please do it now. It is unbearable.

At his begging tone, the younger vampire froze for a long time, undecided : finish him off, like she promised herself a long time ago, as it was a chance she certainly wouldn't have again, or remove the arrow and stop the bleeding, against all her principles?

Her nemesis was in a state of anguish she had never seen him before. He was shaking so hard, trying to control his body.

But he wasn't begging anymore, just waiting for her decision. She could see in his eyes the torture he was enduring. He still didn't utter another sound.

And she realised that, as much as she thought she hated him, she couldn't bring herself to just end his life, as lifeless as it was.

He was not only a unique creature, he was also the only one who understood her and she realised with a shock that she came to care about him in a way that prevented her from driving the small arrow all the way through his heart. She actually liked their fighting : it was invigorating and, yes, fun. They hadn't really tried to kill each other for years now. His half-hearted attempts to get rid of her, lately, was his way of flirting, she supposed. And apparently, she thought in dismay, became hers too.

But the biggest blow came when she finally realised she actually wanted to tame him somehow or maybe convince him to redeem himself in some ways, which was barely thinkable, much less doable. She just wanted him. Full stop. And annihilating him forever didn't suit her purpose anymore.

- Whenever you want, darling." The count groaned through gritted teeth, his brow drained in sweat.

At last, Agatha came to a decision and, instead of doing what her conscience was telling her, she chose to follow her heart : she wrapped her hand around the piece of arrow that stuck out from his chest and pulled it out without warning.

She was thrown out from his lap by his violent recoil as he screamed out of his lungs in pain. Agatha, not deterred, scrabbled back to him and pinched the wound to stop the bleeding. That last part was easy, as Dracula had promptly passed out.

When she understood he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, she put him to bed and took a book, while keeping watch over him, berating herself all night long for her weakness.

At dawn, the older vampire slowly emerged from unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, he looked around as if searching for something - or someone. When he found her watching over her book, he started asking in a rough voice : "What..." He cleared his throat several times before trying again :

- What happened?

Agatha lifted an eyebrow.

- Don't you remember?

Dracula began shaking his head :

- I don't... I seem to remember flirting with you and... Ah!" His face cleared. "Yes! You tried to kill me.

Agatha shrugged.

- And I would have succeeded this time.

Dracula straightened up with a groan. Agatha, taking pity on him, piled up a few pillows behind his back and helped him get a more comfortable position on the bed. When she tried to sit back on her armchair, the Count held on to her hand, so she was either obliged to sit on the bed or tried to shake his grip. She chose the easy path and sat next to him.

- So why didn't you finish me off?You had me at your mercy, you could have cleared this world of my evil presence.

Agatha didn't look at him but rather at their joined hands.

- I.. I don't know.

- You would have missed me!

Agatha snapped back.

- Don't be ridiculous!

Dracula smiled his devilish smile.

- You, Agatha van Helsing, like me!

- I most certainly do not!" Agatha protested, outraged. She tried to remove her hand from his, but he was holding fast.

- Well, I wouldn't blame you, you know. I am probably... Definitely head over heels in love with you after last night's little demonstration.

Agatha finally pulled her hand out of his, and stood up, shaking her head.

- You are a...

- monster?

-... beast! And obviously better. So I am leaving. Goodbye, Count Dracula.

Dracula reached for her once more :

- No, wait!

Agatha sighed, annoyed :

- What?

- You could at least kiss it better.

The former nun was about to will him to hell but something in his apparent casualness made her change her mind. She came back to sit on the bed and, after barely an hesitation, she straddled him. She felt him tensed momentarily, probably a reminder of the previous night. But he relaxed when she gently unbuttoned his shirt. She glanced at him and smiled when she saw his look of intense concentration turned towards her. She bent over and she licked the disappearing scar under his ribs. She felt his entire body shudder with pleasure, which made her smile grow larger. She had cleaned him the previous night, so there was no blood to tempt her. His all body was temptation enough. She nibbled at the scar then soothed it with her lips and tongue. Her nemesis had grown rigid from repressed desire. She finally moved from the scar to make her way upwards with slow, languorous and arousing kisses.

The first time he tried to touch her, she took his hands and flattened them back on the bed. The second time, she just held onto them.

The third time, she felt his eagerness wouldn't be denied, so she deftly evaded his grasp before he could close in on her. She moved swiftly out of the bed and put some distance between them, so that he could not reach her fast enough.

- And that's about all the kisses you'll ever have from me. Get a rest, Count Dracula. I will come and check on you tonight.

Without waiting for an answer, she left him in a state of obvious arousal, but laughing at her cunning.

- I can't wait." He called after her. He couldn't resist having the last word. Agatha shook her head in disbelief, but she was smiling.

*********************

Soooo, what did you think? (If it’s bad, please don’t tell me! 😉)

Anyway, I just really really wanted her to stab him at close range and truly physically HURT him (like Zoe, in TDC, but more purposely, if you know what I mean).

For the arrow, I imagine she has a small-ish one, like those used for a crossbow, except it is completely made of wood, even the tip. Something like that...

But, well, you know me : I always prefer a happy (-ish) ending. Reality’s sad enough. We don’t need it into fiction. In any case, I hope you enjoyed it.

If you really liked it, give me a shout and I’ll post the little follow-up I just had an idea of. Which is more on the comedy side (as in funny).

#dracula 2020 #dracula bbc #dragatha #agatha x dracula #my fanfiction #fanfiction #dragatha snippet #not in my next fanfiction #not that I know of anyway #just a thank you one-shot #to all my dracula2020 followers

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chayscribbles-archive · 3 years

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FINNPETRA FLUFF FEBRUARY ❃ DAY 8: THE BRACELET

i’m writing a little fluffy prompt piece set around my wip muddy roads & foxgloves every day for the month of february. see all FinnPetra Fluff February posts here!

POV: Petra.

setting: during the road trip. not yet dating.

synopsis: Petra finds a little gift she made years ago in Finneas’ car.

words: 903

The station wagon came to a stop in front of the run-down convenience store on the side of the highway.

“Get something healthy in there too, alright?” Petra called as Valyan and Azami freed themselves of their seatbelts and scrambled out of the backseat. “We can’t live on candy and chips for the entire trip.”

“And please don’t slam the—” Finneas began, only to have both back doors slam shut on his sentence. He heaved out a long sigh. “How many times do I have to tell them not to do that?”

Petra shook her head and leaned against the window as she watched the duo disappear into the store, giggling amongst themselves. She began to tap her fingers against the door handle in rhythm to the song on the radio, but jolted upright again as the station abruptly changed.

“Hey,” she protested, glaring at Finneas as he fiddled with the dial. “I was listening.”

“What, did you like that song?” he asked.

“Not particularly, but it wasn’t finished.”

“Fine.” Finneas twisted the dial back to the original station, only to find the song was already over. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. It wasn’t that great of a song anyways,” Petra replied. She watched silently as he continued to search for a station. After a few moments of this, she urged, “Just pick something.”

“I’m trying,” he grumbled. “All these stations suck.”

Petra reached for the glove compartment. “If you don’t choose something soon,” she threatened, “I’ll put in one of Val’s weird experimental mixtapes.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And then we’ll both suffer.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Seeing he wasn’t about to stop tweaking with the radio anytime soon, Petra threw open the glove compartment and blindly rummaged through the objects until she felt the smooth, hard edges of a cassette case. She began to pull it out, but was met with resistance. Her fingers slid along the case and brushed against something thin and rough tangled around the cassette.

Curious, she gingerly pulled it out to get a better look. At first she thought it was a broken shoelace, but as she examined it, she realized it was a clumsily woven string bracelet. The green and blue threads were frayed, and the knots were coming undone, but Petra recognized her own handiwork immediately.

“You kept it since camp?” she demanded.

“Kept what?” Finneas asked. His face reddened as he glanced over and saw what was in her hands. “Oh, that? I, uh, I forgot I had that.”

“Hold on.” She pulled out her bag from under her seat and rummaged through it until she found her keychain. Digging it out, she proudly held up a similar bracelet of red and gold that she had tied to it. “I use it as a bookmark sometimes.”

“Uh, cool,” he blubbered, reaching over and taking the blue and green bracelet off her lap to hide it in his fist.

She studied him for a moment with a slight frown, pursing her lips a little. She would have expected him to be more excited to see she had also kept the bracelet he had made her. Instead, he fidgeted nervously with the bracelet in his hand, avoiding her gaze by staring out the side window. Of course, this was Finneas, who she knew wasn’t a big fan of being sentimental.

Which made the fact that he had kept her bracelet at all even stranger.

Thinking back, Petra could remember one time he had acted this weirdly—when they were thirteen at summer camp, she had found out about a crush he had developed on one of the other boys. Although she couldn’t begin to understand how he could have a crush on someone he had only known for a few days, she found it so funny to watch Finneas get so flustered about this boy. And while he avoided his crush like the plague and turned into a jittery mess whenever he was nearby, there was a rock his crush had given him that Finneas had clung to for the entire session.

Finneas cleared his throat, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Are you, um, are you gonna put in a tape,” he asked, “or should I keep searching for a station?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” Petra pulled out a cassette at random and slipped it into the player. As disjointed percussions and strange dissonant chords filled the car, she sat back and stole another glance at him, just in time to see him quickly turn his head back towards the window.

A new thought crept into her mind.

No way.

Her gaze fell on the bracelet he continued to clutch.

Unless...?

Petra quickly switched off the music.

“Hey,” Finneas protested.

“Oh, did you like that song?” she asked.

“No, but I thought you liked to finish songs.”

“Yeah, well,” she sputtered, “it was sort of beginning to give me a headache.”

Finneas snorted. “Agreed.”

It wasn’t the music that was giving her a headache, although it certainly wasn’t helping. It was all the thoughts swirling in her mind, about the bracelet, the rock. It was all the pieces falling together to explain Finneas’ behaviour. It was the realization that if Finneas felt something for her that was different from friendship, Petra honestly couldn’t say that she would mind.

And she had no idea how to handle what that meant about her own feelings.

thanks for reading! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for future FPFF posts! 🥰

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr community #thequeerlibrary #finnpetra fluff february #finnpetra #admittedly this isn't one of my favourites it's just #'Petra Has A Thought Journey' kjgfkjfsd #it's just Petra math lady memeing #Petra: what if... haha jk... UNLESS...#also Petra and Finn have SUCH parent energy here. i'm crying

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neo-shitty · 3 years

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papertowns 👁👄👁

ahhh, this one. i wrote this in the middle of missing seungmin last christmas + rereading john green’s papertowns, but i never got around to finishing it. here’s everything i’ve written so far tho!

ngl i stopped working in this because i thought it was crap. apparently, it’s not as bad as i thought.

send me a wip name from this list.

The same six words repeat in Seungmin’s head over and over again and it’s enough to throw him out of focus. He stops tapping his foot to the beat of the song playing through the speakers and he falls victim to his own thoughts again. He sighs before leaning his entire upper body against the cushion of his chair. The comment forced him into a position of doubting himself, questioning whether he really was making the right decisions in life or just wasting his own time.

It was half past 1 and he still couldn’t sleep, so instead he resorted to practicing for the talent show presentation taking place in the upcoming week. He’d picked his piece a week prior and practiced it a few times in the past week and his schedule to head to his professor’s studio to present his piece was earlier today.

“You’re good,” Seungmin recalled his professor say but with the tone the man used, it didn’t seem like he was praising the younger boy at all, “but—”

Seungmin was startled out of his own thought spiral when he heard two knocks. For a moment he thought it was just a mere product of his imagination or it was just his sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on him in the middle of the night. But the knocks come again and he realizes that it wasn’t coming from his bedroom door but from his window.

He turned his swivel chair to face the glass and caught sight of a silhouette pacing back and forth impatiently on his balcony before stopping directly in front of the window. Seungmin scrambled to get his phone, unlocking it swiftly to have one hand ready for an emergency dial. That is, until he heard you shout from the other side of the glass.

“Jeez, dude! It’s freezing out here. At least, let me in.”

Seungmin lets out a relieved sigh at the thought that the person outside, at least, wasn’t a stranger. But nonetheless, there was still a person outside at such an ungodly hour. He walked over and drew the curtains open.

You looked at him through the glass. You could tell his annoyance just by the look on his face; the furrowed brows, the pursed lips and his overall expression that screamed ‘what the hell are you doing here’. Understandable, considering you paid him a visit this late on a school night.

Your friendship with Seungmin wasn’t always the best. You barely acknowledged each other even when you were both technically in the same friend group and even when you knew him longer than you knew the others. You just didn’t click too well. His teasing nature would often get on your nerves and it would result in non-stop bickering. You’ve gotten so used to exchanging banters with him that it shocks you that an insult isn’t the first thing that leaves his mouth when he sees you.

He turns to unlock a knob before pulling the window pane upward. “What do you want?” he asks, more calmly than you expected him to.

You raised a brow, “No insult today, Kim?”

Seungmin doesn’t bother proving you wrong, staring back at you with tired eyes. He sighed, “If you have nothing important to say, go home. I’m going to sleep.”

He grabbed the bottom part of the pane to pull it back down but you held it up with your own palm in resistance. “Don’t bother. I’ve known you long enough to know that you can’t fall asleep when something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he denied, but the fact that he’d become defensive about it proved your guess right. “Go home, it’s late.”

“I don’t want to go home,” you uttered, resisting another attempt of his to tug the window pane down. “You know why.”

His stare softened when he noticed how your tone changed suddenly. He might not have been your closest friend in the group, but he was the only one around long enough to know things from your childhood that you refused to talk about now. With him, there was no need to relive anything since he already knew.

“I’m starting to think that I’m not the one bothered here,” Seungmin said, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You let out a huff, “Never said I wasn’t. Let’s get something to eat, are you up for it? You know, to get our mind off things?”

But it’s half past 1 in the morning on a chilly school night and you’ve paid an impromptu visit to the sole person in your friend group who’d least expect a visit from you. Seungmin had all the excuses to decline your offer and you couldn’t possibly force him to join you on your adventure at such an ungodly hour. You were annoying and persistent, but you still respected his boundaries.

Right when you’ve accepted the chance that he’d decline he says, “Hold on, I’ll get my keys.”

#toff.writes #toff.asks #childofthecycle

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teriwrites · 3 years

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I’ve-Been-Neglecting-My-Tags Tag Game

So basically, I’ve been dead to the world for awhile, and instead of individually going back and making posts for tag games I’ve neglected, I decided to just compile them into one bigger post!

Meet the WIP Tag

So @cecilsstorycorner tagged me like two months ago and I’m pretty sure I straight up did not process it. But I found it now, and it looks really fun! Thanks for the tag! I’m going to pull out Castle on the Hill for this because it’s been awhile so this can be like a mini reintroduction.

Title: Castle on the Hill

Logline (1-3 sentence premise): In the early 1960s, a group of young German students face the struggles of university life - finding ambition, relationships, discovering identity, surviving finals, and coming to terms with their nation’s dark past as they look to its future.

Favorite theme explored: There’s kind of a lot going on under the surface, but I think one of the biggest is recognizing internalized biases and understanding the importance of how personal context shades perspective.

A character I’m proud of and why: It’d be easy to say Klaus because he’s one of those characters that just basically writes himself, but I’ll always have a soft spot for Josef. He was the first character I created for the story, and he arguably undergoes the most intense change from start to finish.

That characters tag: yeah, so... if you just search ‘josef’ on my blog he’ll show up. Technically I think I made tags for the Lads, but it didn’t really stick.

Link to a piece/excerpt/post that I’m proud of: So this is a little old but it sums up the group dynamic pretty well. This one has more focus on Josef and Klaus.

Any additional info I want people to know/am proud of: I haven’t posted about it in awhile since I’ve been a little more active in other projects, but I’m still working on it! I need a bit of an overhaul on some of the broad strokes (re: basically I’m working on having a little more structure to the plot) but it’s still kicking.

Manuscript Search Tag

Thank you @regan-wickworre for tagging me in this, sorry that it took like a month to respond to! I’m going to use Beneath Alder Creek because that’s the last large project I’ve worked on.

My words: eyes, friend, chance, fear, desire

Eyes

He was standing several paces back, half-hidden by a wide tree trunk, but there was no disguising the wide-set eyes staring at her incredulously.

Friend

“Would you like a ride home, Miss Pewitt?” Leslie asked amicably, as though the two had been longtime friends and not mere acquaintances with an unfortunate history.

Chance

Still looking away, Winnie raised the pin between her forefinger and her thumb. “You’ve been skittish ever since you saw this at Pryderi’s estate. I might not be the most worldly woman, but I’m smart enough to recognize that stabbing my own guide might delay my chance to find my brother.”

Fear

“He left. He’s afraid of the Evenfall Vault and he left,” she said evenly, hoping it would mask the fear gripping at her chest.

Desire

“Do tell.” There was a dullness to her tone, like she had heard of Enid’s offerings before and was merely amusing her, but Queen Ceridwen examined Winnie and Taliesin with interest. Winnie didn’t dare look over at him, in case she couldn’t resist the wild desire to laugh.

Words I’m leaving: accept, voice, near, resent, silence

Tag Game: This or That (Fantasy Edition)

Thank you @medeaes for the tag!

spell or curse ∙ abandoned mansion or haunted cemetery ∙ vampire slayer or ghost hunter ∙ phoenix or griffin ∙ wrist bite or neck bite ∙ fairy godmother or evil stepmother ∙ herbs or potion ∙ ghost or wraith ∙ dragon scales or werewolf claws ∙ druid or mage ∙ elf or hobbit ∙ divination or necromancy ∙ wand magic or hand magic ∙ centaur or unicorn ∙ dark fairytale or disney-style fairytale ∙ sword or bow & arrow ∙ siren or water nymph ∙ garlic or silver ∙ talking animal or walking tree ∙ demon trap or crossroads pact ∙ enchanted fairy forest or mermaid lagoon

Heads Up, Seven Up

Thank you for tagging me, @em-dashes and @akindofmagictoo!

(I can’t do the last seven because I just finished something and it’d spoil the whole thing, but here are a random seven)

“You have new merchandise, Ms. Kim,” Mike pointed out as he dug through his pockets. “I didn’t even know there were spells for maintaining battery life.”

“Yeah, well, some companies intentionally provide weak batteries to make you replace your phone after a couple years. This cheats seems the lesser of the two evils.” I rested my elbows on the top of the register as I watched Mike stack the contents of his pockets onto the countertop. Books, empty potion bottles, a pair of gloves. After withdrawing a black notebook with an engraved monogram and a full-sized human skull, he finally pulled out his wallet.

I had to ask him what spell he used to get that kind of pocket space.

I’m just gonna start tagging people, and you can respond with whichever tag game you want!

@booksnotbookies @rhikasa @tate-lin @parafoxicalk @absolute-nonsense-scribblings @de-profundis-ad-astra and @riaisntwriting and literally anybody else who wants to!

#no pressure to participate of course!#tag games #writing #my writing

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iwroteinapastlife · 4 years

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Least Favorite

Hey everyone! This is a little extra from my ChloNath fake dating fic, Honey I’m Home, but it also functions as a standalone oneshot for those who haven’t read HIH. Enjoy!

Warning: Contains detailed descriptions of blood.

He had painted her numerous times, but not like this. Running a thumb coated in gold down her cheek, yellow and black dipped fingers over her neck. He’d never kissed a canvas before. His canvas had never kissed him before. Whispered his name before.

Nathaniel.

Laid across his chest, restricting his breathing before.

“Nathaniel.” ...Or shaken his shoulder, jolting him from sleep before. “Wake up.”

Nathaniel blinked tired eyes, vision blurry from the mess of blonde hair draped across his face. He pulled it back to find a dark room, only dimly lit by the first dull hints of light peeking out from behind the curtains.

“Chloé?” he asked groggily. “What time is it?”

She was already partially on top of him, but he wheezed as Chloé leaned further forward across his chest to check the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. “5:03.” He opened his mouth to complain but before he could, she was talking over him. “How many drawings do you have of me?”

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut a couple times as if that could clear the fog in his head. He felt like he was missing something. “What?”

“How many drawings do you have of me?” she repeated, voice more insistent. “Or paintings, or pastels, or whatever.”

Nathaniel blinked up at the woman hovering over him, watching him with an expression that was far too awake, alert, and inquisitive for this god awful hour. His brain was moving slowly, he knew it was, but no, he wasn’t missing anything. It was just Chloé being Chloé. “The sun’s not even up yet. Why are you awake?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged, brushing past him. “Answer the question. How many? It’s more than I’ve seen, isn’t it?” Nathaniel pressed his lips together, glaring at her. A knowing smile spread across her lips. “It is; I knew it. How many?”

“...I don’t know.”

She drummed her hand on his chest persistently. “Aw come on, tell me.”

Nathaniel rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead and let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the world of the living. “I’m serious,” he admitted. “Too many to count.”

Any embarrassment he might have had to confess such a thing melted under the light of that smile. “Show me,” she said, still a demand, but speaking the slightest bit softer.

“Okay.”

It took about five seconds of her watching him expectantly to realize, “You mean right now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Nathaniel frowned at her, but he knew it was pointless. Both of them knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. She knew he would do anything for that stupidly beautiful face. Even cater to her random demands at the crack of dawn.

Five minutes later Nathaniel found himself sitting in front of his computer with Chloé on his lap, one arm around her waist while the other maneuvered the mouse to pull up his art folders. He double clicked the folder titled Her Majesty then handed over the reins. As Chloé leaned forward to scroll through the various files, he rested his forehead against her back and closed his eyes, a small but powerful portion of him still hopelessly clinging to the notion of sleep.

“What even are these titles? A-l-k-s-d-f-j-a-l-s-k,” he huffed a small laugh as she read out each individual letter in the keyboard smash, “bees, bees question mark, bees and honey, go to sleep, gothefucktosleep—all one word—hella gangsta…” a pause as she scrolled further down, “oh and here’s just a sea of wips. Wip 14, wip 178, wip 389, wip 509—Jeez how many works in progress can you have?”

“A lot,” he responded, voice muffled by her shirt—well, his shirt, just on her.

“How do you even keep track of anything this way? There’s no organization system, no order; it’s just complete chaos. You don’t even have unfinished works separate from the finished ones!”

“Excuse me,” he grumbled, “I agreed to show you my art, not have my system criticized at five in the morning.”

“I’m serious though, how do you not lose track of everything?”

He shrugged. “It works for me.”

Even if he wasn’t looking, he knew she was shaking her head. “Absolute madness.”

A comfortable silence finally settled over them as Chloé began actually opening up images to look at them. He breathed slow and deep, sinking himself in the lingering scent of her perfume from yesterday. The sound of clicking slowly grew more and more distant as the comforting beat of her heart took over, the peaceful lull of sleep seeping back into his body.

Right as his mind was starting to cross over into dream mode, Chloé’s voice shattered the silence, waking him again with a tiny shock. “Show me your least favorite drawing of me.”

“What?”

“Your least favorite. The worst one. I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I do,” she replied simply, as if that should be self-evident. She twisted to look at him, forcing Nathaniel to pick up his head and open his eyes again. He frowned at her expectant look. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” He pressed his lips together, his frown only deepening. She narrowed her eyes, giving him an inquisitive smirk. “Is it dirty?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“You have dirty ones though, don’t you?”

“N—,” he paused as he thought. “…No.”

A wicked grin spread across her lips. “What was that hesitation, Nathaniel?”

“I don’t have any dirty drawings of you.”

“But you have something.”

Two seconds of staring, a battle of wills. He was—unfortunately—very weak. Nathaniel sighed and leaned forward, taking the mouse. He scrolled until he found the file titled Summer Heat.

“Ooh.” She leaned forward to inspect it as he dropped his head against her back again, this time more so trying to hide his embarrassment than fall back asleep.

The drawing wasn’t dirty, but he would be lying if he claimed it wasn’t created in the passion of heat and desire. It was pinup style, featuring a practically glowing Chloé seated on the hood of a car—fashioned after Bumblebee from Transformers, naturally. She had one leg pulled up to rest her elbow on while the other leg extended down toward the ground. From the arm resting on her knee she held a cherry red lollipop up to matching lips that were parted in a seductive smirk. She wore a yellow and black striped T-shirt tucked into black high waisted shorts that really didn’t offer much coverage of her thighs, and draped over one shoulder was a black leather jacket with a patch on the sleeve depicting a bee with a crown. Light shined off of everything—the gold buttons on her shorts, the gloss on her lips, the sheen on her skin—serving to accentuate her every curve and the sweat slicked heat of the summer sun.

“Wow,” she said. “I’m hot.”

Nathaniel huffed a laugh more out of relief than anything. “Yes you are. And it was really hot that day, and I… Yeah.” He even had her hair pulled back in the exact yellow bow she had been wearing at the time.

“I should get a pair of shorts like that…” she mused.

“No, you really shouldn’t.” Or I will die; please have mercy.

She giggled and he got the distinct impression that she was going to actively seek out those shorts now.

“Alright, now show me your least favorite.”

“…No.”

“Come ooooon,” she groaned, twisting toward him again. He frowned, blinking tired eyes up at her. “I doubt it’s as bad as you think.”

“It’s not that it’s bad, it’s…” He bit the inside of his cheek, unsure how to finish that sentence.

After a few seconds with no answer, Chloé squeezed his arm gently. “Come on, show me.”

He stared up at curious eyes in a dark room, the only light that of the screen behind her, outlining her figure in a heavenly glow. She was radiant, beautiful, breathtaking, and he was so helpless to do anything but her every bidding. As he watched her this time—looking back and forth between those eyes that absolutely owned everything that he was—it was less a test of will, and more a question of how stubbornly he would deny her in order to keep from making old scars fresh for the both of them.

The gaze that looked back was patient, but adamant. Somehow, she knew this wasn’t a battle of will, but a battle she would win nonetheless.

Would he ever learn to say no to her?

With a long breath out, Nathaniel finally released what was left of his resistance and took the mouse. He didn’t look when he opened up the file. He didn’t need to. Despite giving it physical form, the image it seemed would forever be etched into his mind in full, painstaking detail.

“Oh,” she whispered as she leaned forward. Nathaniel rested the side of his head against her, pressing his ear to her back to listen to that reassuring heartbeat as he wrapped a second arm around her and pulled her close. “This is...real.”

It was a complete work, and objectively speaking probably one of his best. The details and shading were as fleshed out as his artwork got, complete with every tiny speck of dirt on her skin, every stray strand of hair. Every drop of blood. The piece was entirely greyscale with the exception of the blood—bright awful vibrant red pooling at her waist, soaking her shirt, painting her hand. Smudges of it colored his own hand where it sat atop hers, holding pressure to the wound to keep her from bleeding out right there in that alley.

His other hand held her head, fingers tangled through long locks, knotted and frizzy and loose from her usual ponytail. Decorating her cheek were two drops of water where his tears had fallen, and worst of all were the eyes. Eyes that were usually so bright, so fiery, so spirited, were instead emotionless, dull—not quite lifeless, but tired and void as they looked up at him with that excruciating blank stare.

He hated it. He couldn’t stand to look at the image and he hadn’t since finishing it and putting it away. Making it in the first place was utter hell. Every stroke of his stylus pained him. He felt like he was the one cutting into her flesh, as if he were the cause of her injury. He was hurting her—hurting Chloé held in his own arms on the screen.

He could feel the scar under his palm where it rested on her waist now.

“I didn’t want to make it in the first place,” he murmured. Her hand settled over his, fingers delicately brushing the backs of his knuckles. “It was stuck in my head for weeks. It wouldn’t go away, even after you stabilized, even after you were out of the hospital, even after you were already up in the air again. It was just there, burned into my mind’s eye at all times, the scene playing over and over and… I finally made this just to...get rid of it. Give it physical form so it could be put away.”

“I get why you didn’t want to show me now,” she whispered. Then a tiny breath of laughter. “And why you didn’t want to leave the hospital. I mean… Did I really look so…?” She never finished that sentence, but he could fill in the unspoken word on the end.

“Yeah.”

She stared at the image for a few more seconds before closing out of it. Nathaniel picked up his head again as she turned to face him, and was relieved to find her still just as at ease as she was before. If seeing herself near death had shaken her at all, it didn’t show.

Cold fingers combed back hair from his forehead. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“What do you think, idiot?” Even if her words were aggressive, her tone was anything but. She spoke softly, with the gentlest hint of laughter in her voice. “For saving my life.”

“I don’t thank you every time you save my life, or all of Paris,” he rebuked.

She immediately rolled her eyes, an amused sort of annoyance taking to her face. “Yeah, but that’s my job.”

He felt a calm smile returning to his lips. “Yeah, and being your sidekick is mine.”

“Oh I see.” She shifted her position so she sat perpendicular to him and draped an arm over his shoulder. His hands naturally settled at her hips. “So I’m just a job to you.”

Nathaniel found his face tilting upward in automatic response to the way Chloé inclined her head, an intimate space coming into existence between them complete with the magnetic draw of gravity itself. “Of course,” he responded, matching her sarcasm with his own, but still not breaking the quiet of the moment, “what else could you ever possibly be to me?”

Her second hand brushed more loose hair behind his ear before settling at the base of his neck. “Certainly nothing romantic. I mean, look at us.” She was speaking in a low murmur now that sent a subtle but powerful spark down the length of his spine. His thumbs dipped under the hem of her shirt as she leaned in closer. A strand of her hair tickled his collarbone. Whispered words brushed his lips. “There’s no chemistry here.”

Even if they had been dating for five months, Nathaniel still wasn’t used to Chloé’s kiss—her real kiss. The kiss that was only shared with him behind closed doors in the intimacy of private spaces. The kiss that felt like a dance with fire itself and left him breathless every time.

She was absolute rapture thinly contained in a work of art.

The whispered words were out of his mouth before his thoughts could even place them. “I love you.”

“Good,” she whispered back. Her forehead rested against his, fingers steadily combing back his hair. “Because I love you too.”

#chlonath #miraculous ladybug #hih #mentions of blood #fluff

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lurkerwithcomputer · 4 years

Text

WIP Monday???

Apparently I can't wait for Wednesday, so here it is. More WIP content for something I never did post officially, because there are no actual finished chapters for it.

Teenage Eri/Kouta, with LoV!Eri to make things interesting.

The rain pours down, turning the dark night blurry as water runs down the window. He can kinda appreciate how the city looks, beyond his window, like one of those moody urban paintings Aunt Shino is probably tired of him putting up in his room. She's one to talk, with the traditional-style paintings of mountains and forests on every surface.

There's a knock on his window and the creak of the outside air duct. He looks over to see a very familiar face looking back. White hair glistens from the inside of her dripping hood. Her jacket might be water-resistant, but it's not a raincoat. It's not meant for what's coming down, but at least it isn't cold outside.

He hops to his feet and yanks the window open.

Fuck, I'm glad Aunt Shino's not home tonight.

"Eri? Holy shit, come in, you're soaked! Just hold on..."

He reaches out with his Quirk, to grasp the water that's dripping off her before it can get all over his floor. Controlling water is trickier than just spraying water with his Quirk, especially when he has to pull it out of fabric, but it doesn't take him that long to have a blob of water suspended between his hands. It floats in the air, jiggling like a dirty gray amoeba of rainwater and gunk. He shoves it out the window, in the same motion as he slams it shut. Free of his control, the water blob drops out of sight.

"Motherfucker!"

Eri looks up, smirking, from wiping her feet with a rag - he keeps them in his room and says it's for wiping junk food off his fingers, which isn't a lie. Technically.

The muffled, snarling yell from below, in the alley under his window, is vaguely familiar. Kouta's heard that voice somewhere before, but his recognition runs dry tonight. Eri's slightly cracked giggling tilts him over, from trying to place the voice to laughing until he can't breathe. Although, he does feel a little bad for whoever just got soaked.

"Oh shit, Dabi's gonna bitch about that for days!" she wheezes.

His laughter stops cold, along with his blood in his veins. Eri seems unconcerned by this piece of information, still giggling.

"Dabi? That Dabi? Did I just fuck up real bad?"

"Relax, Kouta, he's not gonna do anything except be saltier than usual."

He's not entirely reassured, but he'll take Eri's word for it. She shrugs out of her Quirk-dried jacket and Kouta feels a whole new wave of concern wash over him. Her forearms are viciously scabby, scratched to hell like she's shoved her arms into a blender made of fingernails. Her own fingernails, to be precise. Her permanent eyebags have gone deep enough to hide a body or two in them. He knows what she looks like when she's stressed out.

Yeah, she needs this. Those meat-grinder arms don't lie.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Watch something mindless, eat junk food... and sit really close to you. It's that kinda night and that kinda week."

After getting hot pockets, a big bowl of chips, some peach soda, and plugging his laptop into his big screen, this is honestly shaping up to be pretty relaxing. They sit on his bed with a heap of pillows behind them. The crumbs they're gonna get on his blankets are Future Kouta's problem. He leans back against her, because even though he's filled out and grown some muscle, she's grown taller instead. She wraps her arms around his ribs and rests her chin on his shoulder. He swears that a darkly metallic tang rises off her ragged forearms.

His brain chooses that moment to change his attention from the re-runs of an old knife-making show to being very aware of Eri. The way he can feel her body heat through her worn-thin t-shirt. The way she's soft against his back, despite how lean she looks. He's a teenager and he likes her. Yes, that kind of likes her, sue him.

#bnha #my fanfic #lurker writes #LoV Eri #izumi kouta #dabi

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anciientboosh · 4 years

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WIP Wednesday

I've been battling away with a huge Boosh piece since about Nov 2019 (when I reentered the Boosh fandom after many many years away) and I’m now in the final editing process. All of booshlr has been so welcoming and sweet and supportive of content from the gifs I make to the small drabbles I’ve posted.. So I thought I'd perhaps show the little opening section of it? Might help me get over the initial fear of posting something so big in a (relatively) new fandom for the first time! Be gentle, I'm a delicate flower haha!

Show Me What I Can't See

It had been funny at first.

Before the words really had a chance to sink in, it was so funny.

Not just funny; side-splittingly hilarious. Vince had started with huffed giggling, hands clutching at his stomach in an effort to stave off the sound before he descended into full-blown cackles. Tears gathered in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe around his laughter. One of his hands reached for the nearest surface, an old chipped wooden table, and used it to hold himself upright. His chest was tight with the lack of oxygen but he couldn't stop. It wasn't laughing anymore, not really. Instead it was that soundless heaving people do; the kind where something is clearly so amusing you might actually die because of it.

He looked desperately at Howard, as one does when sharing a joke with a friend. The expectation being that he would be in a similar state. That they'd both be left, barely able to stand for the humour of it all. Isn't it hilarious, Howard, what a genius joke. Instead, he found the man was regarding him with an expression of confusion and something else - something dangerously close to hurt.

He stopped laughing at once.

“Something funny, little man?”

Vince stifles the response he wants to give by biting his lip so hard he tastes copper. There’s a deep impulse to scream Have you gone barking mad? Instead, he simply shakes his head because that appears to be the path of least resistance. “Nope. Nothing.” He insists, pushing himself upright again. On his feet, his legs are wobbling with the whiplash of it all. That could also be his nerves, though. "Nothing you said anyway. Just being daft."

Howard gives a soldierly nod. “Well, consider yourself warned.” And that’s that. Palm pressed to the small of Vince's back, Howard urges him towards the door of the keeper’s hut. “Let’s go, I’m putting you on frogs.”

For once Vince is grateful for his friend's ability to move on from a conversation. Frankly even his high tolerance for the bizarre would be tested having to decipher what just happened. Luckily his limbs move on autopilot, more than used to following Howard’s direction dumbly, and they head out into the zoo at large, business as usual. No time to dwell on the verbal rollercoaster they have just ridden together.

He doesn’t ask why on earth Howard had felt the need to deliver such a warning on his first day working at the Zoo. “You have to promise me that you won’t fall in love with me.” Really. What the hell was he supposed to make of that, other than for it to be a joke?

Even then it was a bit of a weird joke.

Well. That was just Howard all over, really. Weird. The man attempts logic and the end result is still utter nonsense. That’s partly why Vince likes him in the first place.

Howard’s logic had led him to leave school at sixteen to pursue his ‘dream’ of becoming a zookeeper (alongside becoming a jazz musician, poet, actor, or a novelist… Howard had a lot of dreams). That very same brand of Moon reasoning was why three short years later, here he was, also sixteen and also abandoning school before his exams were finished. GCSE’s weren’t important, Howard had told him.

Which was fine, in Vince’s opinion. All the great frontmen worked with animals and school certainly wasn’t helping him on his journey to stardom. All the other students had looked at him as if he were insane when he’d announced the news. They weren’t wrong, but it was a brilliant kind of insanity that only he and Howard were capable of appreciating.

On the upside, he’d be earning his own money and hanging out with his best mate all day. Plus his foster parents were quite pleased with him for demonstrating his independence, or something to that effect. He hadn’t listened much past the initial gushing praise.

And on the downside, apparently Howard thinks it puts him at risk of suddenly falling for his best friend?

Weird.

Though, it wasn’t completely off brand for Howard; making outrageous claims that is. He’d throw around statements with enough sincerity that Vince just couldn’t find it in himself to doubt their truthfulness. After all, Howard was the smart one in this duo - no one was disputing that. His peppering of ‘facts’ into their everyday conversation had oft shaped how a young Vince viewed the world. Whether they were correct or not did not factor into it.

It means he isn’t entirely sure if he’s supposed to take this warning seriously or if it was just another one of those wacky things that Howard said (and believed) but the rest of the population found odd.

“You have to promise me that you won’t fall in love with me.”

Promise easily kept.

Howard was so far from his type. The opposite end of the spectrum to his type.

Which brings him back to his initial conclusion; it was just a bit of a shit joke from his socially dense friend. His best friend.

More than anything, Vince expected it was probably a way to lighten the mood a little. An attempt at easing the gentle trembling that’s wracking Vince’s thin frame. While he wouldn’t openly admit being nervous, Howard has more than likely noticed and was trying to help. That’s all it was.

No way is he ever gonna fall in love with that tall northern jazz freak.

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louloubabys1992 · 3 years

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when you see this post a snippet of your wip

‘’Truth or dare?’’ Liam asks Louis. It’s their last night in the Bungalow and they’ve just finished practicing a couple of songs around the fire in Harry’s backyard. To make it up to Louis, Liam decided to play the boy’s favorite bedtime game. It’s strange hearing the suggestion coming from Liam’s mouth since he is still not very easily taken up by Louis but somehow, even Mr. Sensible couldn’t resist Louis’ demands. Besides, Louis is right. They’d practiced enough and since it’s their last day, their nerves are getting to them and they need to let loose. Liam can cooperate with Louis on that.

Now, they’re sat on the floor with Louis and Harry pressed together on one side of the coffee table, Liam and Zayn on the other and Niall in between, sitting at the head of the table cross-legged with snacks on both sides of him, the Coca-Cola bottle having been spun by Liam and is now directed at Louis.

Harry feels content as he looks up at Louis from where his head is perched on the boy’s lap. His legs are folded and crossed over each other and many times Niall had to bat his socketed feet away from landing on his eclectic collection of junk food when Harry would stretch out. Louis’ legs are spread underneath the coffee table, correlated with Zayn’s and Liam is sat with his back straight as a rod, cross-legged next to Niall.

It’s almost past midnight and they can hardly sleep. They haven’t got the energy to do any dares so it’s just admitting stuff about each other, some of which are not new and some of which are…

‘’Truth,’’ Louis says, hand combing through Harry’s baby curls, spread on his thighs in a halo of ringlets. Harry loves the feel of Louis’ fingers on his scalps, wonders if they’re leaving an imprint in the roots of his hair. Louis seems to love playing with his hair just as much as Harry loves Louis doing it.

Louis is always combing his fingers through his hair when they’re cuddling. It’s nice and Harry wants the whorls and pads of Louis’ fingers to leave a cement-like fingerprint underneath his locks because he likes the feel of it. He likes how he feels like purring from such a simple touch, it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand just thinking about being that close to Louis, having a part of him like that.

Two weeks with Louis and already it feels like he’s in love. Louis is so caring, so thoughtful of him and he likes it. He thought being babied for being the youngest in the group would be annoying and sometimes it is but Louis doesn’t make him feel that way. Louis babies him in a way that isn’t condescending or disrespecting. No, he’s just sweet and when Louis says it’s because he lives with so many baby sisters, Harry can just see how that holds true.

Louis treats them all like his baby brothers and Harry is no different but there’s always something extra he gives to Harry more than the rest and Harry likes it, likes feeling special and having Louis’ undivided attention on him.

Looking up at Louis’, he is still as infatuated with him as he was the day Louis jumped on him on the x-factor stage. He wonders if this is the type of crush that would go away soon. It hasn’t so far. Looking at Louis’ sharp cheekbones, long eyelashes, limp fringe and blue, blue eyes –are there eyes out there bluer than Louis’? He’s not sure- he doesn’t want it to.

‘’How many girls did you date before Hannah?’’ Liam asks. It’s a bold question and everyone’s surprised. Liam is not as prude as Harry thought he was.

‘’Hmm, interesting question.’’ Louis says with a quirk to his lips. Harry steals a bag of Cheetos from where he could reach – Niall complains but he just gently hits his face with the side of his foot. Niall will get over it soon but till then, Harry has to ignore his pout- and rips it open. Its family size so he hopes Louis will eat it with him. He watches said boy like he’ watching a very interesting thriller movie. It’s not hard; Louis does look like a young Leonardo Dicaprio. He belongs in a movie screen that’s for sure.

‘’Well?’’ Zayn quirks an eyebrow and looks bored out of his mind or very subtly cool. He likes being mysterious.

‘’I can’t really answer that.’’ Louis shrugs as he plucks a piece of the junk food from the bag Harry’s holding up and munches on it. He has to slide his fingers out of Harry’s hair to do it and Harry is not very pleased. But then again, he’s suddenly fascinated by the way Louis is eating.

He doesn’t just shove the whole piece in his mouth like Harry is doing or taking a handful like Niall (disgusting Irishman but Harry loves him to death so he lets it go). No, Louis bites off a piece and chews, holding the remainder between two fingers, twirling it almost. How he doesn’t drop it is mesmerizing. Louis is so talented, Harry thinks with awe. He’s always staring at Louis all starry-eyed and he wonders if he should be concerned at looking creepy but right now, he doesn’t really give a shit.

‘’Why not? It’s a truth or dare, Tomlinson. You have to answer.’’ Liam pushes. He’d been dying to find a way to embarrass Louis in his own game, simply because Louis had done that enough to him and Harry’s had a blast laughing at how Liam’s face goes as red as a tomato whenever Louis asks Liam anything sexual related.

Right now though, Harry cannot focus on anything but the way Louis is poking the Cheetos next to his mouth like a pen cap, pondering. Louis’ fingertips had gone orange from twirling the piece so long. Harry wonders if Louis is going to start licking his fingers when he realizes the mess he’s made. God, what a sight that would be and Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit hot under his collar.

‘’Well, that’s because there hasn’t been any girl before Hannah, you curious knob.’’ Louis answers with an eye-roll before popping the Cheetos into his mouth and shit; Louis licks his fingers clean and though it’s not really overtly sexual, it turns on something in Harry, like some desperate need but of what, he’s not sure.

Louis reaches for another piece and does the same thing, just bites the tip off. Harry had stopped eating. He chooses instead to watch this very interesting movie called ‘’How Louis eats Cheetos?’’ being played in front of him for free.

‘’Don’t call me a knob,’’ Liam whines.

‘’Then don’t ask stupid questions, Payner.’’

‘’I think what Louis is trying to say is that you’ve phrased your question incorrectly, Liam.’’ Zayn puts. He’s looking at Louis with a knowing glint in his eyes. ‘’You should’ve asked him if there was anyone else before Hannah.’’ He puts special emphasis on the word ‘’anyone’’, all the while looking at Louis.

Louis smirks at him and pops the Cheetos in his mouth. No one seems to be aware of Harry’s predicament and honestly, Harry is not really following the game anymore. He’s more concentrated on the movement of Louis’ Adam’s apple, the flick of his wrist, the orange tainting his lips. He wants to lick it, wants that part of Louis. He wants to know what he tastes like, if his lips are just as warm as his fingers caressing his scalp a few minutes ago.

‘’As always Mr. Malik, you’re as observant as ever.’’ Louis complements and now, Zayn is smirking wide.

‘’Is there something we’re missing out on?’’ Niall asks as he nudges Liam. He opens his own bag of Cheetos so now Harry can stop avoiding looking at him. But honestly, he’s still wrapped up in Louis, in wanting to suck the taste of Cheetos off Louis’ fingers.

‘’I’m not sure.’’ Liam says with a frown. Louis chuckles as he spins the bottle with Cheetos greased hands and it gets pointed at Zayn.

‘’Well, truth or dare, lad?’’ Louis asks, plucking another piece of Cheetos. God, he’s going to be the death of me, Harry thinks.

‘’Truth.’’

‘’Ever shagged a boy before?’’ Louis asks with no qualms just as he plops the piece in his mouth without playing with his food like before. Harry sighs, slightly disappointed but wait, what did Louis just say?

‘’No, have you?’’ Zayn’s reply is quick. His smile is rueful in a way he knows Louis had caught his train of thought. Louis is very good at that, is a really excellent judge of character. He’d gotten Liam down to a T on their very first day in the Bungalow and it’s no wonder Liam is always out to get him whether in terms of banter or in terms of leading the band. One Direction has no leader as far as Harry is concerned, or to be more specific, One Direction doesn’t have just the ‘one’ leader. No, Liam leads them mature-wise; knows how to keep them in check and organized. Harry leads them in terms of being the face of the band, Niall leads them in setting the mood light and Zayn is quite the opposite. When he’s serious, they’re all serious, simply put.

Louis however, is the one that ropes all that together, controls their dynamics almost. He always instigates the jokes and leaves the rest to Niall. When Liam says it’s time to practice, he gathers them around. When Zayn is not in the mood, he gets serious enough that the others tone it down. And when Harry has an opinion, he validates it immediately.

Harry doesn’t know to explain it, is not sure if that’s what he’s seeing yet but he likes how Louis guides them without even being aware. Right now though, he likes the way Louis eats Cheetos and he wants to see more of it, wants to eat the other piece he bites off from, damn it.

‘’Before Hannah, yes.’’ Louis answers casually as he reaches for another piece and just, what?

‘’Are you saying you’re gay?’’ Liam asks with a gasp. It’s not offensive, just shocked. Harry is tongue-tied. He doesn’t know if the feeling of elation growing in his gut is because he’s a bit turned on or because…what? Because he stands a chance? He’s not sure.

‘’Mate, I’m dating Hannah. Are you really asking me that question?’’ Louis levels him with a sarcastic look as he takes a nibble. Harry is going to lose his mind. Liam is so dumb; obviously Louis is flexible so what’s there to think of? God damn it, he wants that Cheetos.

‘’Lou, can I have that?’’ he asks, interrupting the big-reveal of a conversation. He sounds off, like he’s in a daze but he’s got Louis’ attention zoomed in on him and he likes it; he likes having Louis’ eyes on him, wants to have every piece of him, including the Cheetos.

‘’What, love?’’ Louis says, looking at him with mirth in his eyes and it’s been a while since he’d looked at Harry since the game started so that, combined with how the Cheetos is hanging between his teeth, Harry really stood no chance.

He snatches the Cheetos from Louis’ mouth and eats it; taking a bite from where the piece touched Louis’ mouth first then eating the rest in one go. He then smiles brilliantly, all teeth and dimples, like his action was purely spontaneous and not due to some weird longing of his that is definitely beyond wanting to taste food off of Louis’ mouth. Louis just laughs at him and Harry is so happy. He just ate from Louis’ fingers; just found out that Louis had shagged a boy. If things don’t work out with Hannah, then he stands a chance. He fucking stands a chance.

#coming soon

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