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wordynerdygurl · 2 years

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The Queen & The Jester

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader “Choose Your Own Adventure” Story

--------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s Note: Like so, so, so many of us, the Eddie Munson thirst became too much to bear. After thinking it over, I decided to make this an old school “Choose Your Own Adventure” story. So, be aware: There is SMUT, there is some Angst, depending on the path YOU Choose! Language like cursing, swearing and name calling shows up regularly and... if ye be under 18, stay away! If you interacted with my question about reading an Eddie Fanfic, I’ve tagged you, shamelessly. I sincerely hope you enjoy!! Last thing- This is all terribly self indulgent! Sorry, not sorry! ------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were lots of places where you could make yourself small, insignificant, out of the way. The basement chorus room, with its pile of broken music stands and worn out carpet was one that you used on occasion, but by far the best you had found was the high school library.

Of course, there were high traffic areas in this hall of knowledge; the front, where the reference cards lived in narrow drawers, was always surrounded by someone in a crunch to finish a paper on time. Study desks, organized in long center rows, were constantly in use by the student body. Which is why, when you found what you loving referred to as your nook, you were ecstatic. Out of the way, a little alcove, just big enough for you and your back pack was created when two walls had been unable to meet in a 90 degree angle. This meant there was a little nook that was never used as it was too small for a shelf and there would be no need for a table or chairs back here where students could get up to unwitnessed shenanigans. There were no punny posters or student notices, no decorations of any kind. The rug was, miraculously, free from stains. And because there were no periodicals or encyclopedias in the vicinity, no one really roamed this far back between the towering shelves. The stacks here were filled with novels of the science fiction and fantasy variety, typically shunned by more of the kids crowding the halls. They wanted easy to digest drivel, romantic books with pictures of beefy dudes on the covers or gruesome crime thrillers, things you enjoyed but didn’t find very fulfilling. Or, worse still, was the lack of interest in reading all together, something you just couldn’t imagine. And perhaps that’s why you found the dusty vanilla-like aroma of pressed pages so relaxing. It transported you away from the frustrating reality of your actual life and into places in space and time that you would never be able to reach otherwise. Fingers tracing the laminated spines of stories from authors like LeGuin, Ruel and Lackey, Pratchett and Dick, it was hard to pick just one. Colorful covers of ancient monsters, sword wielding heroes or the collapsing cosmos called to you. Who were you to ignore the summons of such great material? So, most days around lunchtime, if someone was looking, which, let’s be honest, they weren’t, you could be found sitting on this particular piece of library floor with your back against the wall, your knees propping up one of a thousand different books that took you away to worlds where you could just be. Free of judgements and name calling and calorie counting. Free of feeling like a freak. Free to live as many fantastical lives as you possibly could all while sipping on the Slim-fast shake your mother insisted on making you drink or gnawing at an apple. It became such a habit, you taking refuge among the works of Tolkein and Bradbury, that the librarians stopped questioning your presence when the midday bell sounded. You’d just scoot past with a wave, weaving between the aisles until it was just you in your semi-sanctuary, seeking solace in the written words around you. No one paid attention one way or another which was just fine with you. On a day when you were fighting an army of Orcs at Helm’s Deep, worried about whether Gandalf would be good to his word, you found yourself pulled from Middle Earth by the brotherly bickering of two young voices, “It shouldn’t be that hard to find, Mike.” “I know it’s back here, ok Dustin? The index said 082-04, which should be-” startled, you scrambled to grab your stuff, which included the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings and pushed to your feet quickly. It wasn’t about being caught, you weren't doing anything wrong by reading during your lunch hour; it was more about being exposed. If some underclassmen found you, then really, anyone could. Your private little book nook wasn’t as secret as you had hoped. You weren’t really paying attention as you jammed the remnants of your meager meal into the bottom of your bag, hurrying towards the front of the library. All you could see were the doors getting closer with each panicked step. Maybe that’s why you didn’t see the laughing, lean, leather wrapped body of Eddie Munson until it was entirely too late. — The library was not his scene. No fucking way. Nerds go to the school library. Dweebs, they write papers. Eddie? He smoked during class, sold drugs after lunch, rock ‘n rolled all night and partied everyday. But, if he wanted to graduate and wanted to actually put this hell hole in his rearview mirror, then Eddie “The Freak” Munson had to pass English. Miss Donahue had given him an out. Something, she said, which was typically reserved for her best students: extra credit. If he could read a book, any book he wanted and turn in a report that sounded even remotely like it explained the concept of the story, she’d pass him. Eddie was suspicious but appreciative. He also understood that the teachers here at Hawkins High were just as sick of seeing him kicking around these hallowed halls as he was of them. With this mutually beneficial arrangement in place, Eddie had thought long and hard about what book to pick. It was a daunting decision and not one to be taken lightly. He had opinions, strong, loudly vocalized opinions about the quality of the book he was willing to give his time and attention to. There were some smaller volumes, quick and easy reads, which would be a breeze for sure. Miss Donahue had suggested The Outsiders. That was a good one, Eddie reluctantly agreed, and a book he actually enjoyed. But he rejected it for this project since it sorta felt like a cheap choice as the movie had come out a couple years back. Nearly gagging, someone had suggested The Catcher in the Rye. Uh, no thanks. Not for Eddie. If he was going to pick up a book, it needed to speak to him, ya know? Really mean something. And it had to be interesting enough that he would be able to finish it so he could actually get his damn diploma. Days passed and he was starting to get desperate. He’d risked asking the Hellfire boys what they thought. Was there a novel worth tucking into that could help him pass but also be worth his time? Dustin, always the quickest, snarked, “Eddie the Banished, there’s only one tome that you need read.” “Yea? What’s that Henderson?” Rattling a D20 in his hand, digging the way it sounded when the hard plastic clicked against his rings, Eddie hadn’t bothered lifting his head.

“The Lord of the Rings.” Dustin reveled in the glory of this announcement, proud and smiling. Eddie blinked at him, his face unreadable, “So, you are suggesting that I re-read The Lord of the Rings for Miss Donahue?” With an ounce of appropriate trepidation, Dustin countered, “Is it such a bad idea? You’ve done it before. You know you like the story-” Cutting him off, Eddie slapped the die on the table with a thump, “Henderson, it’s the length of a bible.” “Ok, fair. But maybe just pick one of the volumes? I’m partial to Return of the King, myself.” Damn it. That was a good idea. And it meant that if Eddie didn’t get through the entire thing, he still had enough knowledge of the source material to write a paper decent enough for Miss Donahue. It’s just, he couldn’t let Henderson win that easily. “Hmm…” Circling the table where he held court over his loyal band of merry men, Eddie stroked his chin, contemplating the suggestion, “Ya know, it’s not a bad idea. It’s not a great one either, but-” stopping directly behind Dustin, his hands falling onto Hawaiian shirt covered shoulders, “-It’s The Fellowship of the Ring that is the right answer, Henderson.” Mike snorted, “When they meet the elves and shit?” Spinning on his high-top Reeboks, Eddie skipped to Mike’s side before squatting, “You got a problem with elves, Wheeler?” “Uh, no, no… It’s just… aren’t they a little, ya know, girlie?” “Would you call Legolas girlie? Would you call Thranduil girlie? Huh?” Nose to nose with the skinny freshman, Eddie didn’t relent, waiting him out until the kid conceded with a nod, “No. And besides Mikey-” ruffling the boy’s dark hair as he rose to standing, Eddie laughed over his shoulder, “Arwen is hot.” Gareth and the guys laughed at that, taking it in turns to high five their leader as Eddie resumed his seat at the head of their cafeteria table. Snapping his fingers, an idea came to him right then, one good enough that he announced in his sing-song voice, “Let’s go to the library.” A look passed between Mike Wheeler and Dustin that clearly questioned the sanity of their Dungeon Master. He was prone to overreaction, sarcastic comments and teasing in the loving way favored by older brothers the world over. And when Eddie wanted something, truly, madly, deeply, he was relentless in pursuing it. The boys had learned that loyalty and honoring commitments was paramount for the oldest senior in Hawkins High history. As his soldiers, the next generation of Hellfire Club was theirs to run and Eddie considered it his mission to ensure that kids stepping into his shoes were up to the task. And soldiers didn’t question their leader, not if they were hoping to avoid becoming the focus of one of Eddie’s wordy, wise-crack filled tangents. Dustin had already tossed the remains of his bologna and cheese sandwich onto the table, anticipating the direction Eddie was headed. Reluctant to cave so quickly, it was Mike who summoned the courage to ask, “Now? It’s lunch time.” “Yes, now, fellas. I need to check out my destiny!” Glumly discarding the remains of their lunch trays, the boys followed in Eddie’s wake, watching as he skirted past other members of the student body, his commentary colorful as always. Before too long they arrived at their destination, a mismatched trio with a mission. Dustin and Mike were no stranger to the knowledge center that was the Hawkins High library but this was new territory for Eddie, exotic and a bit enticing. In awe of the multitude that surrounded him, Eddie couldn’t help whispering worshipfully, “So many words.” “What was that?” Dustin had attacked the card catalog, riffling through the musty striped cards with expert precision.

“Nothing Henderson. Keep looking. If I gotta read this thing, I want to start today.” He was antsy and eager, excited for the new quest he was embarking on and keen to begin this literary campaign. Triumphantly pulling out the appropriate card, Dustin smiled widely, “Here it is!” Crestfall, Eddie’s face dropped, “That’s an index card.” “Yes, but it has the location of the book on it here, see?” Trying to show his older friend how to read the designation assigned to the piece of classical literature they were looking for was pretty pointless. He wasn’t going to search the racks for the book and he could care less about the Dewey Decimal System. “Cool, cool. Yea, so uh, what are you waiting for?” Eddie questioned, his eyebrows disappearing under the roughly cut fringe that framed his face. The question sent Dustin and Mike scurrying into the library’s inner recesses, eager to fulfill Eddie’s crusade. It made him chuckle, the way the young lads tore off, bickering brotherly while doing this errand for him. Looking around, Eddie would admit to a bit of curiosity about this particular library. He’d long enjoyed the town’s book repository; it was where he met so many of his favorite characters. Bilbo and Frodo, Arthur Dent, King Arthur and Merlin, plus a slew of others who showed Eddie a world beyond his own rusted trailer door. Drumming on the card catalog case, on the lookout for his minions, Eddie couldn’t help being distracted by the gaggle of cheerleaders gathered around a copy of People magazine, giggling about Tom Cruise. Their skirts were so short that he couldn’t be blamed for sneaking a peek, even if it didn’t really satisfy. Snorting derisively, he put his back to the scene. It seemed silly to be surrounded by so many stories and waste your time on a brag mag, but hey, to each their own. When he turned back to the row Dustin and Mike had cruised down it was too late. You slammed into him with your shoulder knocking your bag and all its contents all over the floor. “Whoa! Hey! Are you ok?” You heard his knees pop as he dropped down to help you clean up all your things. Embarrassment flooding through you took your ability to answer, so you settled instead on the hasty retrieval of your stuff, raising your eyes to Eddie’s with what you hoped was an imploring look on your face. Jamming everything back into your backpack, you pushed to your feet and left the room as fast as you possibly could, not looking back. “Hey! You forgot your-” but the rest of his statement faded as Eddie watched the library doors shut behind you. Left holding a well worn, well loved notebook, he turned it over, hoping to identify who you were so he could get it back to you. Clearly it was something you used regularly, the corners faded white and fraying, the spiral sticking out of the bottom too far. A mystery- that’s what this run-by library encounter truly was, one Eddie felt compelled to solve. What was your name? Eddie was certain he’d heard it before, maybe even been introduced to you properly, but his mind was drawing a blank. He had definitely seen you around, though. At The Hideout? No, that wasn’t right. But he knew your face, absolutely, and Eddie probably would have stayed there, crouched on the floor holding your missing college ruled notebook, until he solved the puzzle but around that time Mike and Henderson found him looking towards the library’s doors deep in thought. “What are you doing down there?” Leave it to Dustin to question everything. “Just getting a new perspective, Henderson. Did you get the book?” Reaching out a hand, Eddie was helped to standing by Mike who staggered from the effort. “Uh, no.” At least Henderson had the decency to look upset about giving him this news. Still Eddie couldn’t help pressing, “No?” “No. See our library has the entire book in one volume versus the three individual volumes, so-” Nodding now, understanding the root of the problem, Eddie rubbed the back of his neck as he talked to himself, “So, someone else is reading it?” It was Mike’s turn to interrupt. “That’s just it. It’s not checked out but it’s not on the shelf.” His eyes widened at the mystery he’d been present with. He sure as shit hadn’t taken the book, although that was exactly the kind of thing people expected of a guy like him. The boys shifted uneasily on their feet, unsure of what Eddie’s reaction would be, but, not for the first time, he surprised them both. Looking down at the notebook he was holding on to, your notebook which had flown the farthest during your collision, Eddie laughed deep in his chest, “That’s ok.” Dustin and Mike exchanged a worried look as Eddie snapped the notebook you had dropped against his open palm, his eyes on the door you’d bolted through. “But, what about your report?” Grinning now, Eddie flashed his faithful friends a wide, knowing smile, “Don’t worry about that, Henderson. I’ve got a side-quest to take on before we get to the main mission.” “Do you, uh, is there something you want us to do?” Mike was hoping the answer would be no. He had a phone date with his girl out in California planned for tonight and he hated to cancel. “No, Wheeler. This is a solo adventure. I got this one.” On cue the bell which signaled the end of lunch sounded. With appreciative handshakes to both Dustin and Mike, Eddie sent them on their way to class. He lingered in the library, opening your notebook, hopeful of finding your name out your name, at least. You hadn’t done him the favor of neatly printing your contact information on the inside cover, but you had left a clue or two. A receipt, folded at an angle gave the name of Making Tracks Record Shop. Lip pulling up at the corners, Eddie snapped his fingers. That’s it! That’s where he recognized you from! Sure, you weren’t the most outgoing sales clerk working for Keith, but you knew your stuff. In fact, glancing down at the purchase ticket, he was impressed. Iron Maiden, Metallica and Megadeth were all listed among your recent purchases. Hard core. Thumbing through the pages, it dawned on Eddie that what he had mistaken for a random set of Chemistry notes was actually more than that. Pages about characters, scenes, narrative work that went into descriptive details about things as small as the insignia emblazoned on someone’s saddle. It wasn’t just class work that you had left behind.

The second bell rang and Eddie realized he had a decision to make. He could go to class, fuck around, and goof off - or, he could cut and keep reading your story. If he did the latter he’d have the time to make a delivery or two before winding up at the record shop and hopefully running into you again.

When it was clear that no teacher was going to come looking for him, Eddie ducked back into your fictional world excitedly. From the first faintly written sentence, he was hooked. The story of a sad Queen, lonely and abandoned, who had to defend her kingdom while falling in love with foreign King. It had all the elements that got Eddie’s blood pumping: medieval knights, lovely but strong ladies and creatures of all shapes. Eddie got comfortable in one of the impossibly hard wooden seats, shielding himself with leather wrapped elbows on the table. You were a talented wordsmith and Eddie was hungry to learn about the fantastical world you were creating with sentences and commas. In his mind’s eye he could see you, the stoic, silent leader, looking for the perfect paramour and finding only monsters at your door. The King, well, you had outed yourself a bit by drawing Steve “The Hair” Harrington’s name on the once red cardboard cover and tracing a heart around it. He got it, really. The guy was a legend at Hawkins, but Eddie didn’t see what all the hype was about. Anybody could be rich and handsome. Broke and good looking, well that something that Eddie had figured out on his own!

It's just, that didn't seem right- the idea that your queen would settle for someone as boring as King Harrington. In fact, the more he read, the more Eddie saw a huge problem in your pages. There was no comedy, no funny business, no glee.

Where was the sidekick? The character with the great one liners, snarky but satirical, ready to quip the villains to death and banter playfully with the heroes? Who was responsible for breaking all your building dynamic tension? Far too fast, he heard the end of day bell sounding throughout the school, and he was genuinely sad about it. For the first time in years, Eddie Munson had stayed in school the entire day and that was solely because of you and your magical manuscript. Gently shutting the pages, he folded the notebook in half and lovingly tucked in the waistband of his jeans, under his jacket, to protect it. Smiling, he held the door open for some student stragglers, already imagining how happy you would be to see him that night. — It wasn’t until you threw your bag down on the rug of your bedroom floor that you realized what you had done. The filmy plastic wrap that covered the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings crackled as you pulled it free, digging for your writing notebook. You knew you had it, you always did, it went with you everywhere, just in case inspiration struck.

Having left in such a rush, so embarrassed about smashing into Eddie “The Freak”, you’d cared more about getting out of the way then making sure you had all your things. Pair that with social panic at having to explain yourself to anyone, let alone the tall smart alec with tattoos, checking out the novel hadn’t crossed your mind. And now, well now, you were responsible for keeping it safe until you could return it to the library like a responsible citizen. Hopefully no one would notice it was missing. Gulping guiltily, you quickly tossed on your work uniform: black jeans and an uncomfortably tight electric green polo shirt with the words Making Tracks in thick black letters across your chest. Quite possibly the ugliest thing you had ever been forced to put on your body, you did it for the perks. Cheap music to add to your ever growing collection, first dibs on new releases and easy access to concert tickets when bands came anywhere near Hawkins. Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to tame some of the frizz that flared out around your face. It was no use. The mirror couldn’t lie. You were just you and that would have to do. Honestly, you didn’t care about how you looked at work- metalheads and Cure fans didn’t give one shit what you were wearing as long as you could help them get their hands on the tapes of their favorite groups. The pop princesses, though, they were the worst. Always looking for Madonna or the Top Gun soundtrack happened to be the very same people who cast skeptical glances and made rude comments. But you didn’t need to impress any of them. You just needed a paycheck. “You ready, kiddo?” Mom, trying to sound upbeat called out to you, knowing that you were due at Making Tracks Record shop downtown for your evening shift in twenty minutes. “Yea, just a sec!” During your break you planned to get a jump on your homework, so you hastily piled the needed textbooks into your bag, again noting the lack of your personal notebook. You didn’t really have the time to examine its absence, as the clock was ticking, so you let it go and headed down the stairs to your waiting mother. The hug she gave you was deep and long. Since losing your dad in the StarCourt fire last year, mom had become overly focused on you, “Gosh! Maybe we need to cut back on the sweets, huh? I can barely get my arms around you!” Your skin burned with hurt at the comment but you refused to give it voice. Instead you just agreed flatly, “Whatever you think is best.” It was easier than making her feel bad about making you feel bad and it wasn’t as if she registered your comment anyway. The ride to work was more of the same, mom prattling on and on about some new diet she’d seen on television. Exercise tapes to help tone and shape. Self improvement never hurt anyone, she said. “You’ll never find a man if you don’t have a figure! That’s how I caught your father!” “Mom! Gross! And I don’t want to catch anyone. I want-” Turning the taupe colored wheel sharply, she pulled into the parking spaces at the side of the building where you would spend the next six and a half hours, “You want something out of this world. I know. But honey, even space stations have weight limits.” With that lovely thought to keep you company, you popped open the door, not waiting for her to brake. Dipping into the backseat for your book bag, you thanked her mechanically, “Appreciate the ride mom! Thank you!” If she answered you didn’t hear it. Already tucking your chin to your chest, you made the short walk to the record store doors as fast as you could, not looking anyone in the eye. Skating past the manager, you tossed your stuff into your employee locker and punched in quickly. Throwing your name badge around your neck, you inhaled a deep breath, “Just let the music take you away.” It was your work mantra and it really did help. When you stepped back onto the floor, it was like a different person embodied your physical form. Confident, you knew where each album belonged, where each artist and genre ranked and what bands belonged together on a shelf. If someone asked you a question, the timidity of your daily existence was gone, you had the answers. You were large and in charge here, in this miniature music filled world, and no one could blow your house down. Keith, who you were pretty sure was trying to collect as many local retail name tags as possible, called you to the register as soon as he saw you pop out from the backroom. He was talking with a customer, someone he obviously knew pretty well, about Iron Maiden and when they were expected to come to Indianapolis that year. Kicking your beat up Keds against the bottom of the counter, you interrupted confidently, “They won’t be. They’re on a European tour right now, but I hear ‘87 might bring them back stateside.” With a smirk, Keith popped his chin your way, “Told you Munson. She knows everything.” Turning to face you full on, Eddie tilted his head, taking you in with an appreciative smile, “So she does!” Leaning across the shiny black counter, Eddie motioned for Keith’s ear, whispering, “Listen, Keith, is it cool if I borrow her for a minute?”

“Yea, sure, Munson.” And then Keith allowed himself to get distracted by a telephone call. “Hey, does uh… she get a say in this?” You asked defiantly, your hands finding your ample hips. Unsure of what Eddie might be after, you weren’t about to let Keith agree to anything without your input. Stepping into your space, Eddie’s taller figure leaning over yours, not imposing necessarily, but curious, “Of course she does! It’s just-” hovering now, his lips close enough to your cheek that the smell of weed and cigarettes and Big Red brushed over you, “-I found something that I think belongs to you and I… I want to return it.” His voice had dropped to a rumbling timber that the rational part of your brain knew meant bad news. Your libido though, that unsatisfied bitch, heard it and roared to life. Like a prickling sunburn every word that Eddie murmured ghosted over your skin bringing fresh heat to the surface. Somehow he’d managed to put your back to the register and was closing the narrow distance between you two. If Keith noticed anything funny happening he didn’t say anything, content to slap price tags on the new vinyl shipment that you would undoubtedly be responsible for putting out on the floor later on tonight. Swallowing thickly, you shifted your eyes, indicating the direction you planned to move and Eddie stepped back far enough that you could easily pass by. Trailing behind you, Eddie didn’t want to look at your ass, he really didn’t. But it was so round and full- juicy! That was a word he could use to describe your curvy figure. Every step you took was hypnotizing and Eddie couldn’t stop following the swing of your hips swaying from side to side as you lured him away from the front of the shop. Your thighs, encased in black denim, rubbed together just enough for him to know that he was getting to you. Eddie may not have been book smart according to the education council of Indiana, but he knew things. Oh yea, he knew when to push his advantage and when to hold out. When a girl needed a firm hand or wanted to take the lead. When a lady was into him, that was the easiest of all to identify… And you, little miss, were into him. He had no doubt. Coming to a short stop in front of the recently vacated listening booths, you faced Eddie, biting at the inside of your cheek. It was a nervous habit, and truthfully, this situation made you very very nervous. “You uh, you said you found something of mine?” The question was innocent enough, Eddie reckoned, but the way you looked up at him through your thick lashes was not innocent at all. Wide open doe eyes peered into his own, curious and questioning. Stuttering a bit, Eddie started, “Uh… yea. Yea. I think this-” pulling a folded over notebook from the back of his jeans, proud at bringing it back, “-I think this belongs to you.” Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath as your fingers gripped the worn down cardboard cover littered with doodles and scribbled nonsense. You knew then that you had dumped it in the library that morning and Eddie Munson had collected it for you. Something like shame coursed through you and forced you to ask, “Did you- um, did you-” “Read it? Yea. A bit. It’s-” nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “-it’s really good.” He hadn’t relinquished the notebook yet. Maybe he wasn’t ready to let it go entirely, feeling a bit protective of the story he’d found written out on the college ruled pages. Or maybe he just really enjoyed the way you were looking at him with serious eyes and lips pouting just a tiny bit. You had never let anyone read anything that came out of your warped little mind. The judgment of others, the critiques that would come with allowing someone else access to your little story world filled you with anxiety. Yet, here was Eddie “The Freak” telling you that he liked your work. It was overwhelming. “Good?” Sputtering, you weren’t entirely sure how to respond. He didn’t seem to be kidding either. Covering your hand with his own, Eddie dropped down to your eye level, “Really good. I think your main character, well, she’s a badass, isn’t she?” “Um, well, she wants to be-” “And the King? He uh-” stepping around you now, Eddie tapped on the torn cover where a certain Hawkins High alumni’s name was scrawled in black marker, “-He’s not good enough for her.” Another bloom of humiliation broke open in your belly. The name Steve Harrington emblazoned on your writing notebook wasn’t a clue as to your inspiration so much as a direct reference. Now Eddie knew about that, too. Whipping your head around, needing to defend yourself, you emphatically whispered, “It’s not- um, see, he is just a stand in. A model for-” “You don’t have to justify it to me, sweetheart. King Harrington may be the ideal, but your queen, in my humble opinion, needs something more.” Dry as a desert, your mouth could barely form a reply, “And what’s that?” “A jester.” Side-eyeing Eddie you snorted, “A jester?” “Sure! A person who makes your queen laugh, only wants what’s best for her, and is willing to go out on a limb to make sure she gets it.” Chuckling, you shook your head. It wasn’t an idea that had ever entered into your thinking, but that didn’t mean it was bad feedback. “Eddie, my story is-” “Stuck.” He arrogantly answered for you, leaning away from you in case you decided to swing at him. “Excuse me?” The flash of anger shot through you again. The audacity. The straight frustrating nerve of Eddie Munson to tell you what your story lacked. How dare he? Tapping the notebook where your story unfolded, he added, “You haven’t written anything new in days, maybe weeks. So you’re-” shrugging his denim and leather clad shoulders knowingly, “-stuck.” And he was right, which was the worst part. It had taken Eddie Munson all of five hours to out your writer’s block and then boldly offer a solution to your story’s key problem. Jerking your notebook back, finally reclaiming ownership, you licked over your bottom lip, “Ok, Munson. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I have a… plotting problem. What makes you think your answer is the right one?” Stopping long enough to let the chains on his belt still, Eddie surveyed you seriously, “I don’t know if I’d say it’s the right one, doll, but I know my way around uh, let’s call it story management. Every campaign of mine starts out with an ending, a conclusion. The fun part-” he was almost nose to nose with you now, those big brown eyes peering playfully into your own, as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, “-is how you get there.” “What, uh, what is my conclusion, Mr. Storyteller?” You didn’t want to sound so weak but your voice was barely a whimper when it should have been a shout. Something about this guy, his energy, just made you soft. “Love. Sex. Romantic nonsense that chicks your age dig. Happy endings with pretty boys like King Harrington.” Ticking them off on his ring clad fingers as if it was a mundane shopping list, you watched with the wicked way his lips curled into a grin, unable to keep yourself from staring. Caging you under his outstretched arm, the heat of his body wrapping around you, you were forced to tilt your chin up in an effort to maintain eye contact. The rough collar of your uniform top parted enough that he could look down your shirt and Eddie hated that he liked looking so much. Your large breasts crammed together under the professionally embroidered polyester, rising and falling with each shallow breath, deserved better in his opinion. Your pillowy lips, parted perfectly, were made to be kissed, and he raised his hand high enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb across the bottom one, just to see what you’d do. Croaking out a curse, you squeezed your eyes together, “Eddie…” It was an exhaled echo of the word that was swirling around your brain and the only sound you could commit to in the moment. “Yea, sweetheart? You got something you wanna say?” Fluttering open, you stared up at him, undone and overwrought. You opened your mouth, hoping to regain some traction both mentally and physically but were cut short. “Hey! Munson? You’re still here?” Keith, still safe behind the register, called out to the nearly empty space. But Eddie didn’t budge. Still using his arm to support his weight, his dark gaze set on you, he answered, “I sure am! Just be another second with our record store Queen.” And the way he emphasized your title sent a fizzing firework through your belly. “Well, hurry up man. I need some-” lowering his shout to a loud whisper, “-size eight green jeans, ya know?” “Give me a minute, man. I’ll take care of you.” At those last words, Eddie risked touching you again, pushing a thick shock of hair behind your ear so he could see your face. When you nuzzled your cheek into his hand he knew you were a goner. Hell, maybe he was too. “Come out with me tonight. There’s a battle of the bands at The Hideout. You like music as much as it looks like you do, then, you should be there.” If You Go with Eddie to The Hideout, Click Here! If You Don’t Go with Eddie, Continue Here!

Taglist: @thatsonezesty13 @sxlly-pxbble @tisfuihi @theleft0ver @kerri-leighjade @carleighsworld @mediocreaf @weird-stranger13 @cupiden @meh-darkness @sereisstuff @elviqs @hevanleigh @ely-seum @ethereal-day-dreamer @bluedreamsofhoneyrevenge @armyangxls @alana-stewart @peachkiosk @riddlerstoepics @lonely-af-fangirl @darkhairedmenrule @b1tchbabytears @punishers-girl @ravencrap-hufflefuck @sapphic-assassin @roselill-reads @shiggay @boeutiful @york-peppermint-patty @atlwhatevs @probablynotmadonna @mermaidsandcats29 @tarazia @aereth @maymaypes

#eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #eddie fanfic #eddie x reader smut #choose your own adventure #eddie munson smut

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chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

* * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days.

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you.

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward.

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

* * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time.

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless.

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore.

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

* * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months.

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.”

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly.

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous. Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast?

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for.

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you.

The way his tongue curls like a signature.

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk.

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful.

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns.

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name.

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames.

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue.

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence.

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel.

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on.

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair.

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline.

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat.

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke.

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.”

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky.

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.”

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman smut #the smut pile: apocalypse #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: sacrilegious #sin.somnophilia #sin.noncon #sin.dubcon #sin.blood #sin.sacrilege

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Note

CONGRATS ON 800, LOVE! IM SO SORRY I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO SUBMIT SOMETHING EARLIER (this is shemarmooresfedora but from another acct because mine has been shadowbanned for some reason)

i’ll do ❤️🤡💄🛏 please and thank you

maybe like spencer invites you to something as his date and you’re both crushing on each other but it’s not official until the reservation only booked one room

I LOVE YOU DORY!!! i am so sorry you're shadowbanned that is so weird? i hope this cheers you up a little! thank you for all the love and support, and for helping me create little Jo in Amoreena <3

cw: flirting, fake married, mutual pining, high school reunions, assault, love confessions, one bed, implied sex, kissing,

1.4K

When he got the invitation in the mail, he thought nothing of it. He left it in the pile on his counter and went off to work the way he always would. He hasn’t been back to his old high school since he was 13, the 15 year reunion was coming up and he was invited.

He wasn’t going to go. He never went to any event unless it was a CalTech alumni event. Because there he was respected, there he was Doctor Spencer Reid, the FBI’s asset and excellent graduate. He was a nobody, a kid and a loser in high school.

“You okay?” Y/N notices he’s quieter than normal, he’s staring off past his desk and she’s worried for him.

“Huh?” He turns to her, “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” she whispers, “come get a coffee with me down at the kart?”

He nods and stands silently, following her out of the room and away from all their friends, in the elevator she knows he’s more comfortable.

“What’s going on, Spence?”

“My high school reunion is coming up, and I really want to go and prove to them that I’m not a dork anymore…” his voice is low and his eyes are fixated on the floor.

Her face drops, she pulls the emergency button and wraps herself around him. “You have never been a dork, Spencer. You have always been magnificent and they’re too dumb to see that.”

He holds her in return, settling as he rests his chin on her shoulder. She feels nice and warm, her hair smells like apples and her laundry detergent is all over her shirt.

“Would you come back to Vegas with me and pretend to be my girlfriend? Say things like that and make them think I’ve got it all?”

He cant see how much she smiles while they hug, “yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend for the day.”

—

She buys the nicest dress imaginable, they fly out to Vegas together and she’s so excited she forgot to ask for her own room. Or at least that’s what she tells him because she really wanted a chance to sleep with him, in more ways than one.

Even to just cuddle with Spencer Reid would be a gift, so she goes all out to seduce him. She looked impeccable, He was thinking it was her way of helping him show off… he was so clueless she was going to have to be the smart one when it came to getting him to see her as more than a friend. She wanted him, she was going to show him just how good she would be to him if she was his.

Her dress hugs her in all the right places, she wraps an arm around Spencer’s middle and holds him close. They walk in like they own the place, everyone is taking turns looking at them as they walk to the name tag table.

“Hi, Spener Reid,” he smiles, “and my plus one.”

“Hi,” Y/N waved at the woman behind the desk.

“Hello,” she smiles, “here are your name tags, Mr. and Mrs. Reid.”

“Oh we’re—“

“Thank you,” Y/N smiles, she takes the name tags from the woman. “Newlyweds, my rings getting resized, he’s still adjusting to the title.”

“Ah, my husband was the same, called it wedding bell shock,” she smiled, old enough to have a husband with shell-shock as well.

“Can I have a pen?” Y/N asks, “or a marker?”

“Here,” she hands her a sharpie.

Y/N leans onto the table to scratch out the Mr. and replace it with Dr. “He has 3 Ph.D.’s you know? My husband is the smartest man in the FBI.”

“Oh,” she looks shocked, “thank you for your service sir.”

He blushes and nods, “thank you.”

Y/N peels the sticker off and sticks it to Spencer's chest before leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose, she gets lipstick on him. She smiles and wipes it off, “there, still cute.”

The rest of the night is much of the same; she hangs off him, telling all the people who used to bully him that she was so madly in love with him, he was super smart and he was so strong and sexy on the job.

She slips away from him to get a drink while he explains how profiling works to his crowd of new fans. She’s filling her cup with punch when a weird, balding man slides up beside her, his hand touching her waist. She looks at him quickly, recognizing his name from the worst childhood story Spencer ever shared with her.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” he tried to hit on her.

She puts her cup down calmly and takes his hand off her, bending his arm behind his back and slamming him face-first into the punch bowl. She pulls his face back up by his hair, “that was for touching me.”

Then she slams him onto the floor where he coughs out punch from his lungs. “And that was for what you did to my husband as a kid, he was a Kid! You may have peaked in high school, but at least Doctor Reid doesn’t have a widow's peak, like yours. He is the smartest, sexiest, and most wonderful man in the world and you're nothing but a loser.”

Spencer turns around at the sound of her voice, “oooo” echos around the gym as everyone looks at the scene unfolding. Patrick, the asshole quarterback that traumatized him as a child, was on the ground covered in red juice as he complained about a sore arm.

Y/N smiles at him and waves before rejoining Spencer, “he doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Spencer suggests and she is all too eager to skip out of the room with him, right past Patrick.

—

She slams him against the wall as soon as they’re inside the hotel room again, kissing him with more desperation than she’s ever felt in her life. She needed him, he was her last piece and then she’d be complete.

She breaks the kiss to move down his neck as she loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt. “Are you sure we can be friends after this?”

“I’d hope my husband was my best friend,” she whispers against his skin.

He pulls her away from his neck, hands on her cheeks so he can look at her and read her expressions as best as possible, “I’m serious, I don’t want to do this if it’s going to make working together hard.”

“You’re an idiot,” she smiles, “I have been in love with you for months Spencer. I want this, I have wanted you for so long…”

His breathing changes as she explains her feelings, leaning in to kiss his neck again and make her way down his chest. “I’ve thought about this for so long Spencer, you have no idea how many dirty thoughts I have about doing things like this with you.”

“I got 1 bed on purpose,” he gasps out, “I wanted to sleep beside you… I hoped—

She smiles against him, “I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you to get 2…”

“You’re really not kidding?” He sounds so desperate it’s almost sad.

She stops her kissing and looks at him again, “why is it so hard for you to believe all the things I’ve said about you tonight? I’m not just trying to impress them, I’m telling the whole fucking world that the person I am in love with is the smartest man they will ever meet. People should bow at your feet, Spencer, let me appreciate you for how incredibly wonderful you are and stop doubting my feelings.”

“You love me?” Tears well in his eyes and he feels like a complete idiot, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted you to admit it first,” she whispers, equally as embarrassed. “I have a huge crush on you Spence, it’s not just that I love you, I never want to stop. You’re so nice and kind and funny? And you make me smile every day and I laugh even on the worst days ever because you’re there, and when I think about the future and reunions and events like this that I have to go to one day, and all I want is to bring you along and show everyone that you’re mine.”

She rambled more than he did, “so please, will you unzip my dress and join me in our one bed, husband?”

“Absolutely, my beautiful wife,” he turns her around, moving her hair off her back, he kisses her shoulder softly.

He moves the zip down as slow as possible, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin as he did so. When he reached the end, she pushed the straps off her arms and let the dress fall to the floor.

Mission accomplished.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #blurb weekend 521 #800 celebration

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hysteriium · 4 years

Text

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them.

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think.

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader.

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence.

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief.

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice.

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–”

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running.

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper.

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.”

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he?

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” he smirked, petting your head.

Curse his height.

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?”

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.”

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.”

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.”

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath.

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?”

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars.

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so.

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!”

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well…

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it.

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word–

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you.

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first.

“Will this make you, uh, happy?”

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?”

“My being with you.”

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’.

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted.

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm.

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion.

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–”

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks.

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning.

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling.

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady.

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips.

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold.

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk.

“Peach,” he cooed.

You were going to have to reapply later.

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him.

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself.

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him.

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!”

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with.

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work.

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.”

“Hmm,” he trailed off.

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green.

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!”

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed.

“All done!”

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.”

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention.

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.”

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.”

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.”

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach.

It would have to do, though.

“Okay,” you whispered.

He stood up now, towering over you.

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips.

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact.

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“What are you–”

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed.

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring.

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days.

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving.

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting.

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust.

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.”

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.”

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism.

“It’s hard not to.”

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him.

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly.

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago.

You fought the urge to run.

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath.

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand.

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?”

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–”

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.”

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out.

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision.

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology.

Your stomach turned.

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm.

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt.

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him.

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset.

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier.

Pee-yew.

Everyone here sucked.

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her.

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement.

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.”

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?”

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear:

I’m new to this.

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation.

Something had changed.

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him.

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response.

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain.

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.

“So what? What are you doing?”

“What does it – ah – look like?”

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away.

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo.

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but.

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right.

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it.

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles.

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt.

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash.

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean.

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that.

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good.

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you.

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth.

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.”

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade.

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.”

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.”

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.”

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth.

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation.

Yeesh.

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming.

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here.

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom.

He smacked his lips.

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse.

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?”

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side.

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye.

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her.

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation.

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?”

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?”

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing.

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer.

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut.

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance.

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed.

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms.

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.”

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again.

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.”

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected.

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–”

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic.

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness.

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady.

“Mine,” you whispered.

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete.

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand.

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song.

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice.

345 notes · View notes

kittasune · 4 years

Text

“winter warmth”

“WINTER WARMTH”

📘┊pairing. akaashi keiji x gn!reader

🔖┊tags. post-time skip, fluff, co-worker friends to lovers, mutual pinning, holidays, seasons abloom

📚┊wc. 4.3k

📖┊note. I wrote this for akaashi’s birthday but i’ve been meaning to write this fic for a long time now. well, here’s my first fic posted on tumblr! feel free to message me your thoughts! i plan to make this an on-going series of small one-shots so… please expect more in the future.

The biting cold that accompanies the change in seasons looms over the metropolitan city of Tokyo, the city where Akaasji Keiji was born, where his career is, and most importantly; where the love of his life is – the International Library of Children’s Literature. Literature has always been one of Akaashi’s passions to pursue as it opens endless doors of opportunities that could grant him success in the future. The majority of his stress stems from his work,

“Having a job and a stable career makes you successful!”

“You should have a steady income first before you pursue your passions so you have a stable foundation to fall back on just in case things don’t work out, Akaashi-san.”

He can hear the string of back-handed compliments and empty advice he’s received from co-workers and relatives alike echo in the back of his mind, clouding his thoughts and possible future realities he wishes to envision. Literature is one of his hobbies that became his career due to his love that caused him to become attached. Manga, novels, plays, poetry, and even textbooks sometimes caught Akaashi’s attention and he couldn’t help but consume the knowledge and navigate the uncharted waters that flow through the pages in inky waves. The beautiful thought of literature that had once been untouched and pure in Akaashi’s child-like wondrous mind has now become something as lifeless as house-hold chores to check off a list.

Now, as he sits at his desk in his office cubicle eying the unsurmountable manga panels that consume more than half of his desk with their shiny patent ink and crisp lines framing the edges of each page – he can’t help but sigh.

“You know, I’ve always been told that it’s bad luck to sigh.” Akaashi perked up at the sound of ceramic hitting the surface of his white acrylic desk. He looks up to see you holding a matching mug brimming with the café nectar that he so desperately needs.

“Is that so? You sound so sure of yourself considering that your break ended 5 minutes ago.” Akaashi hid his face in his hands to mask the upturned corners of his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Thank you for the coffee, I know that I’ll need it considering that Hide x Seek’s 100th Chapter is going to be released in this edition of Shonen Jump.”

“I heard that from Udai-san, he seemed so excited that he wanted to make this chapter special by making it holiday-themed with all the holidays being piled all together at the end of the year.” You said with a look of contemplation as you sipped the burning liquid in your mug.

“Have you read Hide x Seek before?” Akaashi leans back in his office chair and sets his gaze upon you while placing the cup next to his lips, the creaky sound apparent from the quality of wornness and evidence of sleepless nights he’s spent hunched over reviewing and editing the work assigned to him.

“I think I’ve read it once before, it’s the one where the high school students hide from an intruder but they don’t know who’s the intruder… but it ends up being the ghost of a former student that seeks to kill out of revenge and spite the higher-ups who have wronged her, right?” You said while fixating your gaze to the edge of his desk as if to recall the synopsis from memory, your coffee mug was left forgotten on Akaashi’s desk as you appear lost in your thoughts.

“Not quite, you just said the plot summary of Peek-a-boo? not Hide x Seek.”

Akaashi said while looking pointedly at your mug on his desk that would surely leave a faint circle as he knows you tend to haphazardly spill its contents as you “vigorously” stir your coffee to ensure that all additives are well-mixed. He recalls asking as to why making a vortex in a cup smaller than his hand is necessary, to which, you responded,

“I need everyone to get along harmoniously and seamlessly blend with one another, imagine drinking a cup of coffee that you’ve prepared and longed for only for it to have lumps and chunks at the bottom, no-thank-you!”

The dim grimace on your face spoke volumes of a less-than-happy experience you must have gone through and as a result, the chaotic meticulousness of your coffee shenanigans intrigued Akaashi to befriend you.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice you flush red at the realization that you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your co-worker, friend, and “potential suitor” as your friend lightly put as a shallow jab at your private love-life *hint – it’s practically non-existent.

You sigh. “Maybe I’ll give Hide x Seek a read during a vacation or something.” You mumble the words, cursing yourself for looking like a fool in front of your longtime friend, Akaashi Keiji.

The image of you grumbling and lamenting in front of Akaashi mirrors a panel sitting on his desk that has him fondly reminiscing the same image of you from last spring about how you had no one to accompany you to the Hanami Festival and so, he acquiesced to your invitation thus, establishing a tradition in your friendly relationship.

“I think it would be best to return to your desk, y/n, wouldn’t want to lose the privilege of seeing you every day and being the object of your admiration.” Akaashi propped himself up on his desk, resting his head on his forearms in a lazy slouch peering up at you with one eyebrow raised and a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

“You should really stop flirting with me at work, Akaashi. One of these days I might get the wrong idea and think you’re into me or something…” You chastise him while walking back to your desk which is conveniently next to Akaashi’s.

“I’m hopelessly enamored at the thought of you and it frightens me to think of a day where you’ll be missing from my side…” Akaashi thought as he proceeded to leaf through the panels laid out strategically on his desk. He looked over at you as you started to situate yourself with your work and said, “I wouldn’t sigh if I were you, I heard that if you sigh it brings you bad luck.”

“Stop mocking me and go do your work!”

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The clock struck at 5:00 P.M., then at 6:00 P.M., just right before the clock struck at 7:00 P.M. you blearily glance at the time blaring in the corner of your monitor and drift your eyes to the decorative hourglass sitting on your desk. The intricate gold timepiece hid tucked away in the corner of your desk hiding behind a framed picture of you and Akaashi posed in front of a bookstore where a work-related event took place. A faint memory surfaces from the back of your subconscious from earlier this year.

“Akaashi, why do you have a plastic apple on your desk?” You glare at the object as a red plastic apple seems so peculiar to associate with Akaashi, in your mind at least, so you questioned its purpose. Is it for sentimental reasons? Are apples his favorite type of fruit? Do apples have an artistic appeal or is it just a trend?

“It’s a tomato.” He responded, not once looking up to acknowledge your effort to engage in conversation. As Akaashi is seemingly focused on the task at hand, you further prodded with your innocent questions wanting his attention so you could lose yourself in the oceans that reside in his deep blue eyes.

“Then, why do you have a tomato on your desk?”

“Keeps me focused on the task at hand. Have you heard of the Pomodoro technique before, y/n?” Akaashi still focused on his work while you continued questioning.

“The time management one, right? I think I’ve read about it somewhere before if I’m being honest…” You lose yourself in your thoughts as you attempted to recall the correct definition from an online blog you briefly glanced at.

“Then you should know about how it helps you complete your work in a timely manner while balancing the efficacy and quality of the work produced.” Akaashi stopped in his ministrations and averts his attention to the now glaringly pointless object occupying space on his desk that was a prize Bokuto won at the Momiji-gari festival they attended together last October.

“Yes, that’s the time management aspect after all.”

“If I may then, why is it you stress about not having enough seconds in a minute, enough minutes in an hour, and not enough hours in a day to complete your work and yet have all the time to talk to me well over your allotted break time?” he swivels around in his chair to face you, steel blue eyes locked in a heated rage-ridden gaze with yours.

Too stunned to talk from the blunt harshness of his words, you reply, “Quite snappy today are we? At least I know now you pay attention when I mindlessly make a fuss about my workload.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my statement, I was going for light-hearted banter at best… I guess I can blame it on the weather. The heatwave must be getting the better of me.” Akaashi said while pulling at his necktie, an excuse to keep his hands preoccupied and mind distracted in avoidance from the awkward silence beginning to build between the two of you.

“Tell me about it, I never really liked summer as a season or the heat.” You crinkle your upturned nose in an act of disdain as you face the glass windows doing nothing to shield you from the overbearing sunlight pouring into the office.

“With summer comes the sun, with the sun comes light, and with light comes warmth,” Akaashi says so matter-of-factly that makes you wonder what’s his favorite holiday. He interrupts your train of thought by asking, “What’s your favorite holiday, y/n- san?”

“Winter, I like the snow. Or more of what snow symbolizes…” you trail off towards the end of your sentence deep in thought.

“Usually people like winter because of the holidays and spending time with their loved ones under a kotatsu. What’s so enchanting about snow? When you touch it, it just melts… not to mention it’s cold.” Akaashi looks over at you inquisitively that could almost be mistaken for scrutiny if a stranger were to eavesdrop between you two.

“If you are out in the first snowfall of the season with someone you like, true love will blossom between you.” You recite from memory what the old woman who owned the corner store grocery near your place told you during your times as a highschooler.

“Besides love, if you make a wish when the first snow blankets the city your wish will come true.” You swing your legs to-and-fro underneath your desk covered from the public’s eye but Akaashi can tell it’s one of your habits you do when you’re excited. The sparkle in your eye accompanied by the ecstatic hand gestures would also giveaway your feelings of excitement but Akaashi knows better. You stop in your motions and jerk towards him almost like you’ve had an epiphany, the sparkle in your eye flashed again mimicking that of a light-bulb going off.

“Snow also signifies that all lies will be forgotten, isn’t that refreshing? The thought of new beginnings with the first snow sounds so romantic! I wish I had someone to enjoy it with…” You take a chance and glance at Akaashi to gauge his reaction to your statement, he already beat your intentions by turning back to face his desk at lightning speed so you wouldn’t see the faint flush of red on his cheeks that bloomed after your profession of love for snow. He didn’t want you to know he was flustered because of the way you turned to him and uttered the words ‘besides love,’ to his face, and the realization that he was going to respond with a simple, ‘hm?’ had him leaning further into his desk in embarrassment.

“Akaashi, what’s your favorite season? You know mine and my reason now.”

“Same as you, I like winter.”

“Why?”

“The holidays.”

“Boring!”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

You shake your head in strong efforts to clear the fog that clouded your mind during that flashback.

“Nodding off so soon?” Akaashi’s voice startled you back to reality as you whip your head towards him.

“It’s almost 7:00, we were supposed to get off work an hour ago like someone said..” you fix your steely gaze on his figure hoping he could feel the mock-resentment radiating off you in waves. “I hope we get overtime pay for this as this isn’t the first time this has happened.” You lean against the back of your chair raising your arms above your head in a half-stretch with valiant efforts to hear the satisfying pop of your back.

“I made no promises, I was going to tell you this when we got off but Udai-san said we have the day-off tomorrow. The reason behind it ‘to reward you guys for your dedication to the company’ were his exact words.” Akaashi said as he began to clear his desk wanting to get to his apartment as soon as possible to sleep. This week took more of a toll on him than he would like to admit, the endless piles of work, deadlines to meet, and the cold that accompanied the winter months were taking a toll on him. The holiday season’s cold seeped into the bitterness of Akaashi’s hidden emotions, like an ice pick scratching the surface of Akaashi’s lonesome facade he tried to hide under cool indifference. In stark contrast, you acted as sunshine that brought the warmth that he desired to thaw his endless winters.

“Done with your work, too? Let’s go home.” His sunshine that spread light and illuminated the darkness that clouds his mind.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The walk from the subway station to the shared apartment complex was only a 10-minute walk but tonight it seemed never-ending to Akaashi. The time was almost 8:00 and the streets seemed less deserted than usual. The city lights glimmer looked dim in comparison to past nights and the mood almost felt too solemn with the holidays around the corner. Akaashi was lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice the crosswalk light flickered to red signaling the oncoming traffic to cross the road, if it wasn’t for you pulling him by the back of his jacket… he ignores the thought that briefly filters across his mind.

“Akaashi, are you alright? I wasn’t going to mention it but you’ve seemed more aloof than usual.” You said while gripping onto the back of his jacket tightly almost grasping him in a silent plea.

“I’m fine.” He responds curtly while maneuvering his tall frame in an off-handed demeanor that cues for you to let-go. This action only fuels your act of defiance to pull him harder in your direction causing your bodies to collide clumsily disrupting the systematic ebb-and-flow that is pedestrian traffic. As you and Akaashi apologize and wait for the crosswalk sign to turn green, you can’t help but laugh which makes Akaashi let-out a small chuckle as he realizes what a commotion your exchange must have looked like.

“We make for entertaining crowd spectacles,” He spoke softly through a genuine small smile that washed over his handsome features that could have rivaled ‘any top celebrity that calls themselves a pretty boy,’ in your words, not his. The cold weather combined with the hotness radiating from his silent chuckles caused a light layer of condensation to form on his glasses’ lenses. As the haze rendered him sightless, he took off his glasses, pulled out his handkerchief he kept tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, and proceeded to clean his square frames. You took this opportunity to admire the man before you. His brown hair fell gracefully in a light tousled manner as a result of his hands raking through them from stress. Your gaze shifted to his hands, his hands easily engulfed the metal frames balancing delicately in between his slender fingers that looked natural holding the awkward position for prolonged periods of time. Your eyes flit over his face that was normally impassive and difficult to read, now his cool indifference shifted to a look of frustration. The furrow of his thick brows and the faint vertical lines creasing in the center of his eyebrows almost made Akaashi look younger.

‘He looks like a petulant child being told what to do’ you mused to yourself. When he felt content with the cleanliness of his glasses, Akaashi scanned his surroundings to see where you led him to. He realizes that you stopped right in front of the steps to his favorite place in all of Tokyo – the International Library of Children’s Literature. Even with the library being closed as evident by the lack of people and dimmed lights, he still found this place breathtaking.

“The architecture of this library looks similar to the Palace of Versailles don’t you think so, Akaashi? That was one of my first impressions when you first brought me here, I just forgot about it but remembered after seeing this place again” You said as you stared in awe at the smooth concrete walls and tall glass windows with lattice fixtures intricately lining the tall double doors that greeted over 1,000 visitors each day.

“The International Library of Children’s Literature, originally called the Imperial Library, was constructed by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government under the Meiji era in 1906. The artistic movement that inspired the architect was the Renaissance movement which explains the Western-like elements incorporated into the building’s design.” Akaashi recited from memory and turned to you after he finished his statement only to find you already facing him, eyes widened and mouth agape in surprise. After seeing your reaction he turns back to the building and says in a soft whisper, “This place brings back fond memories,” while unconsciously playing with his hands, fingers intertwining with one another in a playful open and close. He can feel your gaze openly assessing his figure standing awkwardly in the library’s pathway, he knows that you want the answers as to why he’s acting less like his “usual” self. You find yourself confused by Akaashi’s paradoxical behavior, sometimes he’s willing to let small cracks appear in his otherwise smooth facade of coolness, and other times he shrugs you off in efforts to maintain his cool indifference. His true emotions are caught and given to you in minuscule pieces and this frustrates you as you wish to be with the man that’s always beside you and occupies your mind all the time.

Akaashi can’t help but feel the subtle self-conscious feeling starting to arise after pondering how out of place you and him look at the moment, two people standing alone in front of a closed library engaged in a heated silent exchange. His heart sank when he realized that you two could almost be mistaken as a couple with the way the both of you look now, he wishes for this to be real, his wish is to be with you. Akaashi wishes for you to know his true feelings and declare his love for you and yet, he finds himself biting his lips to silence himself in spite of his friends saying he has a chance of being with you.

The shuffling of feet is heard as you shift your weight from right-to-left and your avoidance of all eye-contact are all tall tale signs of your unsureness, your actions break Akaashi from his own thoughts as he raises his head to see you standing closer to him than earlier.

‘You’re so close I could kiss you right now.’ He wants to say, even in a playful manner but is too afraid to be caught expressing his true feelings even through teasing comments.

“Akaashi, what are you thinking about right now?” You ask in a futile attempt for him to confide in you what thoughts occupy his brain that’s causing him to both distance himself from you emotionally.

Just as Akaashi begins to open his mouth he’s interrupted by an abrupt shout that causes the both of you to stop all conversation.

“Look mom, it’s snowing!”

Childlike excitement blanketed the distanced onlookers frolicking the crosswalks as snowflakes kissed the cherry red noses of daily commuters and people doing last-minute gift shopping. You and Akaashi fix your gazes up to the dark depths of the night sky now obstructed by the white flurries of snow clouds now hovering over all of Tokyo.

‘It’s now or never,” Akaashi thinks to himself, ‘if I can’t do it now, when will I ever get the chance again?’ Akaashi takes a deep inhale and closes his eyes to bask in the brisk coolness the winter air has brought with the changing of seasons.

“I think about how seasons shift out in a cycle of four and I find myself not being able to cope with each change.” He breathes out finally and continues, you stare at him in silent apprehension while anticipating each word.

“Seasons change, people change, and yet I find myself coming back to you… meeting in the same place where we first met each other. Fate has a funny way of telling us that we’re supposed to be together. Coincidence has a hand in pushing us together hinting that we’re meant to be. Destiny is telling me that you’re the one but, choice whispers it’s harsh words of reality only permissible when conditions are met that echoes in my thoughtless mind every sleepless night.” Akaashi locks your eyes in a steady gaze, your eyes widened in shock while his eyes portray a deep-rooted passion now surfacing after being hidden for so long.

“Our love is blossoming like the sakura trees in the spring, a love that mirrors the perennial endless summer hydrangeas in the courtyard in front of our apartment building. A love in which I catch myself falling for you like the leaves during the autumnal months. A love that engulfs me in the warmth of the fire, with its ember flicks illuminating your faint silhouette as we embrace each other in the moonlight. Falling in love with you was experiencing a life I have not lived before, for the first time I welcomed the uncertainty, my fears, my doubts never once clouded my mind. You are my moonlight that illuminates my path in the inky depths of nightfall. My starlight when I look to the sky brimming with untold stories in your constellations that guide me back to you. I want to be with you during the first snowfall of each winter. I want to experience each change of the seasons with you, I want you by my side to accompany me as we live our lives – I wish to be together with you.”

Akaashi finishes his confession of true feelings for you and a sense of relief washes over him as a weight has been lifted from his chest. Akaashi starts fiddling with a loose thread in his pockets starting to feel anxious at the sight of you as he begins to anticipate your response since you haven’t spoken since it started snowing. The feeling of temporary relief was now replaced with a sense of dread fueled by his self-doubts and the thought of rejection, he averts his gaze downward to avoid meeting your eyes.

Akaashi stayed cemented in his place with no signs of moving, so you decided to close the distance between you two. Feeling bolder after Akaashi’s profession as you were reeling from the excitement of seeing snow paired with your feelings being returned by the one you love, you grab his jacket sleeve to signal for him to remove his hand from his pocket and slowly begin to intertwine hands. He shifts his gaze from your interlocked hands to look at you, as he scans your face to gauge your reaction, he finds himself surprised by the beaming smile matching your bright energy and warmth that rivals the sun during the summer months. Your actions and the bright reaction is all the confirmation he needs to know if you reciprocate his feelings so he steers you, hands intertwined, in the direction of your shared apartment complex.

“What about your wish, did it come true?” Akaashi asks while he notices you started to swing your joined hands unconsciously, ‘probably out of habit,’ he thinks to himself silently while a smile threatens to breach his lips. You stop him and take his other-hand so now he’s facing you, you want his full attention as now, it’s your turn to confess.

“My wish was always to be with you, you’re my happiness and the reason for me to continue to live and grow. When I’m with you I’m at my happiest and your constant presence has always been comforting. The sureness in your voice and actions speak volumes about your reliability and the love you have for others. My wish was for you to see the light in yourself and for you to realize that you are loved and needed, not just I think this way but your friends Bokuto, Kuroo, Kenma, and everyone else you’ve met and encountered will agree with me on this point I’m trying to make. I love you, Akaashi Keiji and I wish to be with you… if you’d let me.”

Compared to the shuffling of footsteps and avoidance of eye-contact from earlier that hinted towards your unsureness, Akaashi can see the confidence in your stance and actions as you grasp onto his hands, the unwavering sureness you exude while maintaining eye-contact has Akaashi falling in love with you over again. The brightness in your eyes and cheery playfulness reminds him of the reasons he fell for you in the first place and he senses that he will keep finding reasons to fall in love with you over and over again.

“Let’s go home now, sunshine. I’m afraid that your warmth will melt the winter snow.”

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desdamona-evangaline · 4 years

Text

Karma, Kayano, Nagisa and Sugino were excited. Well. Kayano, Nagisa and Sugino were exited.

“Are we really going to spend our Friday night looking at bones?” Wines Karma.

“Come on, they got a new exhibit! It’s the fourth largest bone found ever!” Said Sugino.

“”I heard it’s a dinosaur hip.” Chimed in Kayano.

“Plus,” said Nagisa “Koro-sesei said it would be a learning experience”

“Fine whatever”

Kayano leapt to her feet “Forget the bones!”

Exclamations of dismay ensued. Karma had just gotten on bored.

“No, no! Apples releasing a new iPad! And giving away free ones as a promotion! All we have to do is make a video about apples to win!”

“Come on, I want to see the museum.” Said Nagisa.

“I’ll help” said Sugino. “We’ll get Okajima to film.”

“Yes! Get ready. I feel a brainstorm coming on”

They grabbed a napkin and started drawing their heart stopping Apple based videos. This would be epic. Tales of Apple drama, costumes, lighting. This would be bigger than the Titanic!

“Didn’t that sink?”

“Shut up Karma!”

Karma laughed at their antics. Nagisa on the other hand frowned. “I wanted to go to the museum. It’s closed for repairs for a week starting Saturday.”

“We can still go”

“Um....” Nagisa mumbled vaguely. Things had been a tad... awkward since Karma had come back. They hadn’t really hung out together for long since the whole.... friendship break up. He didn’t want to be stressed all evening.

“Look, it’s fine. It’s not like... a big deal.” Pointed out Karma.

“It’s just hanging out.”

“”I guess. Sure”

Kayano popped up smiling. “Aww, like a date?”

Nagisa nearly fell off his chair. Oh God. Mortified.

“No, not a date” hissed Karma. “Just. Hanging out.”

“Have fun on your .not. date.” She cooed before running for dear life. Sugino looked at Karmas face and made a swift exit. Nagisa’s was trying to fight his blush. Oh God he was all red. Idiot!

“It’s not a date.” Karma said again, rather forcefully.

“Just. Hanging. Out”

“Got it.”

“See you at 7”

Karma casually walked away praying his face didn’t rival the colour of his hair. He was not going on a date with Nagisa. And his heart certainly wasn’t beating any harder than normal. Nagisa buried his head in his school bag. It wasn’t a date. Stop panicking! What should he wear?

It took Kayano took zero seconds to convince Okajima to film their video. The thought of an IPad with high zoom camera filled him with glee. Disturbing glee but glee all the same. Nakamura’s blackmail sences were tingling. A date? Between the two most oblivious boys in the class? She new what she was doing this evening. She grabbed Hinano. Now her sights were set on the boys she needed a new accomplice. The girl was easy to convince.

“Finally!! My OTP!!”

“Whatever, bring your binoculars.”

“Trust me. We won’t miss a single second of this legendary meet up”

After school Kayano, Sugino and Okajima asked/begged/bribed Koro-Sensei to fetch them costumes. Their grand idea? An interpretation of apples through ballet. The competition would never see it coming. Kayano wore a green tutu, Sugino a red ballet jacket and shorts. Okajima stood by with the camera. The only problem? None of them knew anything about ballet.

“Don’t you like.... stand on your toes? And sort of spin?”

“I think I can do an arabesque.”

“Jumping is involved?”

The bone museum was just as eventful as one could expect. By which it wasn’t eventful at all and Karma was going insane.

“Are we done yet? It’s a rock! It’s not like it can move”

“It’s a fossil and I want to look at it a little longer”

“It’s a grey rock. I’ll find you 20 outside, can we go now?”

“Don’t you think it’s lovely?”

“It’s almost as picturesque as you my darling little bon...”

“I will hit you with the bone if you finish that sentence”

The Apple ballet plot line was fabulous. Stupendous. Electronic. But the skills? Less so.

“Just twirl. Twirl. Kayano for the love of God TWIRL!”

“I’m basically standing on my big toe do you think this is easy!”

“Sugino, you twirl then!”

No response came from the pile of body that used to be Sugino. Arabesque’s were harder than you’d imagine. Okajima dumped the camera and leapt onto the podium they were using as a stage.

“Just go on one leg and spin like this!”

Kayano didn’t know exactly what happened. After blacking out for a moment she came to under a desk, Sugino’s knee on her head and Okajima stuck in a broken floor board. Time for the good old YouTube tutorial.

Karma kicked himself internally. What was he doing? Why did he say that? This was supposed to be a causal meet up between friends and he was ... flirting? Could you even call that flirting? What ever it was it certainly wasn’t casual. Nagisa was staring straight ahead at the bone. Stop blushing stop blushing stop blushing. Karma was just teasing. This was not. A. Date. He didn’t really mean it. Blushing harder under Karma’s grin, he fought off any unacceptable emotion. But.

He had called him lovely.

Hinano and Nakamura lurked behind a display of elderly bow ties. They came armed with a romance magazine including a stage by stage guide to love. Stage one. The Compliments. Already a solid start. Hinano screamed internally.

“Lovely?” Thought Nakumura. Interesting choice. He’d have to up the anti if he wanted to get anywhere with Nagisa. The boy was completely oblivious. Get down on one knee and he’d ask if your shoelaces were untied.

“I’m hungry.” Announced Karma, formally ending their bone viewing.

Since it wasn’t a date they didn’t plan on getting dinner anywhere fancy. What they were getting was barbaque food. From a literal hole in a brick wall. The smell alone was enough to throw romance out the window.

“It smells like..”

“Best not to think about it.”

“My leg is broken”

“Your leg is not broken”

“It’s broken!”

“Sugino your fine! Do the jump!”

“I swear to God Kayano I quit!”

“If you quit I’ll make you wish you’d never been born!”

All in all, thought Okajima to himself, letting the camera roll through out the afternoon showed scenes more entertaining than traditional ballet ever could.

“That is the most disgusting food I’ve ever seen” hissed Hinano.

This couldn’t be right. Even Karma couldn’t be idiotic enough to bring a date to this mess of a restaurant. They were sitting on the side walk for goodness sake. And the guy running the place looked like he was considering a murder. Come to think of it that’s probably where the meat came from.

“This tastes terrible Karma. Amazing job!”

“Karma laughed and took another bite of the thing that resembled a burger. See? They could hangout. No feelings. Just good friends. Nagisa was just a good friend who was illuminated by the white street light like an angel. Who’s eyes almost glowed and who was sitting close enough to Kiss...”

“OTP for life!!!” Hissed Hinano as Nakamura punched the air. 10 more inches. 5! 4, 3, 2

Nagisa’s phone made all 4 of them jump.

He answered to hear Kayano’s frantic whispers.

“We need help. Susan needs a hospital!”

“Hospital? Who’s Susan?”

“We were pirouetteing” explained Kayano as she dodged a thrown plate, “and Sugino accidentally threw me into a tree, the branch broke and I fell on a deer. Her antler broke! Her names Susan and she’s trying to kill us!”

“I don’t think girl deers have antlers”

“THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU SHOULD BE TAKING FROM THIS CONVERSATION!”

“Alright I’m on my way. Karma, we need to go save Kayano and Sugino from a distressed deer.”

“Sure” he muttered. “Why not”

Nakamura comforted Hinano. She would kill that deer with her own bare hands. Or maybe with a baseball bat.

It took a long time to get the deer into an animal hospital. He (or she) was a biter. The nurses criticised Karma’s method of transportation. In fairness it did look pretty odd when they arrived dragging a basket full of deer tied up with fairylights. But, as Karma argued, they did arrive at their destination. All they had to do now what wait as the nurses got the animal painkillers and possibly anger management therapy. Now Nagisa, Kayano, Sugino and Karma were in the waiting room recovering.

Exhausted Nagisa rested his head on Karma’s shoulder. Not in a romantic way or anything.

“Awww” cooed one lady.”Your such a cute couple”

“Oh! No.” Said Nagisa quickly lifting his head.

“We’re just friends.”

“Why?”

“Ummm”

“You’d be great together” man joined in.

Karma shook his head “no, all the dating stuff wouldn’t work out”

“If I may chime in,” Said another guy in a hat.

“Are you avoiding romance because of your fear of separation?”

“My what?” Karma looked personally insulted. “I don’t have a fear of separation”

“Listen young man” said a women behind Nagisa.

“You need to reassure that red headed fellow you will always be there for him.”

“I don’t want to talk about this” said Nagisa, mortification flooding through him.

“Perhaps that’s what’s driving you apart” said hat guy. “Your worried he won’t appreciate and except your efforts”

Sugino and Kayano took turns holding vending machine popcorn.

“No, I just don’t want to date him. Karma’s my friend”

“Is he. Or is he just putting up with you” asked some girl to the left.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, I’m just telling you what you tell yourself buddy”

Karma stood up angrily. “Let’s stop this right there, our love life is none of your business”

“So you do have a love life?”

Two nurses restrainted Karma from attacking the hat guy.

Nakumura crashed through the door with Hinano at her heels.

“Everyone shut up! It’s time for your moment! Stage 3 happens 4 hours into the date! You have 86 seconds!”

“The hell are you talking about?” Yelled Karma as Nagisa buried his head in his hands.

“Oh God!” Screamed one women, “It’s about to get real!”

“Lady you need to chill” hissed Sugino through his popcorn. “Karma! This is your time! Tell him how you feel!” Wailed Hinata.

“What is going on?” Whispers Nagisa.

“It might be too late soon!” Called hat guy.

“Am I dead?” Whispered Nagisa.

“Do it! We support you!” Yelled the nurse.

“Am I in hell?” Nagisa asked himself.

“Take the initiative Karma! Kiss him!”

Kamra threw himself at Nakamura with the sole intent to kill.Nagisa tackled him.

“No killing Nakumura. Or me after this”

The audience gasped. Hinata cheered. Kayano clapped. Nagisa kissed. And kissed. And kissed.Silence. Staring down at Karma Nagisa waited for his fist. It never came.

“I can’t believe this was our first date. Do-over?”

The whole room cheered.

The next day Karma and Nagisa headed out for first date round two. Nakumura and Hinata spread the news. Kayano and Sugino met to discuss their aid to the Karmagisa cause. It was worth it, even though they never got an iPad.

Then Sugino frowned

“Hey, what happened to Okajima?”

Okajima bowed as he received his prize. His short film “What two mental ballerinas would do for an iPad” won him first place. Life was good.

@darlingimawitch

#darlingimawitch #Pluto #AssClassSecretSanta2020

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obsessionsdumpster · 4 years

Text

A/N: sooooo idk what this is exactly, I just had an idea and decided to try and write my own fic for once though I’m not sure if it turned out good lol I think it’s a bit too long and I realised I don’t know how to write kissing scenes. Anyway please enjoy and let me know what you think

A Ninja’s Day Off (Kakashi x reader)

(Y/N) stepped into the Hokage’s office, finding Tsunade sitting by her desk, a pile of books and important documents surrounding her.

“Hokage-sama, I’m here to provide you with the mission report”

“Excellent, I’ve already received and deciphered the scroll your team has sent me with all the informations you were able to collect. It seems all went smoothly, good job (Y/N)”

Despite the formalities Tsunade and (Y/N) were rather well-acquainted, being (Y/N) one of the few Hokage’s personal ANBUs meaning that she certainly trusted her. Because of that, Tsunade glanced at the girl standing in front of her and even though she was wearing the ANBU mask, she could clearly see the exhaustion that was radiating from her, hence she spoke: “(Y/N), you’ve been out there constantly completing quest after quest for quite some time now, I know that is due to the high amount of missions the village is currently dealing with, but I can see you’re at your limit, that’s why I’m giving you the permission to take a couple days off in order to rest and recover”.

“Thank you, Tsunade” replied (Y/N) with a smile, and with that, she was off.

When she reached her apartment block, she opened the door and stepped inside. The room was a mess, to say the least: there were dirty clothes scattered all across the floor mixed with random ninja scrolls with all sorts of seals written on them, along with some kunai knives and shurikens all over the apartment. She sighed to herself, realising just how long it had been since she actually stayed in her apartment for more than 10 minutes or so, just enough time to change and pack for yet another mission.

(Y/N) decided that a nice hot shower would help her take away some stress and tiredness, so she headed towards the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and stepped under the hot stream of water that felt so nice on her bare skin.

After she was done, she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her form, then, feeling her stomach grumble, she decided to head in the kitchen to have a snack.

Unfortunately for her, when she opened the fridge she realised that everything had already expired meaning that she had nothing to eat. Nice, she thought.

That’s when her eyes fell on a small paper bag that was laying on her kitchen table. She reached to it to inspect the content and saw to her delight that inside the bag were three big red apples, her favourite. Besides the apples she saw a small note: ‘figured you wouldn’t have much at home to put in your belly after being away for so long. Enjoy - Kakashi’

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile widely at the kind gesture. (Y/N) and Kakashi had been best friends for a long time now, having been on the same team during Kakashi’s ANBU days and continued to hang out even after he left and became a sensei. To (Y/N) he was more than just her best friend though, for as time passed she started developing romantic feeling towards the copy ninja but always shrugged off those feelings out of fear of ruining their amazing friendship and because of the fact that a potential relationship would have been a rather difficult thing to handle for two Leaf Jounin such as themselves, their positions implying a dangerous lifestyle that put their lives constantly at risk; it wasn’t a secret that a normal love life wasn’t something that two Jounin of that caliber could aspire to. Truth is, she had been told by some people like Jiraiya (though he didn’t seem very reliable) that Kakashi did in fact return her feelings. It’s not that she considered that to be impossible, she had to admit that sometimes she could feel the chemistry between the two of them, but it was like they both shared some sort of unspoken agreement that kept them from bringing the relationship forward, preferring to stay as best friends. She would say she was fine with that, what she cared about the most was being by Kakashi’s side and she really enjoyed their unique friendship but she couldn’t deny that, sometimes, this situation made her kind of sad. (Y/N) thought that things were going to stay like this forever, but she was wrong.

Chewing on her apple, she started cleaning the apartment, picking up all the clothes from the floor and reorganising and storing all her scrolls. After she was done with that, (Y/N) finally sat on her couch determined to either take a nap or just relax. However she found herself just sitting there staring at the wall, boredom taking over as she started repeatedly tapping her foot on the floor. She was so used to so much action in her life that a simple day off was starting to become more difficult to handle than she could have imagined.

Suddenly an idea popped up in her head: ‘you know what? I’m gonna pay Kakashi a visit. He must be at the training ground right now, training with his team. I’m sure it’ll be fun watching him and team 7, maybe I’ll even be able to help him out, who knows’.

Thinking it would be fun to sneak up on them while they were training, (Y/N) approached the training field making sure to suppress her chakra to avoid being detected. She positioned herself on top of a well hidden branch of tree and, rather amused, observed what Kakashi and his team were doing. It looked like they were learning how to conceal themselves, judging from the fact that Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke were all trying to find a good hiding spot to avoid getting caught by Kakashi.

Naruto managed to find a spot on the same tree as (Y/N) without noticing her. An idea popped to her mind and, with a mischievous grin, she appeared behind the blond’s back:

“Yo, Naruto” she said without a warning.

What came next was a scream and then a thud. Naruto had fallen off the tree and was now lying on the ground, his teammates and sensei approaching him, a puzzled look on their faces.

“W-Wh-What was that?!” said a shocked Naruto, followed by (Y/N) making her appearance jumping off the tree and landing in front of them.

“Hi everyone”

And before anyone could say anything, Naruto started screaming again.

“(Y/N)?!?!? Why would you do that??? I was perfectly hiding from Kakashi-sensei until you came and revealed my presence to everyone!!”

“Your ability to conceal yourself from other ninjas is the worst Naruto, it was obvious you were hiding on that tree” said Kakashi before giving (Y/N) his signature one-eyed smile “anyway, (Y/N) you’re back already, what are you doing here?”

“Well it’s my day off, so I though I would pay you a visit you know, to thank you for the apples and to see what you and team 7 where up to” she replied a bit embarrassed, realising she just admitted she wanted to see him on her day off.

“It wasn’t a big deal, really, I just figured you would like them” he said with a smile, scratching the back of his neck, which, (Y/N) thought, was kinda cute. “But since you’re here” he continued “would you mind giving us a hand? After all, ANBUs concealing techniques and chakra suppressing abilities are the best”

“Sure! When do we begin?”

And with that, Kakashi and her began teaching the young Genin all the tricks in the books.

When they finished practicing the sun was setting. All three team 7 members improved their skill a lot, especially Sasuke, but even Naruto did surprisingly well considering he wasn’t very well versed in hiding his presence, being the show off he was.

After saying goodbye to the kids, (Y/N) was left alone with Kakashi who, making sure his students were gone, spoke up:

“Well that was intense...are you hungry? We could stop somewhere on our way back and have dinner, if you would like to of course”

“I would love to! I’m starving, plus we haven’t hung out in a while, it’ll be nice to chat a little”

“Yeah” was what Kakashi replied, though he seemed, (Y/N) thought, to be a bit tense but she shrugged off that feeling once they started walking back to the village.

They decided to stop at one of their favourite cafes in Konoha (consciously avoiding Ichiraku’s ramen to avoid bumping into Naruto) to have dinner together and talk about the usual stuff like mission etc.

(Y/N) really missed talking to Kakashi, he was like a soothing presence to her, his voice never failed to make her feel a little happier then before. Whenever they were sharing these simple moments, even as just friends, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel butterflies in her stomach each time. It was a bittersweet sensation in which she felt both very happy and sad because of the fact that she was in love with her best friend, but would be to scared to actually make a move.

She snapped out of her thoughts when food came and they ate in silence.

When they finished eating their dinner, they both exited the shop and started walking together through the village.

“So how was your last mission? You’ve been gone for quite a while. Tsunade told me it was a very important top secret mission” asked Kakashi after a while.

“It worked out somehow. I didn’t think it would take so long either but we had to deal with something unexpected which caused us to carry out the mission for 3 weeks straight”

“I see” said Kakashi before he went silent again. To be honest he was being pretty silent, not that he was and extremely talkative person, but still when he was with (Y/N) he would usually be more relaxed. This time however he seemed to be lost in thoughts and she found herself wondering what it could be.

They sat on a bench, admiring in silence the starry sky. It was a comfortable silence, each of them appreciating the others presence.

(Y/N) let out a small shiver when their arms accidentally brushed against each other.

“Are you cold?” asked Kakashi.

“No, I’m fine” she answered before letting out a long sigh.

“Is something wrong? Your mind seems to be somewhere else”

(Y/N) was taken aback by his comment, realising she had been just staring at the sky for a while, thinking about him, to be honest. She didn’t exactly know why but she felt the urge to be honest to him so she spoke her mind: “Nothing’s wrong it’s just- I really missed hanging out with you, you know, being with you and just talking about nothing in particular. And it makes me a little sad that these moments have become a rarity lately, because of our schedules and everything...”. She had no idea why she went that far expressing her feelings towards him. Damn this almost sounded like a confession.

When she realised what she just said, (Y/N) turned her gaze from Kakashi, trying to hide her face that was now a blushing mess.

Kakashi didn’t say anything. He was looking at her, a blush of his own barely visible under his mask. (Y/N) had never been this sentimental with him before. Could it be possible that she was trying to tell him what he wished she was trying to tell him? - he thought.

It was now or never, thought Kakashi. She had just opened up to him and now he felt like it was the perfect time to do the same and tell her about his feelings. “There something I want you to know (Y/N)” he spoke up, making the girl finally turn her face towards him with a questioned look.

“I really like you, you know, more than just a friend”.

That’s it. He said it. There was no going back, so he went on “I’ve been acting like we’re just friends but I can’t do it anymore because I think-“ he stopped for a second, thinking about what he was about to say “- I think I’m in love with you and can’t keep pretending otherwise”

(Y/N) stood there, her eyes widened and a shocked expression on her face. There she was thinking she had just made a fool of herself in front of Kakashi for almost confessing her feelings to him, and now she just heard him say he loved her??

Soon enough the shocked expression she wore was replaced with a closed-eyed smile: “I love you too Kakashi” she finally said, then added with a chuckle “I was scared to tell you ‘cause I thought it would ruin our friendship but if you put it like that...”

When she reopened her eyes she saw Kakashi lower his mask (which didn’t shock her much since being best friends for such a long time meant that she had seen his face in many occasions) and leaning forward, cupping her cheek. She did the same until their lips finally met.

(Y/N) thought that the feeling of Kakashi’s soft lips on hers was the best.

After a few seconds, they gently started moving their lips in unison to deepen the kiss.

When the two broke apart, gasping for air, they both smiled at each other.

Maybe, (Y/N) thought, things did change after all.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi imagines #naruto fanfiction #idk this probably sucks #its my first fic so bare with me #fluff #friends to lovers

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 14

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Strange finishes his tests, and you reunite with Davin. All seems well, so why is Bucky so clearly avoiding your eye?

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Body horror, spooky scary demons, angst, Bucky making me sad

Word Count: 3.4k

AO3

You waited for the verdict on metaphorical pins and needles. Literal pins and needles had been involved in the wizard’s “tests.”

They hadn’t even broken the skin or made you bleed, but every time they’d neared you, you’d fought the urge to bolt like a deer.

You were bad—Bucky had been worse. Strange had asked on more than one occasion if he needed to leave the room, and each time Bucky had gritted out an emphatic no while pacing the room like a restless predator. Not one that was hunting you, the proverbial deer, but his presence was still distracting for… well, quite a number of reasons.

Two hours. Two hours of being instructed to peer through strange spectacles, focus your mind on irregular shaped stones, or lay your hand on a metal orb that made your palm tingle. It was a sensation that threw your thoughts back to the creepy book in the basement. Your skin crawled.

Please, you silently prayed to whoever would hear you. Please don’t let them find anything. Especially not the mark. Anything but that.

Once Strange appeared to finish his tests, most of which had been more tedious than uncomfortable, he leaned a hip against his desk and rubbed his goatee, lost in thought.

You couldn’t wait any longer.

“Well?”

“Hmm?” He raised his head, the distance in his eyes honing into a focused stare.

“Are you done?” You tried not to fidget as you asked. Failed.

He blinked, as if remembering you were there.

“Oh, yes. Quite finished. You’re perfectly ordinary.”

He spoke the words with a casual cadence as if reciting the weather. Ordinary skies today, no chance of thunderstorms or magical potential.

“I’m normal,” you repeated like the world’s slowest parrot.

“In a magical sense, yes. I can’t speak in terms of your personal situation, but as far as I can tell, you are energetically inert.”

You didn’t know what the hell that meant, but it sounded a lot better than portal-wielding-demon-magnet. You weren’t disappointed. You weren’t. A selfish part of you hadn’t wanted your own you’re a wizard, Harry moment. Not at all.

You chanced a quick glance upwards and to your right. Bucky was standing next to your chair, his arms crossed and his lips formed into a slight pout as he stared at Strange. He didn’t seem at all relieved by the good news.

“Does that mean I can go?” you asked, sitting straighter in your chair.

“Yes.” Strange’s tone was even but his expression was oddly closed. “You can depart whenever you wish.”

You rose to your feet, ready to not spend a minute more in that place when the door to his office opened without a knock. Wong stood on the threshold, his frown grave. Unhelpful to use as a gauge, given that you suspected it was his default expression.

“We’re ready.”

“Excellent.” Strange pushed himself up from the desk, straightened the collar of his cape, and made a motion toward the door. “I assume you still wish to watch the ritual?”

Oh. Right. You’d completely forgotten about Davin. Guilt wiggled through your stomach like a worm through a rotten apple.

“Yeah. Yes, I mean. I do.”

He made the same motion toward the door and you followed it, your fists stiff at your side as you followed Wong out into the hallway. You could breathe a little easier now, knowing you would no longer be trapped as a long-term “guest,” but you wouldn’t truly shake off the feeling of dread until you had stepped back out onto the street. Or hell, better yet, back in your apartment.

The wizards may have helped you, and Bucky seemed to be allied with them, but that didn’t mean you trusted them. Plus, you really had meant it when you’d said you had a life to get back to. Being a captive in a magician’s place in Greenwich Village was not your idea of a relaxing holiday.

You had to go home and find out how much trouble you were in with the landlord; you hadn’t even begun to think about Davin and the thing inside of him—

A warm presence at your back scattered your anxious thoughts and the tension in your muscles began to leech away. Bucky was close behind you. You didn’t even have to look to know it was true, no more than you needed to open your eyes to recognize the warmth of the sun on your face.

You wished you could talk to him, but more than anything else, you wanted him to hold you again. Wrap his arms around you and murmur reassurances into your hair, telling you everything would be all right even if it wasn’t true.

Your wish went depressingly unfulfilled as Wong led you to a thick door made of iron. Remembering the last dungeon-like door you had walked through, your knees locked and your feet remained solidly on the floor. Bucky’s solid weight bumped into you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, in all appearances meant to steady you, but his fingers gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

A small gesture, too tiny for anyone else to see, meant only for you. It gave you the courage to walk through the door.

The room beyond was as grim as you’d fear it would be. There were no electronics or modern equipment that you could see. Instead, there were braziers along the walls, candelabras hanging from the ceiling, and glyphs carved into the walls.

What awaited you in the middle of the room made the surroundings seem like a cheery garden party. A grey stone slab, roughly at hip-height and seven feet in length, dominated the space. Davin lay upon its surface, thick straps across his shins, thighs, hips, and chest holding him in place. His wrists were bound by a second set of straps that were tied to the restraints across his waist.

He was focused on the wizards as they filed into the room, but once you were within sight of the altar, his gaze fixated immediately on your face. His brows furrowed as his eyes blazed into a hateful glare, his arms flexing as he struggled against his unyielding restraints.

There was no noise aside from the sound of leather chaffing against skin and clothing. Not even muffled protests arose from behind the cloth covering his mouth. It looked almost like a surgeon’s mask, a deep red color with a golden glyph drawn across its surface.

There was only you, Bucky, and the two wizards in the room. That made you feel slightly better. You weren’t sure if you could handle a whole gathering of hooded figures, looming over your coworker as if he was a sacrificial lamb about to be offered up to a vengeful deity.

You half expected daggers to be wielded, glowing with ritualistic glyphs, but the wizards’ hands remained empty. You suspected that didn’t mean much.

Strange stood at Davin’s head while Wong took up position to the right. Bucky was at your side, apparently not needing to take part in the exorcism, which began with the wizards making intricate shapes over the slab with their hands. Concentric orange circles formed in the air, filling the space with their unnatural luminescence.

Davin, or rather, the demon inside him, bucked against the straps, violently tossing his head in silent protest. The wizards paid him no mind, the shapes in the air growing brighter as the smell of ozone thickened the air and made it hard to take a full breath.

Strange and Wong weren’t paying you any attention either, too distracted to notice as Bucky slipped his arm around your waist, tucking you securely against his side. His eyes remained forward, the muscles in his jaw clenched and thrown into relief from the orange light painting his features, but his hold was firm and unrelenting.

Too afraid the wizards would see you wrap your own arm around him, you instead pressed your hand into the edge of his jacket, fisting the material tightly. He was the only thing grounding you in such a surreal, terrifying moment, and you couldn’t begin to imagine getting through this without his steady presence.

The exorcism itself, thank Christ, was short. Or, relatively short. It lasted maybe thirty seconds to a minute at most, but having to watch Davin silently squirm and writhe tied to a stone slab made the experience seem much, much longer.

“Ready?” Strange had his hands poised, one above Davin’s forehead and the other above his heart, the vibrant orange glyphs floating in front of his fingertips.

“Ready,” Wong answered. His own glyphs vanished as he picked up a jar you hadn’t noticed from the floor. Moving as if he was about to handle a live wire, Wong grabbed one end of the mask and quickly pulled it from Davin’s face.

The sound that erupted from his mouth was shrill, high-pitched, and inhuman, quickly cut off as Wong placed the opening of the jar over his mouth.

Davin’s body gave one final lurch, his back arching as something was expelled from his mouth. A long, segmented yellow appendage you now recognized as the heigore. It was pulled up into the jar as if it was reverse-gravity, coiling at the top just as neatly as a pile of especially ugly rope.

The end of the heigore barely passed the lip of the jar before Wong pulled it from Davin’s face and covered the opening with another glowing glyph. He wiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead, and Strange looked similarly tired as he let the concentric circles sizzle from his fingertips.

It was over.

Or… nearly over. Bucky removed his arm from around your waist and you immediately let go of his jacket. Biting your lip in nervous habit, you watched as Wong approached him with the jar.

“All yours,” Wong said, holding it out to him. Curious, you walked slowly forward, watching in sudden alarm as Wong waved away the glyphs.

Sensing its freedom, the heigore launched itself from the jar—right into Bucky’s iron grip. His demonic fist had a stranglehold around the parasite, pulling its entire body from the jar with one swift movement.

It was a pathetic sight within Bucky’s serrated grasp. A thorny, overgrown parasite only two feet in length. That’s all it really was outside of a host. A helpless tapeworm.

It coiled around Bucky’s forearm like a snake, squeezing uselessly at the armored plates. Its thorny surface puffed up, blades unsheathing from the thorns, and you clutched at your throat reflexively. You knew exactly what those blades felt like tearing into human flesh.

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, his eyes hard as he glared down at the creature, one corner of his lip pulled back in a grimace of disgust.

And then, he began to squeeze. You couldn’t look away, morbidly fascinated as the demon sensed the danger it was in, uncoiling from Bucky’s arm to try and escape. It flailed and writhed, twitching in the air, but there was no escape. Not from that iron grip. Those claws, a moment ago gently pressing into your side, now dug into the demon with murderous intent.

The heigore gave one last shudder, a tremble rippling throughout its sinuous length before it began to burn. Like a fuse being ignited from both ends, its head and tail caught flame, the heat blazing through it so quickly it was over within seconds. The flaming parasite collapsed into ash and fizzled into black smoke, flooding the room with a sickening, familiar stench.

Your bedroom. That night. A flash, a screech, and the smell of sulfur. You understood what it was now: Bucky, banishing other demons to wherever it was they came from.

There were so many questions you still needed answering, but all of your curiosity died as you looked to the stone slab.

Davin, eyes wide and alert and terrified, had watched the whole thing. It was that lucid panic on his face, the knowledge that there was no doubt this was Davin, made you finally move.

“You shouldn’t—“

Whatever Strange was going to say was lost as you rushed forward to the stone slab, your hands gripping the edge as you spoke his name in a tight voice.

“Davin?”

He swallowed and nodded, his voice painfully hoarse. “Is it… is it gone? Really gone?”

He was still strapped tight to the surface, but there was enough room for you to slip your hand through the restraints, curling your palm around his clenched fist.

“It’s gone,” you affirmed, squeezing his hand. “It’s over.”

It didn’t matter what the heigore had made him do to you. It didn’t matter that you’d never been that close. Right now, he was a human being caught up in the terrifying world of magic and demons, and you knew what a terrifying thing that was.

His bottom lip trembled, his eyes glassy as he seemed on the verge of breaking. You tried to open his clenched fist with a measured gentleness, and he allowed your fingers to slip through. You squeezed his hand and the haunted look in his eyes wasn’t as present as it had been a moment before. You even thought you saw relief there.

Someone cleared their throat and you looked over your shoulder to find three pairs of eyes staring at you. Strange wore a small but genuine smile. Wong’s raised eyebrows had made a reappearance.

And Bucky… wouldn’t even meet your eye.

A sensation sunk in your chest, like someone had pulled the plug and something warm and vital was draining out.

“I’m sure you’re eager to put this business behind you,” Strange said, stepping forward. With a flick of his wrist, the restraints all unbuckled at once, leaving Davin free to sit up. He did so, slowly and carefully, rubbing the base of his throat in a way that was a mirror image to your earlier gesture.

Strange nodded to Davin but his gaze also flicked to you. “We’re going to examine you one last time to make sure you are unharmed, and then… you may both go home.”

You blinked. Already? Now that the moment was here, you felt strangely… unsteady. Like you weren’t on solid ground anymore. How were you supposed to move on with your life after this?

One step at a time. And the first step was you leaving the room, guided by Wong as he explained they needed privacy. They being Davin, Strange, and Bucky, though you couldn’t imagine what he had to do with the examination. Maybe he needed to check no trace of the demon remained. All things considered, there was still so much you didn’t know about Bucky.

You planned to rectify that as soon as possible. It was long overdue.

The examination was only a few minutes, during which time you lingered at the bottom of a staircase. This area of the sanctum was much more somber, dark wood and faded teal wallpaper and carpets. The top of the grand staircase split in two, leading around the tall antechamber deeper into the sanctum.

Beyond the front of the staircase were two large doors that you just knew led to the outside world.

Freedom. So close, yet still out of reach.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jerked away from the aged bronze structure you’d been leaning against, shooting Wong a guilty look. Before you could apologize, footsteps against carpet runners drew your attention to the staircase, your eye lightening when your gaze fell on Bucky.

The tension around his eyes and the grim set of his mouth halted your smile before it could form. Davin stood next to him once they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face pale as his gaze kept flickering from the floor to Bucky.

Before you could even begin to figure out what was going on there, Strange said, “All appears to be well.” He seemed to be the only one of the group who wasn’t a bundle of frayed nerves. “You both are free to leave.”

“W-wait,” you stuttered, drawing the wizard’s attention. “What about my clothes? And I need to find Monster—“

“The hobgoblin will find its way home, if it’s not there already, and your clothes have been sent ahead of you.”

“Oh.” You looked to Bucky, seeking some kind of acknowledgement, but he remained silent, gaze hovering near your shoulder.

As if you weren’t feeling unsteady enough, now Bucky wouldn’t even meet your eye.

“We shall be monitoring you both, just in case there were any other demonic entities involved.” Wong peered toward Bucky, expressionless. “Sergeant Barnes will be in contact to ascertain all demonic activity has ceased, but should either of you run into anymore strange occurrences, contact us immediately.”

You turned to Wong and frowned. “But my phone was—“

The bald wizard drew out an object from his robes and held it out to you. It was your phone, pristine and whole as if the demon had never snapped it in half.

You took it with numb fingers, your thoughts equally stalled. You slipped your phone into the pocket of the robe you were still wearing, not knowing what else to say. It seemed the wizards had thought of everything.

“Shall we?”

You looked up just as Strange extended both of his hands and drew a circle with his arm. The fiery orange circle appeared in sync with his movements, the sphere large enough to step through as sparks splattered through the air, landing on the hardwood floor and skittering away.

A clear image of your living room appeared within its depths, just as pristine and unruined as your phone had been.

You looked to Strange, then Wong, and finally Bucky. Suddenly… you weren’t ready. All you’d wanted to do was go home, but now it took all of your willpower not to step back from the portal and beg them to let you stay.

If you left, if you went back to your life, then you’d have to face the consequences of everything that had happened. You’d have to acknowledge it was real.

And then you caught Davin’s eye. He was looking at the portal, the hollowness in his eyes gone as he stared with wonder and longing. You weren’t the only one to survive a harrowing experience.

“Ready?” you asked, voice pitching to a soft decibel. Davin dragged his gaze reluctantly from the portal to your face, the fiery ring reflecting in his eyes. He gave a quick nod, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Between the two of you, you’d been the most conscious during the last journey by portal. You took a step closer and tried not to flinch as sparks danced across the carpet in front of your slippers.

You assumed it was safe. Hoped it was safe. Otherwise, Bucky wouldn’t let you go.

…right?

Before you stepped through, you glanced over your shoulder, searching out a pair of pale blue eyes. You found them staring back at you, hard and troubled, and they flicked between you and Davin with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint.

Before you could determine what it was, Bucky dropped his eyes again, his crossed arms tight across his chest. Everything about his body language was uncomfortable and tense, conveying a desire to be anywhere but there.

It did nothing to soothe your own anxiety but you’d already stalled too long; the two wizards were watching you expectantly. You turned back to the portal, trying not to feel like a child about to step onto a stage for the school’s talent show. Only instead of humiliation, you faced being burned by a literal ring of fire.

With an encouraging nod aimed at your coworker, you stepped forward through the magical wormhole, your slippers landing on the low pile carpet of your living room.

No burning smell flesh, no fiery pain, just a brief flush of warmth across your skin before you were on the other side.

Davin stepped through just behind you, and with a sharp fizzle, the portal closed in on itself with a last flicker of sparks.

It’s over. That’s what you had told Davin. It’s what you had told yourself, too.

How wrong you were.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #branded #reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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nalgenewhore · 5 years

Text

“E, I’m here,” Lorcan called out from her front hall. “How’re you feeling, love?”

A pathetic groan was her answer, “Having a uterus is ass.” She heard him snort and a couple moments later, he was appearing in the doorway to her bedroom, a sympathetic tilt to his head. She pouted at him and he laughed, entering her room and walking to her side, where she was curled in the fetal position around her hot water bottle. She noticed the shopping bag he had in his hand and nodded feebly towards it, “What’s in there?” Hellas, her dog, lifted his head from where it had been resting on her hip, whining softly.

Lorcan glanced down at the bag and started pulling out stuff he had gotten her, placing them on her desk. “Diva Cup spray, super pads, the Kodex type, and pantie liners, Midol, you ran out,” he mentioned to her as he put the bottle of pills on her nightstand, just within her reach. “That chocolate thingie you forgot at the store yesterday, remember, you cried when you realized you forgot and the store was closed.” There was a smirk on his lips and that hurt more than she thought it could. It wasn’t funny.

Tears pooled in her eyes at the memory, “You don’t have to say it like that.” She sniffled and he looked up, his face stricken. “You don’t have to be a massive dick about it.” Hellas barked slightly, growling at his owner’s distress and the source of it, her stupid boyfriend.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, E, I just-” There was a slight edge of laughter to his voice and it cut deep into her.

“If you’re gonna be like that, you can just leave, I don’t need someone making me feel worse than I already do about things I can’t control.” With that, she turned to her other side, furiously trying to stop her crying. She despised her period, hated how sensitive she was, hated how every movement had her wincing in discomfort. The hot water bottle wasn’t so hot anymore and she groaned, knowing she would have to get up to refill it and she knew that the move to vertical would make her nauseous and dizzy.

The mattress shifted and the duvet was pulled up as Lorcan settled behind her, tugging her slowly enough so that she could push him off if she wanted but Elide let him pull her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist snugly but not too tightly. “I’m sorry, E. I shouldn’t have said it like that, I know how much you hate your period and I wish I could make it all go away, mahasani.”

“Och,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “You asshole, stop making me cry.”

Lorcan laughed and the sound vibrated through his chest and into her back, “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes, I forgive you,” she said, the smile on her face swept off when Lorcan pulled her hot water bottle away, “What the literal fuck do you think you-”

He chuckled as his warm hands slipped under her hoodie and pressed into her stomach, exactly where her cramp was. “You’re feisty today.”

“Yesh, well, shedding your uterus will do that to a gal,” she said, no bite in her words as his hands rubbed her stomach, just enough pressure directly below her belly button that her discomfort was soothed away. Elide sighed and relaxed fully against him, her head falling back onto his shoulder. “Mmm, that feels nice.” Her hands found their way into Hellas’ thick fur, stroking softly.

“Yeah?” he asked and she felt his smile in her neck.

“Mm-hmm.” She sighed and her eyes fell shut, “I’m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that.” Lorcan practically glowed with pride, Elide hardly slept while during her cycle, her pain kept her up even after her meds. “Thank you, baby,” she whispered as she let slumber drag her under.

When she woke up, the snow was still falling outside and her lamp was casting a soft glow about her room. Her arms were wrapped around Hellas, the Husky sleeping soundly. Lorcan was nowhere to be seen and she was covered in a pile of warm blankets. There was something heated on her stomach and she felt around, realizing it was her electric blanket that she thought she had lost.

Elide heard someone moving around in the main room of her apartment and slowly swung her legs out of bed, noting the glass of water and two little pill stamped with ‘Midol’. She smiled and noticed her pain wasn’t as bad, electing to leave them there as she stood and put her glasses on before she slowly shuffled out of her room.

Lorcan was standing in her kitchen, and he turned when she shut her door, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Hi, there. Feeling better?”

Elide nodded and approached him before wrapping her arms around his waist. “Yeah, I thought I lost my electric blanket.”

“Oh, that? I got a new one ‘cause I know how much you loved your old one.” He said it so casually but Elide squealed in delight.

“You did?”

Lorcan laughed, “Yeah, you were full-on sobbing when you couldn’t find it.”

Elide sighed, the sound wavering as tears pricked her eyes again and her throat tightened. “We don’t need to talk about that right now.” He smiled and wiped her tears away, leaning down to kiss her softly. “Ok?”

“Ok.” He nipped her bottom lip and pulled away, “You hungry?”

“Fucking starving.” She laughed and looked around him to where there was a plate of grilled-cheese sandwiches and a mug of steaming tea. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

Lorcan grinned and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, “You know, your cravings are really predictable, E. It’s the same thing every month.”

She pouted and crossed her arms, “I’m not that obvious about it.” Lorcan rose a brow as he passed her her mug of tea, huffing a laugh when she sipped and sighed in bliss. “I don’t care how obvious I am, this tea is worth it.”

Lorcan chuckled as he grabbed her plate of sandwiches and guiding her to the couch, where there was a pile of pillows and blankets for her. “Sit down, babe. I got something for you.”

“Oh?” she questioned, scrunching her nose as she curled into the corner of the couch, her tea held securely in her hands, the steam wafting from it fogging her glasses. “What’d ya get?”

“You’ll see,” he told her as he crouched in front of her TV and joined her shortly after. Lorcan pulled her legs over his lap and rubbed her thigh with his thumbs.

He turned his head and looked down at her, waiting till she looked up at him and smiled, “Thank you for coming over.” She rested her head on his shoulder, batting her eyes at him.

“Even though I’ve made you cry, I think, twice now?”

Elide laughed and nodded, “Even if you’ve made me cry twice now. So,” she put her tea on the coffee table and nestled into his chest, “What’s your surprise?”

He pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead, “Close your eyes, princess.” She was buzzing with excitement as she bit her lip and closed her eyes, her lashes brushing against her specs.

She opened them when she heard the first note of the F.R.I.E.N.D.S theme song and she cried out in happiness, “What. They took it off of Netflix, how did you find it, I can’t believe you found it, I’m-” She cut herself off to clap along and then laugh, falling back against him. “I’m so happy right now, you cannot even imagine.” She held his hands to her chest, squeezing them periodically as the show continued to play.

It had taken him days to find the complete box-set of DVD’s for Elide’s favourite comfort-food show. She had been so sad when Netflix had taken it down and moped around her apartment days afterwards.

She’d told him she hadn’t cried but he knew that she had definitely burst into a puddle of tears when she couldn’t find it and had ranted to him about how Netflix and Apple were evil corporations that didn’t care about their customers and only thought about making the most money after she had found out that to buy the entire show would cost her over one hundred dollars.

It’s ridiculous, Lorcan! It’s criminal, is what it is, how could they do this to their customers? Why would they do this to me, I’m a good person, I’m environmentally conscious, I’m vegetarian, I don’t have a car and walk or take public transit most places, I am a tax paying citizen, I’m never late to pay my bills, I’m a fucking kindergarten teacher, for Anneith’s sake, my dog is a rescue, why would they do this to me?

Now, he wasn’t watching the show at all. Instead, his eyes were on Elide, the woman that he was sure was the one he would marry, the love of his life, the sun to his days, the stars and moon to his nights. His throat tightened as she eventually drifted off, her grilled-cheese left untouched on the coffee table. “Iyótaŋčhila, Elide Lochan.” I love you, Elide Lochan.

“What’d ya say?” Her voice was thick with sleep like warm honey sitting in a glass jar.

Shit. Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck, she had been asleep, she had fallen asleep on his chest and he knew it because Lorcan Salvaterre knew what it felt like to have her sleeping next to him. “I, I just…” he trailed off, his heart slamming in his chest. Elide slowly pulled herself up, her eyes wide and her brows raised. Lorcan bowed his head and rested it on her clavicle, “I love you, Elide.”

“You do?” Elide’s voice was thick with tears once more and filled with wonder. “You love me?”

Lorcan raised his head, their noses brushing as he nodded, “Elide Syeira Lochan, I love you.”

She gasped and her eyes lined with silver. Elide brushed her thumb over his high cheekbone, “Kamav tut, I love you too, Lorcan Ohitekah Salvaterre, I love you so gods-damned much.” His eyes were brimming with tears as he smiled and they spilled down his cheeks and so did hers, “Stop making me cry, bengalo.”

Lorcan’s lips pulled into a wide smile as he laughed and it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard as he kissed her slowly, “I’m sorry, E. Will you forgive me?”

“Hmm, I think I’ll have to think on that, my love, your offences have been rather egregious lately,” she mused, tilting her head up to brush her lips against him. Elide cackled when he stuck his bottom lip out and made his eyes wide and sad.

“Pretty please?” He pouted and somehow made tears pool in his eyes, though she knew that they were fake. “With sugar on top?”

Elide huffed in a joking way and rolled her eyes, “Oh, I guess I can find it in my soul to forgive you.”

“Thank Hellas for that.”

++++++

Translations: I used Lakota (Sioux) for Lorcan’s mother tongue and Romany for Elide’s!

Lakota:

Mahasani: Term of endearment, translates to ‘my other skin’

Iyótaŋčhila: ‘I love you’

Ohitekah: Lakota name that means ‘fierce or war-like’

Romany:

Kamav tut: ‘I love you’

Bengalo: Idiot

Syeira: Romany name, means ‘princess’

@myfeyrelady @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @highqueenofelfhame @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17

#elorcan #elidexlorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore

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inkstainedfanfics · 5 years

Note

Okay here are some prompts for Theseus 1)“You know, I always imagined you’d be a little happier whenever I imagined this moment.” 16)“I’m here to cash in that favor.” 37)“I need you.” Don't all have to be together but I feel like they work for Theseus :)

He appears in your office door without a sound. Arms on theedges, long frame blocking the way in or out, he leans there for a moment,watching you work, waiting for you to notice him, but you simply continuehumming as you sort through papers, utterly unaware of his presence until hetalks.

“I could be here to kill you, you know.”

You snap to attention at this, reaching for your wand beforerealizing it’s Theseus. Once you do, you relax. “Are you?”

“Fortunately for you, no.”

“A shame. It would save me all this paperwork.”

He laughs, the warm sound filling your small office. “Paperwork’sgetting to you? Funny, I thought you’d just put all that administrative stuffon your assistant.”

You sigh and lean away from the seven separate piles ofpapers cluttering up your tiny desk. There’s barely enough room to move withoutrisking a stack tumbling down and onto the oak floorboards. “Protocol says I’msupposed to do it all. Which isn’t fun, I’ll give you that. But,” your smile turnsmischievous as you flick your wrist, “protocol also says you should’vescheduled a meeting.” Your calendar swings off the wall and flaps over to Theseus,coming to rest right in front of his face. “And you didn’t.”

Theseus raises an eyebrow as he leans around the floatingcalendar. “Oh, so I need an appointment to meet with my best friend now? Allhigh and mighty in your new office?”

You shrug. “Protocol.”

Theseus’s hands drop from the doorway as he strolls in,smile growing as he bats the calendar away. “Protocol? Since when have youcared for that?”

A beat passes as you watch him stroll into your office. “Sinceit saved my life.”

“If I remember correctly, it was me who saved your life. Notprotocol.”

“You were following protocol.”

“No,” Theseus says as he falls into the seat across fromyou, “what I followed were my instincts. Which are, funnily enough, perfect.Gonna eat this?”

You shake your head as he swipes the apple left over fromlunch off your desk. “All yours.”

He takes a giant bite of the apple, then talks as he chews. “ButI’m not here to remind you of my brave, daring deeds in pulling you from danger.”

You raise your eyebrows. “No? Because that sure feels likeit’s what you’re doing. Just bragging.”

“Brag? Me? Never. But I do need something from you.”

“Ah, and there we go. The real reason you show up.”

“Hear me out. I’m cashing in that favor you owe me.”

“For saving my life.”

“For saving your life.”

You suck in a breath and study him, then let it out beforesaying, “I’m going to regret this, but what do you want?”

“Well,” he says as he takes another bite from the apple, “I washoping you’d accompany me somewhere.”

“Too scared to go in the field all alone, Scamander?”

He swallows the bite of apple and grins. “Hardly. But I ama bit worried about showing up to my little brother’s wedding alone.”

This gives you pause, and you stare at him, suspicious and,admittedly, a bit surprised. “Are you seriously inviting me to be your date toa personal event?”

“Yep.” He flips the apple in the air, and for the first timesince you’d met him, he won’t look you in the eyes. “So? What do you say?”

You blink, considering. Is this what you want? JoiningScamander, your partner of five years and best friend of four, at such apersonal event? You’d hung out plenty outside of work, knew everything aboutone another, but you’d never met each other’s families, and you’re not certainif you want to start or not.

So, you do the first thing you can think of: Stall. “Well, first:You’re breaking about a million different protocols right now.”

Theseus waves his hand, snorting at the thought. “I’ll takemy chances with Langsley’s wrath.”

“Good luck with that.”

“And second?” He asks, flipping the apple again.

You let him stew for a moment, worry clear as he continuesto toss the apple up over and over.

“Second,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest as youlean back in your chair, “sure, but you’ll owe me for this.”

Theseus lets out a deep breath. A bright smile quicklyfollows. “Even though this is you paying me back for saving yourlife?”

“This is asking way more of a person than just tacklingsomeone.”

Theseus’s grin widens. “Fair. Fine, I’ll owe you for this. I’lltake you to your favorite restaurant.”

“And do all my paperwork for a week.”

He eyes the stacks. “What about protocol?”

You look at the stacks of paper that seem to grow every day.“I’m sick of protocol.”

Theseus laughs at this, and you can’t help your own smile atthe charming sound. “Fine. Dinner and paperwork. How romantic.”

This stops you. “Well, I’m not asking for romantic.”

Theseus, though, is already standing, his grin wide as heheads for the door. “Perfect. Glad we got that all sorted out.”

He’s out the door as you start from your seat. “Oh, also,”he says, popping back around the corner, hair messy, rubbing his forehead andlooking guilty, “I may or may not have told my mum we’re seeing each other.”

“Wait, what?”

“Sorry. I’ll give you the details on the wedding later. Bye!”

“Theseus. Theseus!” You shout after him, but he’s alreadygone. Chair screeching as you jump to your feet, you rush to the door, intenton tracking him down and clearing this up. “Theseus Scamander, don’t you dare—”

Your words are eaten as a stack of contracts piled haphazardlyon the edge of your desk sways then falls, papers filling the air.

You pay them little mind as you slam your door shut behindyou and rush after Theseus, fully intent on clearing up what exactly you’ve agreedto.

#theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus scamander imagine #theseus scamander one shot #fbawtft #fbawtft fic #fluff #this took like a million years to get back to you but i hope you like it #requested #drabble #drabble night

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eddieeatsass · 5 years

Text

Hell In Heels

Summary: Since they've begun dating, Stan and Bill have become quite the adventurous couple in the bedroom. There's not much they haven't tried, so when Stan picks up a new present for them to use in unconventional ways, Bill can't help but be intrigued. Pairing: Stenbrough Rating: E Warnings: Smut, explicit language, improper use of stilettos and finger condoms

Read on AO3

It was 5:53 on a Friday evening; an unopened box of pizza sat on the kitchen counter, awaiting the arrival of its second eater. Bill was lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, trying to pass the time between every anxious glance up at the clock. As per usual, he’d arrived home from work an hour before his boyfriend. He’d wasted no time in ordering them a pizza for dinner, and then shucking off his stiff work clothes as soon as it had gotten delivered. That hour at home alone was by far his least favorite part of every day, but today was even worse, because today he had to wait two.

Stan had texted him earlier in the day and told him he’d be home late. Bill knew he was being a brat for being upset about something as trivial as one hour. Two of his best friends were in a long-distance relationship, and they often went months without seeing one another. But Bill couldn’t help that he’d gotten attached to the consistency at which he got to marvel in Stan’s soft kisses and gentle touches, couldn’t help that he felt empty when they’d spend even an extra hour apart.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Bill out of his thoughts, and his feet were carrying him into the living room before his brain had even caught up. He barreled into a tall frame, not even bothering to say hello before peppering kisses along Stan’s neck.

Stan chuckled above him, dropping his belongings to the floor with an unceremonious clunk before curling his arms around Bill’s frame.

“Miss me?” Stan teased.

Bill grumbled something incomprehensible into the fabric of Stan’s shirt, earning another laugh.

When he finally separated himself from his boyfriend’s arms, Bill noticed a big box accompanying Stan’s messenger bag.

“What’s th-that?” Bill nodded in the direction of the mystery item.

Stan’s eyes lit up behind a small smirk. He let himself take in his boyfriend for the first time since walking through the door. Bill’s hair was a mess from laying in bed for the past couple hours, the quickly fading indentation on his cheek from his pillow another indication. But what really drew Stan’s attention was the pair of black boxer briefs that cut through the expanse of creamy skin. Stan quirked an eyebrow at Bill in question.

“It’s w-warm in our apartment.” Bill shrugged, looking slightly abashed at the reaction his attire had garnered him.

Stan decided it was better that Bill was already undressed, considering what he had planned for them tonight.

Stan placed his hands on either side of Bill’s face, pulling him in for an unexpected slow kiss.

“Not that I don’t l-love this,” Bill said between kisses. “but are y-y-you going to sh-show me what’s in the b-box?” Stan smiled against Bill’s lips before pulling away.

“Go wait in our room.” Stan turned Bill around by his shoulders and slapped his ass, pushing him in the direction of their bedroom. Bill yelped in surprise before dissolving into giggles as he disappeared down the hall.

It didn’t take long before Bill started to get impatient. He was sitting on the edge of their bed, picking at a thread on their duvet cover when he finally heard something from the other room. He couldn’t place the sound right away, but the steadiness of the clicks got louder as Stan approached the room, and Bill’s mind pieced things together just as Stan strode through the doorway.

Stan’s demeanor was completely casual. He walked with his usual air of confidence, even with the five-inch death spikes he now wore on his feet.

Despite them being intimidating, Bill couldn’t deny they were incredibly sexy. He watched as Stan stopped in front of their full-length mirror to admire himself, as if Bill wasn’t even in the room.

The heels were sleek; slender red numbers with a considerable heel attached. They poked out just the right amount beneath the cuff of his work pants. Bill followed the length of Stan’s legs, now somehow impossibly longer than they already were, and settled his attention on the crimson stilettos.

“Those are n-nice.” Bill commented, adams apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed down his budding arousal.

Stan turned slightly to admire a different angle in the mirror, cocking his hip to accentuate the curve of his ass. His suits were tailor made for his body, with clean lines and sharp creases to make him look as presentable as possible, and if you asked Bill, as fuckable as possible. In combination with the new additions, it made Stan godly in Bill's eyes.

“They are, aren’t they?” Stan responded coyly.

Bill’s response was exactly what Stan had been hoping for, but with what he had planned, he needed Bill just a little more pliant.

Ignoring Bill’s reflection in the mirror, Stan kept his eyes on his own reflection as he began unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off along with his suit jacket and moving to fold them over the back of his desk chair.

He heard the hitch in Bill’s voice when he noticed the garter belt attached around Stan’s waist, disappearing into the waistband of his dark slacks. Stan pretended not to notice, spending extra time undoing his pants just to leave Bill waiting. When he couldn’t draw on the process any longer, he bent at the waist as he pulled his pants down, exposing white flesh and red lace and black nylon all at once.

He stepped out of his pants and straightened himself, adding them to the neat pile of clothes on his chair. He turned to face Bill, hiding his knowing smirk under a facade of innocence as he approached his boyfriend.

“Y-y-you were wearing those a-all day?” Bill gulped, eyes unabashedly raking up and down Stan’s form.

Stan looked down at himself, eyeing his sheer black thigh highs held up by thin garters that only worked to frame the way his cock was barely contained in the red lace panties he wore. Red, just like the heels he bought. Just like the marks that littered his frame from their morning activities.

“Mhm.” Stan nodded, reveling in the way Bill’s pupils dilated at the thought.

Stan closed the distance between them, placing his knee into the spot between Bill’s legs and pushing them both down on to the mattress. His arms came up on either side of Bill’s head, caging him in, locking his gaze, teasing him with just the slightest bit of pressure from his knee.

“I was thinking of you all day.” Stan whispered in Bill’s ear as Bill’s warm hands gripped onto his sides. “I was thinking of you when I bought them.”

It took a moment for Bill to come out of his daze and realize Stan was talking about the heels.

“M-me?” Bill questioned, a flush spreading down his chest.

“Yeah. I was thinking about how much fun we could have with them.”

Stan’s devilishly sinful grin told Bill everything he needed to know, his cock already twitching at all the possibilities running through his head. Bill pulled Stan down into a feverish kiss, his grip tightening around Stan’s waist to pull him flush against his chest.

The kiss grew heavier as the minutes ticked on, the eagerness heavy in the air above them. Stan’s hands explored the planes of Bill’s body, feather light touches that left goosebumps in their wake. When he reached Bill’s abdomen, he could already feel the anticipatory tensing of his muscles.

Stan broke the kiss only to move his lips down Bill’s neck, stopping at the dip in his collarbone that always riled him up. Stan sucked on the fading bite mark there, giving it new life as red and purple splotches rose to the surface under his tongue. Bill’s moans could be heard among the gentle city bustle filtering in through their window, a symphony that Stan would sear into his memory.

Stan moved down Bill’s body, teeth grazing tender flesh on the way, until he hit the waistband of Bill’s briefs. The thin material wasn’t doing Bill many favors at hiding his growing need, the cotton spread taught over the impressive tent. Stan made eye contact with Bill, who was watching intently with lidded eyes, before mouthing at his cock through the briefs.

Stan felt the small thump on the bed as Bill threw his head back, whimper escaping his bitten red lips. Stan wanted to hear it again and again, continuing his teasing for a maliciously long time before he finally took pity on Bill’s hoarse voice and begging pleas.

“More… S-Stan… please… HNNNGG-” Bill’s pleading was cut off as Stan pulled his boxers down and got his mouth on him in one swift movement. Bill felt heavy on his tongue, his cock having grown to full hardness under Stan’s teasing. Bill was a considerable length, hard to swallow down fully unless Stan really concentrated, but his girth was what really made Stan’s jaw protest. So instead, Stan swirled his tongue around Bill’s head, leaving small kitten licks up his frenulum and tracing the veins on the underside of his cock.

“Did you clean yourself out today?” Stan asked between licks, already going over his plan in his head.

Bill nodded above him, too busy writhing on the bed to give him a proper answer.

Stan stopped his movements altogether, letting Bill’s cock fall against his stomach with a wet slap.

“W-wh-”

“Use your words. I asked you a question.”

Bill stared back at him, mouth gaping around his words.

“Y-Yes…”

“Good boy.” Stan smiled, leaning up to peck a still reeling Bill on the lips. “Hands and knees.” He ordered softly, enjoying the way Bill scrambled to flip himself over as quickly as possible, clearly excited about what was to come.

Stan took a moment to gather what he needed from their toy chest. It was a big wooden piece that passed as decor to the unseeing eye, but once it was opened, it held all the lewd treasures one could imagine. Once he'd procured lube and toy cleaner, Stan was back on the bed, rubbing a soothing hand along Bill’s back.

“What’s your color, baby?” Stan whispered while he stationed himself behind Bill, his hands now kneading Bill's cheeks apart.

“Green.” Bill confirmed, pushing back into Stan’s grasp.

With that, Stan popped open the lube and squirted a generous amount on his finger. When he brought it up to the awaiting ring of muscle he watched as Bill’s hole fluttered under his touch. Stan tsked, circling the pucker.

“Already so desperate for me…”

When his finger finally slipped in Bill responded with a full body shiver and a breathy sigh, his tension visibly releasing.

“There we go baby, relax yourself for me.” Stan cooed, running his free hand down Bill’s spine soothingly.

Stan continued to finger Bill slowly, crooking his index to graze that bundle of nerves that had Bill humming with pleasure. He kept going until Bill was loose enough that Stan could fit another finger in, but instead of doing so, he pulled his hand away and began prepping his surprise.

Stan first used the toy cleaner to sanitize, spraying it a few inches away from the heel of his stiletto and then wiping it away with a paper towel a few moments later. The heel would be covered anyway, but Stan was nothing if not prudent. He didn’t want any tears in the condom to result in Bill having dirt up his ass, that would probably ruin the moment.

Another clever way Stan had figured out to decrease the possibility of tearing was to use a finger condom rather than a regular one. They were much smaller, and therefore wouldn’t result in as much latex rubbing against itself. Stan and Bill had bought a pack of finger condoms a couple years ago when they’d just begun exploring each other, and Stan had still been unsure about cleanliness.

After checking the expiration date on the package, Stan proceeded to unwrap one and roll it up the heel. After seeing how it flopped back down, uncooperative and still slightly too large to stay up on its own, Stan checked their bedside drawer for something to help secure it in place. After some rustling around, he found a small clear elastic that had no doubt belonged to Beverly, ended up on their floor, and gotten thrown into the drawer out of laziness. But he’d still thank the gods above and Beverly for this gift.

After wrapping the small elastic around the very top of the condom, holding it up but making sure it didn’t pull too much, Stan turned back to Bill.

Bill was buzzing with excitement, having put together the (very obvious) clues and figured out what was in store for him. They had never experimented with something like this, but he knew that Stan would never put him in any danger, and if this was something that Stan was initiating, it was because he’d done thorough research on it. So Bill stayed relaxed, in a daze of affection as he watched his boyfriend prepare for this new experience.

“Come here.” Stan patted the end of the bed, ushering Bill to lay on his stomach and scooch down the length of the mattress until his lower half was hanging off, balanced on his tiptoes.

“Spread your cheeks for me, pretty boy.” Stan whispered gruffly.

Bill did as he was told, reaching back with both hands and pulling his cheeks apart. It was an intoxicating view, his hole was puckering its lips at Stan tauntingly, and Stan couldn’t do it a disservice any long. He needed to spread it wide open.

With an act of bravery and surprising balance, Stan lifted one foot off the ground and placed it directly on Bill’s tailbone, causing the heel of his stiletto to line up almost perfectly with Bill’s awaiting hole. It was a bit hard to keep himself from toppling over without putting too much pressure on Bill’s body, so as a second thought Stan reached out and grasped the bed posts, using them to keep himself stabilized.

With a steadying breath, Stan began rubbing the tip of his stiletto around Bill’s hole, coating the condom with a generous coating of lube that was left over from when Stan fingered him. That alone had Bill crooning.

It was when Stan finally entered Bill, slow and steady, that Bill let a loud moan fill the room. All of the pent up anticipation came gurgling out of him, raw and wanton. Bill tried to push back into Stan but he held him firmly in place with the sole of his shoe, stopping Bill from getting what he wanted. Stan knew how he wanted this to go; slow and torturous, his favorite way to tease.

“How does it feel, baby?” Stan asked.

“Weird. Amazing.”

Stan’s lips quirked into a half smile.

“Describe it for me.”

Stan began leisurely fucking his heel in and out of Bill, keeping the movements shallow, leaving Bill straining for stimulation as he tried to describe the feeling.

“It feels… t-t-tantalizing. I almost f-feel empty, but then every time you graze - hnnnng-”

Stan smirked as he watched Bill’s back tense.

“Yeah, there. It’s k-k-kind of like I’m- aaaaaaahhhh - unp-p-prepared for it, but that just makes it more s-sensitive.”

Stan nodded, though Bill couldn’t see him, his face long ago lost to the sheets below it.

When Stan had thought of this idea, he hadn't been sure what exactly it would feel like. He knew the heel of a stiletto was too thin to give any real resemblance of a cock, but if he angled it just right, he thought maybe it would cause sensations Bill had never felt before. In a way, he’d been right, and seeing Bill’s hole cling to his heel was enough to make the whole thing worth it. What a sight.

But however pretty the view, Stan knew Bill couldn’t cum just from this.

“How’s your pretty cock doing?” Stan asked, already knowing the answer. He could see how red it had gotten, rubied at the tip and an angry fade along the shaft. The only friction it was getting at the moment was occasional rutting up against the bed.

Bill let out a mewl in response.

“Feeling kinda neglected, huh?”

Bill nodded frantically, once again trying to move farther back and get the heel as deep into himself as possible. Stan held strong, using the strength in his thighs (thank you baseball) to keep his wriggly boy in check.

“Yes!” Bill sobbed out after being denied any movement.

“Do you want to touch it?” Stan asked calmly.

“Yes.” Bill sobbed again, this time much quieter and almost defeated.

“Alright baby, I’ll let you touch yourself, but if you can’t make yourself cum in three minutes, you’re not allowed to touch yourself for another thirty.”

Bill’s eyes widened, the challenge leaving his mouth dry and his palms sweaty. The thought of being teased for another 30 minutes with no alleviation made him shudder, so… he’d just have to do it in three.

“O-o-okay.” Bill agreed, looking over his shoulder to send Stan a reassuring smile that he was still on board, Stan could continue.

“I’ll be keeping track of your time.” Stan warned, raising his eye level to that of the clock on their bedside table. He waited a few seconds for it to level out to a number he could easily keep track of, and then he was giving Bill the go.

Bill’s hand instantly shot down to his cock, nearly vibrating under the overdue touch. His other hand led up to his chest, tweaking one nipple and then the other. Before they’d gotten together, Bill had always thought it was a myth that people could get turned on just by having their nipples played with, but Stan had taught him otherwise and boy did he learn fast.

Both of his hands worked in tandem, pulling and squeezing, leading Bill to filthy moans and withering cries, in a desperate attempt to get himself to cum.

A minute had gone by. Steeling himself and using leverage from the bed posts, Stan doubled his tempo. The result was instant; a tightening of muscles, a deep howl, and Bill’s own hands sped up to match the pace Stan set.

He couldn’t be certain, but from Bill’s reactions Stan believed he’d found the perfect angle to rub against his prostate. He made sure to be gentle, given that the heel of a stiletto wasn’t exactly forgiving. He’d made sure when picking out the pair that there were no sharp corners or angles on the heel, but it was still a heel, not exactly something made to be stirring around someone’s insides.

“A minute and thirty seconds to go.” Stan singsonged as they reached the halfway mark.

He paid close attention to how Bill stroked his cock, quick broad jerks where he passed his enclosed fist over the head to spread his precum down his shaft. It glistened with lubrication, the wetness creating a sickeningly sweet smack every time his wrist came in contact with his pelvis.

Stan trailed his gaze up Bill’s body, stopping briefly to admire the way he plucked at his nipples, and then continuing until he settled on Bill’s face.

His features were scrunched up tightly; creases formed at the edges of his eyes which were wound tightly shut, and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream.

Stan finally tore his eyes away from Bill to check the clock again, and was surprised to find that far more time has gone by than he’d thought. Bill had a bit of a habit of mesmerizing Stan, with those choked out moans and fucked out eyes, he'd pull him in until hours had gone by in seconds.

"Twenty seconds left." Stan warned, watching as Bill’s hand tripled in speed, becoming a blur of motion that Stan couldn’t keep up with. He wondered absently if Bill would be all chaffed after this, made a mental note to run Bill an aloe vera bath when they were all done.

Ten seconds left. Stan began counting aloud.

“10… 9… 8…”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“7… 6… 5…”

“Oh my god f-fuck I’m-”

“4… 3… 2…”

As if set on a timer, as soon as the clock hit its time, so did Bill.

Stan looked on in satisfaction as Bill hit his climax, watching everything in him go slack as the waves of pleasure took over. Hot stripes of cum shot across Bill’s stomach and the bed spread, as tears streaked down his ruddied cheeks. He was silent; no moans or screams or swears, just quiet release. He didn’t make a peep until the very last of his contents had been squeezed out of him, and then with a grunt he finally let himself collapse.

Stan carefully pulled out of him, immediately shucking off the defiled stiletto and following suit with his other, shortening him a good five inches. Stan wrapped his arms around Bill’s form and helped hike him up on the bed, aiding his tired muscles to get into a comfortable position. He was about to head off to the bathroom to grab his after care kit when two big arms wrapped around his waist, preventing him from moving.

Stan chuckled lowly, turning back around to face his boyfriend.

“I gotta get you cleaned up, baby.” Stan said in a hush.

“Later.” Bill resisted, nuzzling into Stan’s neck and kissing his collarbone.

Stan relented easily, not having it in him to part from Bill just yet either.

They laid there for long enough to drift off, losing consciousness to the world together. Stan would have an unpleasant mess to clean up when they awoke, but it would all be worth it. It was always worth it with Bill.

#stenbrough #stenbrough fanfic #stenbrough fanfiction #stenbrough smut #stenbrough lemon #it fanfic #it fanfiction #it smut #it lemon #stanley uris #stan uris #bill denbrough #it #it 2017 #my posts #my writing

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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

Pandemic prompts 11 "Oh I'm fine, I never get sick"

I put this in the Desperation verse

Prompt list here

[AO3]

Belle left Mr Gold giving Bae his honey and lemon while she went back into town. She had washed her hands thoroughly before leaving, and told herself she would need to be more careful; the virus was virulent and the last thing she needed was to come down with it herself. It was hard to see someone battling their own sickness to love and care for their child, though. She was determined to do what she could to help.

She crossed the street, dodging a trio of men with their arms filled with multi packs of toilet paper who got a little too close. Shaking her head, she walked by the diner and up the tree-lined path that led to the inn.

The interior was dark and cool, and Belle shivered a little as she tapped the bell on the desk. There was a cheerful ping, and she hesitated, hand hovering above it, wondering if she would need to wash her hands again. Should have worn gloves.

“You here for takeout?”

A young woman stuck her head around the corner behind the reception desk, and Belle took a few hasty steps back, leaving enough room for her to enter properly and leave a generous space between them. She had seen the woman on the few occasions she had been in the diner, pretty and long-limbed, a bright red streak in her dark hair. She smiled widely, leaning on the reception desk and tapping red-lacquered fingernails against the wood.

“Hey,” she said brightly. “The new librarian, right?”

“Yes.” Belle returned the smile. “My name’s Belle. Belle French.”

“Ruby Lucas,” said the woman. “Did you place an order? I thought it was Leroy wanting his bacon cheeseburgers.”

“Oh no,” said Belle hastily. “No, it’s not that. It’s - I’m kind of doing someone a favour. I was just over at Mr Gold’s house, and—”

“Oh, you know Rum!” said Ruby, and Belle shook her head, confused.

“Rum?”

“Mr Gold,” explained Ruby, leaning on her elbows and grinning. “His first name’s Rum. I guess it’s short for something? But I have no idea what, so…” She shrugged. “He does Granny’s books.”

“Yeah, that’s partly why I’m here,” said Belle. “I told him I’d pick them up. And - and he said that your granny was sick. He wanted to know how she’s doing.”

Ruby’s face fell a little, a hint of anxiety in her dark eyes.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, yeah, she’s okay. I mean not great but okay. I’m really worried, not gonna lie, but I’m trying not to let her see, you know? She did at least eat something today, so I think maybe she’s starting to get over the worst of it. Maybe.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Belle sincerely. “What about you?”

“What? Oh, I’m fine, I never get sick,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Just as well, this place doesn’t run itself. Even with no customers.”

“The diner’s still doing takeout?” asked Belle, and Ruby nodded.

“Yeah. Business is pretty slow, but we’ve done a few deliveries of meals to people who can’t leave their homes, and there are regular orders for burgers.”

“Better than nothing, I guess,” said Belle.

“Yeah, but if the Mayor orders a full lockdown, we’re screwed,” said Ruby, with feeling.

“Is that likely?”

“Don’t know. If those morons down at the Rabbit Hole don’t keep throwing their stupid parties, maybe.”

“That would be hard on you guys,” said Belle. “I’m kind of stuck in limbo until I can open the library, but at least I’m getting paid.”

“Sucks, huh?” said Ruby, and sighed. “How’s Rum? How’s Bae? He’s a cute kid, but I imagine even he’ll start to bounce off the walls if he has to be stuck inside.”

“Oh.” Belle winced. “Uh - he’s sick. Actually, they’re both sick. Kind of why I’m here, I wanted to help them.”

Ruby looked sober.

“Damn, I should have known there was something up when he didn’t pick up the books,” she said. “Between caring for Granny and trying to look after the business, I don’t have a minute to really think about the rest of the town.”

“And I’m here with time on my hands,” said Belle. “So I said I’d run any errands he needed.”

“Well, it’s good of you,” said Ruby. “We try to be there for each other in this town. There’s a few exceptions—assholes, in case you needed a translation—but most people will help you out if you need it.”

“That’s good to know,” said Belle, with a smile. “And I could probably use a guide to the local assholes, just in case.”

“Consider it done,” said Ruby, with a grin. “How’s Bae doing?”

“He’s in bed,” said Belle. “High fever and a cough. Mr Gold is trying his best to ignore the raging fever he has while he tries to look after him. I’m worried he’s gonna collapse from exhaustion, never mind the virus.”

Ruby snorted.

“Yeah, that’d be right,” she said. “The guy would walk over hot coals for his son. It must be tearing him up not being able to care for him properly.” She threw up her hands, shaking her head. “Anyway, this isn’t getting anything done, is it? Let me get those books for you.”

She pushed away from the reception desk, heading out, and Belle paced slowly back and forth, one eye on the empty street outside. Ruby’s words had given her pause for thought, and an idea was forming in her mind. It wasn’t the best idea she had ever had, in the circumstances, but it had taken root and branched out in her brain, refusing to budge. She nodded to herself. It’s the least I can do. Maybe one day I’ll need someone to be there for me.

It wasn’t long before Ruby came back in, arms carrying two heavy ledgers, a cardboard concertina file and a plastic bag full of what looked like cash register receipts. She let the pile thump onto the reception desk, huffing out a breath.

“You gonna be okay carrying these?” she asked. “They’re heavier than they look.”

Belle thought for a moment.

“Would you mind holding onto those?” she asked. “I’ll bring over one of my suitcases. I can pack everything in and wheel it over to Mr Gold’s place.”

“Good idea. Oh!” Ruby bounced on her toes. “I’ll give you one of Granny’s apple pies to take around. That’s Bae’s favourite. And tell them I said to get well soon.”

Belle smiled.

“I will.”

Half an hour later, Belle was walking back to Mr Gold’s house, pulling her suitcase with one hand and carrying a box containing an apple pie and a package of chocolate chip cookies in the crook of her arm. The suitcase was a little heavier than it should have been; she had also packed a small overnight bag which was stowed beneath the accounting records.

Belle had decided that Mr Gold and his son needed help, and that they were unlikely to get it from anyone but her in the current climate. She was prepared for Gold to insist that he could do everything himself, but it was clear that he was holding on by his fingernails. If he accepted her help, perhaps he could at last get some rest.

Knocking on the front door of his house, she could hear faint coughing from above, then silence. She knocked again, and eventually Gold opened the door, looking drawn and exhausted. He smiled warmly, though, and stood aside as Belle entered, careful not to touch her.

“Ruby sends her love,” said Belle, marching through to the kitchen and hearing him close the front door. “She says that Granny’s quite sick, but she thinks she’s over the worst of it.”

“That’s good to know.”

She slid the box onto the table, turning on her toes to face him.

“She sent over an apple pie, and some cookies,” she added, and Gold’s face broke into a smile.

“That was very kind of her,” he said. “Thank you for doing that, I’ll make a start on those books tonight.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said sternly. “You’re dead on your feet. Please, take some rest. Just - just lie down for a few hours, get some sleep.”

Gold sighed, rubbing an eye, and she could feel the weariness rolling off him in waves.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I have to care for Bae. There’s no one else.”

“There’s me,” said Belle gently. “I can help. Please - I want to.”

He seemed to be wavering, clutching at the handle of his cane so hard his knuckles were white. She wondered if stubbornness was all that was keeping him upright.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “That’s - that’s very kind of you, Miss French. If you could keep an eye on Bae while I snatch a few hours of sleep, I’d be obliged.”

“Of course,” she said. “And you can call me Belle.”

He smiled faintly.

“My name’s Rum.”

#sprite's pandemic promptathon #fic: desperation #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic #Anonymous

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lonelyheartsclubhaze · 4 years

Text

We Sold Our Souls to Instagram

September 2020 // Chapter 2

“No, I’m not going to pick you up.” I shook my head, visibly and audibly annoyed. “You know damn well that I’m not getting behind the wheel. I’m hanging up, sorry.”

Converting potential energy into kinetic, the iPhone X left my hand, skimming across the wave-front of my bed. My hands ruffled through my hair as I inhaled then sighed, absentmindedly channelling the virtues of cellular respiration.

Tired of this perpetual bullshit, my fingers slithered across the Ikea desk before me, eventually detecting the apple of my bedroom’s Eden: a lychee ice Puff Bar. My fingers honed in on the device, ensnaring it, raising it to my lips. A deep breath saved me from the agony of sobriety, the nicotine buzz lasting a moment. Then, it was lost.

Six soft, knuckled knocks rapped at the bedroom door. “It’s unlocked,” I shouted.

A creak later, the door swung open, revealing Adam. There was nobody else in the house anyway. With a global pandemic at large and wildfires blazing on deep into September, neither Ajay nor Cam had seen Dwight House since March. Just Adam and me.

“Yo, we out,” he said, pulling a reusable, black cloth mask under his chin. “Can’t see shit outside but we still drinking, dawg.” Ah, the charming vernacular of a Korean-American friend from the elite suburbs of the East Bay.

“It’s good. What’re we feeling today?” I had actually enjoyed the past six months with Adam—it had been a good bonding experience. Despite his rough tone around me and the rest of the guys, Adam was quite versatile in social settings, weaving between upper-class gentility at investment banking info sessions and middle-aged rednecks at gun ranges. With classical Berkeley-liberal ideologies and Wall Street Journal-reading, center-right-leaning, finance friends, Adam defied social realities.

Adam shrugged. “Could go for some Chimay. I’m feeling classy.”

“Not a bad idea at all, my friend,” I said. It had been awhile since I’d had a good beer like Chimay, and I was getting sick of Coors Banquets. “On the other hand, your timing just might be—a bad idea, I mean. Air looks cancerous outside.” Marmalade light cast by the wildfires of a fuming Earth engulfed Northern California, held in suspense by cool, Pacific layers of atmosphere. It was like we were on planet Arrakis, from Dune, or trapped in the world of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.

“The air low-key is cancerous. AQI is pushing 180’s right now,” said Adam, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like an N95-kinda day. I’ve got a spare, you know,” I said, gesturing to a pile of three or so N95 masks by the lamp on my desk.

Adam waved it off. “Eh, I’m good. That’s some puss shit. Let’s just run over to Crafts and Grapes or some shit, shouldn’t take long.”

I shrugged. “So be it.”

Tossing on a pair of five-and-a-half inch inseam Lululemon shorts, I joined Adam as he hopped downstairs.

“Got keys?” he asked once we reached the door.

“Yer, we out,” I said, shaking my keys out from my shorts’ pocket to lock the front door.

“Fuck,” griped Adam. “It’s actually hot as shit out here.” Smoky, red air obscured him from sight as he craned his neck to see me.

“Hence the shorts.”

Adam squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, and jutted his head back and forth, mocking me. “For sure. Forgot your MCAT-lovin’-ass could predict the future. But really though—it’s the middle of September, dude. This shit is wrong. It’s hot as balls and California is on fire and the sky is red and fools are straight-up dying off this COVID shit.”

“And you’re still an idiot,” I said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“Are you qualified to diagnose me as an idiot?”

“Maddie would say so.”

“Hence the pet names.”

“Precisely.”

“We gotta do something about this, bruh. This shit pains me to see,” declared Adam.

“Let’s start by drinking these brews. We’ll recycle the bottles after.”

We walked east on Dwight toward Telegraph, dodging cars as we skipped across the one way street. Adam was quieter than usual, for the most part, looking up from his iPhone 11 Pro Max periodically to comment on something he’d read in the news, or the glum weather. He wore a khaki short sleeve button-up, Kapital raw denim jeans with smiley face patchwork on the back left pocket, and a pair of slip-on Nike Janoski sneakers. The jeans were nice—quite expensive, from the looks of it—but looked baggy on him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, all of his clothes wore a bit loose on him, akin to a fiery adolescent who’d picked out hand-me-downs from an older sibling. Who that older sibling might’ve been, I’d never know—with his unwavering demeanor, Adam always seemed like the eldest in the room.

Banking right onto Telegraph, we bore the full brunt of the veiled sun, which, though hidden behind dense clouds of smoke, now revealed its penetrating UV rays. We ducked under corrugated foam polycarbonate sheets, which lined the rooftops of mom-and-pop Telegraph shops, fending off the sun’s cancerous radiation. The insanity of the world mingled with the smoky, copper air, making me delirious. I imagined I was Mel Gibson or Tom Hardy in Mad Max, feigning off flashbacks in the Wasteland. At the corner of Telegraph and Blake street, Adam pushed and held open the door to Crafts and Grapes. Nodding my head at him in small thanks, I entered, squinting my eyes as the light shifted from hazy red to bright white inside. It was a tiny store, with two aisles directly ahead lined with candy, nuts, and other inconsequential (unless you ate too many) snacks, followed by two refrigerators: one in the back, the other on the far right. Cool, wispy air emanated from the cold storage, contrasting with the late summer atmosphere only meters behind us. A bell rang as the door squeaked to a halt, prompting the middle-eastern cashier, directly to our right, to rise from his stool and greet us. We nodded back silently, all three of us clad in masks.

Per usual, Adam took the lead, striding toward the fridge directly back. He popped open one of the see-through doors with his left hand, mapping his way through its items with his right pointer finger. Finding my eyes, Adam shook his head, indicating a lack of Chimay.

“Blue moons?” I suggested. “Mango wheats?”

Adam screwed up his face. “Fuck that. Let’s go with Lags.”

“Sure, why not.”

Adam kneeled and looped his hand through the cardboard handle of a Lagunitas StereoHopic IPA six-pack. We walked over to the register where Adam made small talk with the cashier. Eventually, he tapped his iPhone 11 to an Ingenico payment terminal, finalizing our transaction. Drinks acquired.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind us once more. We hurried home, eager to crack open our drinks, intent on droning out the blistered yonder. Adam tried to explain his enthusiasm for hoppy beers while I pretended to listen. He was distracting me, though; we both knew I couldn’t care less.

Arriving home, my keys found their way to the door, and we found our ways to the couch. A tenor beep resounded through our living room as Adam’s iPhone connected to an old speaker via bluetooth. “Street Lights” by Kanye West filled the air, followed by carbon dioxide bubbles freed by an unlikely liberator—the bottle opener.

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain’t always set in stone

That be known let me know

I found myself back in the hand-me-down BMW 330i, with her, the white wire packed into the lightning port of my iPhone, transmitting cosine waves that replicated the robotic voice I was listening to in my living room.

“Stop!” she cried, thrusting herself back against beige, leather seats. She wanted me to press the brakes. I had to stop the car, right, stop the car. Where were the brakes?

She was beautiful, of course.

Dark, brown hair fell over eyes of the same color, guarded by double-lids that I wish she hadn’t paid for.

Hardly anyone would notice the difference, but I did, and it hurt to know that she didn’t love them.

I loved them, unconditionally, but she loved the brakes.

Needed to find them.

We’d shared a large bowl of Marafuku’s acclaimed Hakata Tonkotsu DX ramen. I’d let her eat most of it, sneaking my chopsticks in for bites at intervals.

“Pennsylvania?” I shook my head.

“What, you’ve never been?” She tilted hers. “You’ll love it. Come with me.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, smiling. “My MCAT summer is coming up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll help you study for it. Duh.”

“I’m sure Brandon would love that.”

“Will he? All the way from San Francisco?”

“He’ll make the trip.”

“Not if you do,” she said, melting my mind.

I was dizzy, sleepy, lost, a newborn. Vulnerable. And I couldn’t seem to find them.

I’m just not there in the streets

I’m just not there

Life’s just not fair

Sonorant chimes reverberated in my ears as Adam clinked his glass bottle to mine. “Cheers,” he said with a nod.

“Cheers,” I echoed. Leaning my head back, I swallowed, allowing the cool liquid down my esophagus and into my gut.

“You good?” he prodded.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking a little. I cleared my throat.

“Pretty hoppy, huh?”

I took another sip, licking my lips after. “Quite. I suppose we knew what we were getting ourselves into. You know, given the ‘StereoHopic’.”

“You right.”

“Yeah.”

“Yo,” said Adam. “On another note—might be going in on an addy deal with Grace if you’re tryna hop in.”

I scratched my head. While I wouldn’t have any major exams in the near future (although midterms for my biochem course [MCB 102, for my fellow pre-med students at Cal] were slated for October sixteenth), I certainly had errands that might be eased by a twenty milligram dose of extended-release Adderall. There’s nothing like a thorough room-cleaning session when you’re high on stimulant drugs.

The first time I ever tried Adderall must’ve been during my freshman year, back in 2017. Midterm season was approaching—come to think of it, that was around this time that year—and our generous friend, Grace, was kind enough to grant me a ten milligram pill of instant-release Adderall. Grace and I, along with Adam and perhaps Ajay, too, were partaking in a midnight study session at Moffitt Library, which was open twenty-four-seven—prior to the pandemic. I popped the pill, chased it down with a Javiva drink from Peet’s, and got to work.

Twenty minutes later I began to feel its effects as the amphetamine altered monoamines in my brain, releasing surplus dopamine into my many synaptic clefts. Optimism filled me to the brim and my vision bent inward. I saw nothing but the iPad in front of me, my mind enamored by golgi apparatuses and various protein structures. The stimulant saturated me with a profound appreciation for all thoughts that meandered into my head; a giddiness originated in my heart, spreading down my arms, my legs, and outward across my skull, contracting then expanding once more. It was artificial love.

Eventually, I was distracted. Grace’s dilated pupils stared into mine as she chattered away about Lin-Manuel Mir-something and a hurricane in Puerto Rico. After a second or two, my attention snapped away from cell membranes, landing instead on her words. The words of a girl from Colorado with a soft spot for the snow. I’d met Grace via Adam during Orientation Week and she’d quickly become one of my favorite people.

Gingerbread specks stippled her face like a George Seurat painting, fractal constellations arising as my eyes outlined her cheekbones. Gaps between long, chocolate locks revealed sepia collarbones, lined with descendants of the freckles on her face. A white Nike Alex Morgan soccer jersey overlaid the loose sweatpants that hung from her hips, held up by drawstrings I almost hoped would fail, concealing proportions that emulated golden ratios. Stained, white, laceless Vans hugged unpainted toes that tapped together when she spoke. Lips that scorned the artificially enlarged mouths of Instagram influencers communicated messages I was only barely beginning to listen to. She was the love interest of a nineties’ coming-of-age motion picture. But she wasn’t mine.

You know, I thought Adam might’ve loved her, but it was hard to tell when he was cycling through hookups with three different girls at a time. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if Adam loved anyone. A talker, yes; a charmer, certainly; but a romantic, I really didn’t think so.

He spent a lot of his time with her, no doubt. And she cared for him—anyone could see it. But she knew as well as I did that his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t looking for love. He wanted to graduate, make money—to be someone. Sex seemed like nothing more than a physical need to him. I don’t think anyone would’ve described Adam as an emotionally vulnerable guy, and I don’t think anyone thought that emotion was what he kept those girls around for.

But at the same time, anyone could’ve seen what I saw in the way he bounced when she was around. Anyone could’ve heard the way he spoke about her. She meant something to him. But when you asked him about it, he’d brush it off; she wasn’t his type, or he had commitment issues (jokingly—but hey, grain of truth in everything).

Maybe she was his distraction from ambition—his distraction from latex-wrapped, emotionally removed nights and Wall Street Journal mornings, just as she was my distraction from cell structures.

For a good hour-and-a-half, Grace entertained me with conversation regarding natural disasters across the West; Broadway musical comparisons between Hamilton and Sunday in the Park with George; and the latest updates on Cal’s women’s soccer team, of which she was a huge fan. The Adderall certainly kept me focused, although not necessarily on my coursework.

“Let me know,” said Adam, tipping the bottle into the corner of his mouth. “I’m boutta text her back.”

I looked up from my lap at Adam. Right, I thought. “Sure, I could be down. Why not. Think you can pick me up two? I have some errands to run.”

“Twenty milligram XR work?” he asked as he tapped along the screen of his iPhone.

“That’ll do.”

The room went quiet for twenty to twenty five seconds as I was confirmed as an accomplice in the drug deal.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“Hm?” he noised, raising his eyebrows without looking up.

“Grace,” I said. “Haven’t seen her much.”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. Drinking a solid amount though, from what I’ve seen.”

“Makes three of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, feigning a smile. “What about yours?”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath—inhaling, holding to the count of four, exhaling. “Not much of a difference, to be honest.”

“It’s not her fault, you know.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Then talk to her.”

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

Adam paused.

I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He squinted. “The fuck you sorry for?”

“You know.”

He waved his hand aside, brushing it off. “I’m not tripping. Talk to her. Before I do it myself.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s better off that way.”

“Here,” he said, handing me a two-foot-tall bong and lighter from under the coffee table. “Take it.”

Couldn’t stay away. My fingers gripped the paraphernalia as he withdrew. My heart quickened as the impending drug interaction approached. When it reached my lips, I lit, then inhaled, holding to the count of four, and then some. Blurry feelings rushed my mind as states of sufferance gave way to sedated nebulas, teaching me forgetfulness.

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