#like i have the sleep deprivation “mind is like 7 inches to the left of your brain” thing but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gingersnaaps · 3 years

Text

sandman

to be taken by sleep really isn't such a bad thing - not when osamu's the one waiting in your dreams.

wc: 3.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon, creampie, breeding mentions, penetration, fingering, sex dreams, sleep paralysis, incubus!osamu vibes, vaguely supernatural, you fall asleep forever at the end, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @ultimate-astridwriting's wonderful collab and inspired by my recent stint of sleep deprivation also i feel like i may have strayed a bit from the prompt but oh well

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

You can’t recall when Miya Osamu first started appearing in your dreams.

It was a subtle thing at first: the features of strangers, normally blurred beyond recognition, melded into his half-lidded eyes and soft smile, and you’d catch glimpses of his face in the reflection of windows and out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t think too much of it. You’d read an article somewhere that mentioned how faces in one’s dreams came from the interactions in our real lives, and with how much you’d been frequenting his onigiri shop, you suppose that his appearances were to be expected.

Still felt a little strange for you to be having a dream so intimate, though.

You’re lying on top of his broad chest, one arm on your waist, the other resting gently on your thigh. His thumb rubs tender circles into your skin, stroking softly as you rise and fall with the movement of his chest.

“‘Miya?” you ask tentatively. “How did I end up here?”

He chuckles. It’s a deep, rich, sound, one that reminds you of rivers running steady and full moons in the countryside, the vibrations passing from his body to yours. When he speaks, his voice is low and a little quiet, but with his lips grazing your ear, you don’t miss a single word.

“Call me Osamu.”

The familiarity leaves your face slightly flushed, embarrassment tingling across your skin. He shifts you around in his arms, tilting your body so that you meet his warm, inviting, gaze. The hand on your thigh seems to burn red-hot, and you wonder if he can hear the heartbeat pulsing just inches away from his fingertips.

He smiles softly at you. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

Your heart seizes, malfunctions, pounds erratically-

You wake up in the dark, damp sheets clinging to your skin, heart skipping like a schoolgirl and drunk off the compliment from your dream.

There’s a bad ache in between your legs. You trail a hand down your front, fingers sliding into your pajama shorts to quell your want.

Dusk is falling across Tokyo when you head to Miya’s - no, Osamu’s - onigiri shop. Twilight makes giants of the pedestrians, stretches out the shadows that loom tall in the soft gray-orange of the setting sun, the darkened shapes scurrying through the city’s rush hour.

Unlike them, you’re not going home.

A busy schedule meant little time for home-cooked meals, and the food here really was excellent. When you push open the door to his shop, the jangle of a bell sounds somewhere above you, and Osamu barely looks up before a smile settles on his face.

“The usual, I suppose,” he says, beckoning you inside.

You nod gratefully. The atmosphere of the shop is comforting - there’s just a few customers trickling through, picking up their to-go order that he’s prepared. You pick a seat near the window, one that gives you an unobstructed view of the sunset outside.

The chatter dies down as the last customers leave the shop, their onigiri clutched in hand, and a peaceful silence descends on the space around you. He brings out your food just a few minutes later, setting the dish in front of you.

“As requested by my favorite customer,” he says, a wry grin on his face. “Glad to have you back tonight.”

Your stomach flutters at the closeness between the two of you, and you suddenly feel embarrassed - ashamed of how much you’d been thinking about him, of the dreams you’d been having, of the way his touch had left you wanting for more in those same dreams - but it’s a good kind of embarrassed, one that leaves excitement bubbling in your core.

It feels a bit like a crush.

“Couldn’t miss out on the food, could I?” you reply.

“So you’re only here for my onigiri.”

“I- no, of course not."

“Just teasing.”

He smiles crookedly, and for just a moment, there’s a knowing glint that flashes in his eyes - the kind of expression that makes it seem like he’s aware of more than he’s letting on - but it vanishes almost immediately, passing too quickly for you to be sure of anything.

He turns to go back inside the kitchen, lifting up a hand casually to wave goodbye. “See you soon.”

Upon your arrival home, the first thing you notice is how very tired you are.

It’s not too out of the ordinary - it was a Monday afternoon, after all, and that had always been your least favorite day of the week - but the minute you crash onto the couch, your eyelids seem to droop with sleep, limbs growing heavy as the room around you swirls into a half-conscious haze.

You’ve still got chores to take care of. There’s dishes from the morning to wash, laundry to fold and put away, a few work emails to respond to that were probably very important, but you just can’t seem to stave off the overwhelming fatigue that seeps through your veins and numbs your entire body.

You need to sleep.

So you let it happen. You let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself relax and melt into the soft cushions of the couch, let your mind go nice and blank and empty.

After you give up the struggle of staying awake, the dreams come quickly.

“Glad to have you back so soon.”

The warm, quiet, voice from yesterday rumbles somewhere above you. You’re laying on his chest again, ear pressed to the soft fabric of his faded black shirt. You make a small, confused, noise, but he just laughs, gently brushing aside your hair, a hand trailing down your body and creeping closer to your inner thigh.

His touch feels electric. Every brush of his fingertips against your thigh, feather-light and teasing, leaves you with your heartbeat thudding in your cunt.

“We’ve gotta get you ready,” he murmurs. “Prep you well enough so that you’ll feel good when the time is right.”

You clench around nothing at his words, and maybe he can feel it with his hand so dangerously close to your pussy, because he smiles lazily and asks, “Are you that desperate?”

You’re not sure whether you should deny it - he can probably tell you are, anyway, but the thought of nodding, of saying yes, ‘Samu, want it so fucking bad - it leaves you with your cheeks flushed hot with shame.

He doesn’t need your explicit confirmation to read the way your body twitches against his, though, and he moves his hand lower to cup around your pussy. His palm is warm, the pressure steady and constant as he holds his hand still against your throbbing cunt. You can’t help but squirm against him, sloppily grinding your clit against his waiting hand, bucking your hips back and forth for any friction you can get. You’re panting, breaths quick and shallow as you feel the drag of the cotton panties in between his skin and yours, and a lewd moan tumbles from your lips. “Touch me,” you mumble, voice thick with arousal.

You look so pretty down there, hair mussed and mouth open slack in a perfect o, getting off all by yourself - he should give you a hand, shouldn’t he?

He nudges your damp panties aside, the thin fabric creasing the fat of your pussy as he brings a thumb up to your clit. His ministrations start slow, circling your clit patiently while you writhe from the pleasure, just barely dipping his index finger into your hole, his long, dextrous fingers skilled and patient as he works to search out the sensitive spots that leave you gasping and delirious.

“I want you dripping,” he says softly, sliding his finger inside all the way to the base of his knuckle. “Want you spread out on my hand, soaking me through, wet enough for me to fuck you full.”

You shudder with anticipation at his words, hips wriggling and rutting against his stiffening cock as his finger drags along the ridges of your g-spot. Every movement of his is accompanied by an embarrassingly audible squelching noise, your cunt already swollen and hot with arousal, your slick running in a cool trail down the crease of your thigh.

He flicks his thumb against your clit, this time more harshly. “ ‘m gonna fill you up so good when you’re ready,” he whispers. “Fuck you until your pussy milks my cock dry.”

Your eyelids flutter, a rush of pleasure crashing down on you as he pops another finger inside. Your hand fists at his shirt weakly, grabbing and pawing at the fabric as he curls his fingers just right inside you.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

You wake up from your dream as an orgasm ripples through your body, eyes flying wide open as you squirm and thrash on the couch. The pleasure coiling tight inside your core unwinds, pulsing in your cunt as you moan.

The room is dark and empty.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, vision bleary as you reach for your phone - it reads 7:00 AM. You’ve slept for almost twelve hours.

As you get up, swinging your legs off the couch and righting yourself, you notice one intense, overwhelming, feeling that roots you to the couch and leaves your limbs limp and loose:

You still feel so tired.

The rest of the week seems to pass by in a blur. You’re so exhausted you can barely think straight, stumbling from your office to your home - and sometimes to Osamu’s onigiri shop - going about your life half-dazed and barely conscious.

The only respite you get is in sleep.

Your dreams have gotten particularly intense as of late, head clouding full of visions where you’re fucked in every position: shoved up against the wall, facedown in the mattress, and even hoisted up on the counter. Through it all, there’s one constant.

Miya Osamu features in every single one of them.

You know his voice by heart now, a low, quiet, rumble that both soothes you and sets your cunt thrumming with anticipation. His silver-gray hair, his round, half-lidded eyes, the softness and the warmth of his body - they’re as familiar to you as your own features by now. You’re pretty sure you’ve even memorized the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you.

In every dream, he whispers the most tantalizing promises in your ear, breathing promises of how he’s gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart, gonna fill you up, gonna breed this pretty pussy until you’re carrying my seed inside you.

And even though you never wake up well rested anymore, you find that you don’t particularly mind. After all, there’s not much you look forward to in your waking hours. Every grating hour you spend working your stupid little job, or attending your lengthy, useless, lectures - it all feels like you’re just going through the motions, like you’re just trying to make it through so that night falls sooner and he can finally come visit you.

The week comes and goes, and soon enough, it’s already Friday.

You stumble in through the front door, a yawn itching at your throat, and you head straight for your bedroom. You pass by the ever-growing stack of dirty dishes in the sink, the stack of bills on the countertop, the laundry you’ve left in the drying machine. You’ll get to it next week.

For now, you just want to sleep.

The bedroom is gloomy and dim, grey light from an overcast twilight filtering through the blinds. The room feels stuffy in the dark, the four walls suffocating the small space, but you don’t bother with turning on the lights. Why would you, when you plan on heading straight to sleep?

You undress clumsily, almost tripping as you pull off your pants and shrug off your blouse, and stagger into the soft, warm, embrace of your bed.

A warm burst of comfort surges through you as the familiar feeling of drowsiness overtakes you. Your eyelids grow heavy, lashes fluttering slightly, the thump of your heart slowing - you’re right on the precipice between the conscious and the unconscious, straddling the border between sleep and waking -

You hear a voice sound from shadowy recesses of your room.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

“I missed you at my shop today.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no noise comes out. It’s as if your vocal cords have been plucked from your throat, your voice frozen somewhere deep inside your trachea, and the only sound you can make is that of silence. A bit belatedly, you realize that you can’t move either, your limbs settling uselessly at your side as you lie paralyzed on your back.

A head of gleaming, silver, hair emerges in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat. You’re not sure if this is a dream anymore.

You blink once, and suddenly, you find him in your bed. He’s hovering above you, arms pressed to either side of your head, gazing down with a hungry, hungry, expression. He’s waited all week for this, sweetheart - won’t you finally indulge him?

He pulls the comforter aside, large hands gliding over your body and hoisting up your hips. You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, limp and immobile, and he rearranges your limbs and positions you until he gains easy access to your ready, waiting, cunt - the same cunt that he’s been preparing all week.

He drags a finger through your slick folds, already wet and sticky from the ministrations of the previous few days. There’s no need to bother with prep. He can already feel the way your cunt pulses at his touch, can see the need etched into the gleam of your eyes even as the expression on the rest of your face remains frozen.

His hand glides over his clothed cock, strained and throbbing with need as he pulls it out and strokes slowly, eyes fixated on your body the entire time. His dick is big, flushed almost purple as cream beads at the tip, balls fat and full and heavy.

Osamu’s had enough of waiting.

With a groan, he pops his cockhead into your drooling, twitching, hole, pushing in steady, thrusting all the way into your tightening cunt until he hits your cervix.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, face scrunched with pleasure. “So tight it feels like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

He rolls his hips slowly, dragging his cock along the front of your walls, the ridge of a vein pressing right into your sweet spot. Your legs twitch uselessly as he pulls halfway out before slamming his cock back in.

“I wonder if you’d like that,” he muses. He brings a thumb to rest at your puffy, swollen, clit, pressing down in steady circles, his touch unrelenting and firm, sending spasms of pleasure that leave you clenching and gripping down onto his thick cock.

“I think you would. I think you’d love it if I filled you up, if I fucked you full of cum and bred this tight little hole,” he says, the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at his lips. His voice is calm and steady - a striking contrast to his filthy words, his brazen promises.

His slow, steady, strokes quicken, hips slamming roughly into yours, each thrust satiating the want in your cunt. Your walls pulse as if they need to be filled, squelching lewdly as he fucks you hard and deep.

He leans down. His lips hover millimeters away from your forehead, just barely grazing your skin with tender, light, kisses. “Take it,” he whispers, thumb rubbing harshly at your clit. “Take it like a good girl for me. I know you can.”

The kisses he presses to your forehead start to travel down the underside of your jaw, soft little nips and bites with his blunt teeth that leaves a trail of his glossy spit on your face. His mouth finds your ear.

“When I cum, you better not waste a single drop,” he breathes. “Wanna fill you up, make you mine. I want to own this pussy.”

He brings his hand down to pat your stomach where your womb would be, rubbing the soft surface of your skin in tender circles. His balls are aching so badly - he needs to cum, needs that release, needs to stuff your messy cunt.

“Cum with me,” he urges. “Right now.”

The pleasure pulsing inside you draws taught - snaps - and you’re pushed over the edge. If you were still capable of speaking and moving, you’re sure you’d be moaning loudly, hips twitching uselessly as he creams your pussy over and over. He fucks you through your orgasm, spent cock softening inside you as you squeeze his dick. After all, he doesn’t want any of it to leak. He wants it sloshing around in your hole, filling you up until you’re warm and wet and sticky, wants to breed you, to mark you down as his.

You look beautiful with your insides stained white, he thinks.

You can feel your cunt twitching slightly as you come down from your high. He smiles warmly, gives your pussy a little pat -

You blink and he’s gone.

Almost as if he was never there in the first place.

Sleep takes you quickly after that. You’re exhausted from being fucked, exhausted from the constant stimulation, and you quickly fall fast asleep. All is silent and still in your darkened bedroom.

The next day, right as the sun starts to drop over the horizon, glinting stars nestled in the sky high above, you find yourself back in front of Osamu’s onigiri shop.

It’s partly due to the hunger gnawing in your stomach, but it’s more out of curiosity than anything. You need to know if it’s real, if he’s real, if the past two weeks were nothing but a fever dream.

And you really want to see him again.

As you push open the door to his shop, you’re greeted with his friendly smile, as usual.

“Same thing again?” he asks.

“Of course.”

The exhaustion hasn’t gone anywhere. You’re still constantly tired, always drifting off during the daytime, limbs weary and worn. When you sit yourself down at the usual spot - the table near the window - that irresistible fatigue seems to creep up on you again.

It’s so calm and comforting in his little shop. The lights are warm, the view is pretty, the quiet chatter of his few customers soothing to your ears. It’s so easy to rest your head in between your hands, shoulders slumping, mind empty of every little unimportant thought, so easy to just close your eyes, so easy to fall into the rose-tinted haze of your nice, pleasurable, dreams.

Osamu comes out of the kitchen in the back of the shop, carrying your food on a plate, and finds you fast asleep with your head on his table.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he’s quite pleased.

In fact, if he has his way, you’ll never have to wake up again.

tyvm for reading!! i really appreciate reblogs and comments - it's part of what motivates me to keep making content :)

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r0-boat · 2 years

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Teehee its like 530 now and I still have not been to sleep... Please R0 don’t knock me out I’m going I’m going. Before I go tho can I just leave you with a little something?? (spoiler alert its 7 pages of non proof read sleep deprived smut teeheeheehee) -♡

Ok, so there is a strong possibility that this wasn’t your wisest move. A few self-administered orgasms in your tent had done little to quell the urges that came with your rut, nothing could get Melli’s scent from your mind. Searching through your belongings for something that could help you, you found something that sparked an idea. True, it would be of more use to you right now if you actually used it on yourself, but the thought that you had upon seeing it would not leave your mind, and Arceus was it a nice thought. So here you are in the dead of night, mid-rut, outside Melli’s tent carrying a small box.

You can hear him on the other side of the door, whining and panting, bed creaking slightly as he, no doubt about it, rubs himself against his pillow trying hard to get it to feel good. Your head is spinning as you are surrounded by his scent, leaning against his door you try to control your breathing, attempting to talk yourself out of this one final time, knowing that not even Arceus himself could stop you now.

Hearing Melli’s thrusts faulter and his loud moan, you knew he had caught your scent, he knows you are outside. Hearing him move to behind the door you knock quietly, just confirming you are here and asking permission to come inside.

“I know you can hear me Mells. If you say no, I’ll leave I swear. Please, let me help you. I can make you feel so good I swear.” he’s listening intently to your pleading, but he doesn’t move while you talk. His scent is stronger now through the door, he wants it to open just as badly as you do but he has made no effort to answer you. Growling now you speak one final time, if there’s no answer after this you will leave. “You’re not saying no Mells. Now, Answer Me!”

With a whimper you hear him unlock the door and unlatch it, a small gap forms as the door opens slightly. Making sure he’s not too close to the door, you push it the rest of the way open with more force than intended, it banged against the corner of his basin causing a loud sound that you hoped wasn’t enough to disturb anyone. They knew of Melli’s state so hopefully they would not ask questions. Wincing at the unnecessary noise he backed away into the middle of the room, his large bed just touching the backs of his knees. Closing the door and locking it, you turn back to him advancing towards him.

“Last warning Mells, if you don’t want this or you’re not sure let me know. This time I won’t take silence as an answer.” Standing face to face an inch apart, you suppose the high difference must seem quite comical, a small angry fully clothed woman eagerly waiting to fuck this tall naked brat, but humour was lost on you at his point, his scent was everywhere and your sanity was almost an illusion. “For Fuck’s Sake, Yes or No Melli.”

With barely a pause he finally let out a breathy, yes.

And just like that the box you were holding was tossed onto the side of the bed and you shoved Melli Backwards, his back hitting the soft bedding. The duvet was bunched up to the left side of the bed with the box to your right as you moved to straddle your lover, grabbing his wrists firmly and raising them above his head to pin him down. Leaning over to connect your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. His sounds reverberating in your head, you released him from your kiss, as you ground your clothed pussy down onto his thick cock, in a bid for friction. Moving down to kiss his neck, you carried on rubbing yourself against him, knowing that whilst this was not your aim in coming here, it did feel good.

Moving back up his neck you nibbled his earlobe, causing another moan to spill from the man beneath you. One that all to suddenly turned into a whine of frustration as you removed yourself from his cock. You chuckled right next to his ear; a low rumble turned growl forming in your throat as you speak.

“How do you want it, baby boy? On your back like a princess? Or on your hands and knees like a whore?” Moving to hover over him, fixing your intense gaze upon his ice blue eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Whore.” His voice was merely a gasp and barely audible, getting louder as he begged “Please. Please. Please, let me be your whore.”

Releasing your grip on his wrists and moving back to sit on your heels, you snap your fingers once. The sharp and loud sound piercing through his brain fog, he scrambled desperately to move from underneath you to further up the bed, on his hands and knees as told.

“Good boy” you praise him for how fast he complied and let your hands rest on his hips. Leaning down you kiss softly along his spine from between his shoulder blades to the base of his spine. Blowing softly into the indent above his ass cheeks to tease, earning you a quiet whine.

“Do you have safe word you like to use, say it at any point and I’ll stop?” Your hands leave him once more and the bed shifts as you move to collect the box you had brought with you, a toy made for use in ruts and heats alike, one of the only aids you can find in Hisui. Opening it up to see, your smile moulds into a malicious one as you find your large glass dildo and a small vial of lubricant oil. You remove the oil first and uncap the vial.

“Diamond” he mumbles, at which point your beloved brat whines once more, lowering himself to his elbows and wiggling his ass in the air for attention. Tutting you place your thumb over the vial top so nothing spills.

“And here I thought you would be able to behave for 2 minutes.” The hand not holding the vial moves to caress one of his ass cheeks, squeezing it firmly before relaxing your hand and moving it away, only for it to be followed by a short, sharp smack. Melli cried out as your hand collided with his ass, his cock twitching at the pleasure that came by virtue of the pain. “Be patient, my love. Unless you want more?”

Groaning and wiggling his ass again, Melli gave his answer.

“Oh? The brat likes to be punished, now there’s a surprise” you mock him as your hand returns to caress him once again. “tell me, pet, what’s the highest number you can think of right now? Quickly, now or I will decide for you.”

“12” came his muffled reply, it seems he’d found leeway to use the move from hand to elbows to bury his face into a pillow.

“12? You think you can count that high? Why don’t we test this knowledge of yours. I’m going to spank you as hard as I can and you have to count them out loud. Does that sound fair?” a grunt served as his only reply. Recapping the oil, you set it back in the box sensing this might take you longer than you thought.

“You’re not using your words again, love. Such a shame, you have such a pretty voice. Especially when I do this.” With that you brought your hand down again onto his ass, not as hard as you could but harder than the first, and waited.

“I’m not hearing a number, Brat. Need I remind you of what you agreed to or should we just stop this and call it a night. A number or your safe word, which will it be?” caressing the mark you have just made you tap the fingers of your other hand to his other cheek in mock impatience.

“1”

“Good boy, now was that so hard?” your tapping comes to an end as you place you other hand firmly on his unmarked cheek, removing the hand from the marked one so you could inspect your handiwork. Abruptly, you raise and bring down your hand again to the marked cheek, in a different position, aiming to cover it all in a pretty, bright red.

“2” this one came without prompting.

“Good boy. One more on this side then we will switch sides, yes?”

“mm-hm” he hummed as your hand met his behind again. Groaning with pleasure he continued the count. “3”

True to your word, you caressed the marked cheek once one before moving to start on the other. ‘6’ came all too soon as you studied the patterns you have made on his skin. “I’m going to start again now, 3 more on each side and they’re going to be a little harder this time, so we’re going to alternate them, okay?”

“Yes Mistress”

“Aww you remembered my name. Maybe, I haven’t been hitting you hard enough?” Bringing your hand down again to Melli’s backside, more firmly as promised, you hear him wince before groaning. Giving him a longer cool down period before he had to give you a number, you worried if it was too hard. Placing you hand against the red flesh once more, you feel the heat radiating from it. “Do you have a number for me, Darling?”

“7” his voice came out hoarser than it had been and you needed to ask.

“Was that too hard, love? I’m sorry.” Pout visible in your voice you continued “How about we strike a new deal? One more strike that hard to the other cheek and we can move on to what else I have planned for you, or we continue with the 12 but I will be lenient?”

Steadying his breathing and bracing himself his voice replies “one more”. As per his request you agree to one more, waiting for him to calm down and relax so that it didn’t hurt more than needed. In the end taking pity on him anyways and making the final strike softer than the last.

Stroking the skin on both cheeks again you deign to give each cheek a soft peck before moving off the bed to the side to face Melli. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m mid-heat and I need to cum soon.”

“Can you hold out a little longer or do you need it now?”

“Now, and again later?”

Nodding at his words you were more than happy to oblige. Your own rut, whilst being entertained by all this was not gone from your mind, was not where near satiated. “Do you need a break from your knees? You can stand for a moment, or lay down if you can, I don’t want it to hurt.”

“I’ll stand” Helping him to his feet you get him to stand by the bed making sure that he can lean against the wall if needed. Dropping down to your own knees you come to eye level with his cock, seeing now how hard and heavy it looked. You can only imagine that he’d cum earlier in the evening too but there was no stopping a heat. Ghosting your hand over it, you moved to hold it where you wanted it. Bringing your mouth down to his balls you sucked one up into your mouth for a few seconds, rolling it on your tongue and sucking firmly before giving the other the same treatment, moving then on to lick a stripe from the base of his dick to his tip. He groaned deeply at the touch, finally getting attention where he desperately needed it. Thumb massaging the frenulum on the underside of his cock, you take the tip into your mouth, pre-cum spilling onto your tongue. You would almost say you were dizzy at the taste. Thoughts returning to your own throbbing parts you tried to focus, wanting nothing more right now than to satisfy your omega, you sucked the pre-cum off and swallowed, moving your hand away so you could fit the rest of him inside your mouth. Bobbing your head and sucking as you went you took all of him in, reaching further down your throat than expected, you almost choked but you didn’t care. You quickened your pace and hummed in pleasure. Vibration adding to the sensation, Melli was quick to spill his cum down your throat.

A little disappointed you didn’t get to taste the rest of his cum, you stood back up to face Melli, your face flushed and underwear more than soaked, you were pretty sure if you looked down, you’d see you were soaking though your pants too. Noticing your state Melli kissed you hard.

“Please let me help you.” He whispered to you and all at once your throbbing became painful, ignored for too long. Sitting you on the edge of the bed he knelt in front of you, removing the clothing from your lower half with haste. Without a moment's hesitation, as soon as you were unrestricted, he buried himself against your cunt, kissing you there, begging to drown. Your hands gripped the edge of the bed for support against his ministrations. His tongue moved against your opening deliriously slowly, determined to taste all of you. Sucking on your folds and teasing your entrance with his tongue before moving up towards your clit. Your little nub was bright red and sensitive, you let out a high-pitched whine as his tongue brushed past it, aching for it to be touched but so tender it hurt, at this feeling one of your hands found its way to his hair. He maintained his pace slowly lapping at you, interspersed with new movements, listening out for any change in breath that indicated you liked when he did something new. After a while he found that softly sucking followed by dragging his tongue around your spot in a bizarre sigil born of yours and his initials was what worked best. You were getting close, using your grip in his hair to hold him in place while your hips rolled towards him trying to speed up the process. Slowly then all at once your orgasm washed over you, neighbours forgotten as you made a sound more scream than growl.

Moving away from your pussy to look you in the eyes, Melli was breathless, his face covered in your juices. You moved to cup his face in your hands and kiss him deeply, the taste of your own juices and his spit doing nothing to deter you only helping rebuild the need for more. Panting into each other’s mouths as you both try to catch your breath you notice that much like yourself Melli was ready again. You rise from the bed taking his hands and guiding him to lay back down as he pleased. He chose to lay on his back this time, paying no mind to the stinging from your earlier activities. You showed him the vial and swallowing thickly, he nodded at you, he was ready.

Tipping some oil onto your fingers, first you massage the area around his opening, getting him to relax. Being too tall for you to kiss his lips, you bend down to kiss and nip at his hips, causing him to shudder. Using this as guideline to how he was feeling you began to press your middle finger into his opening, just a little at first no more than the first knuckle, before mostly removing the finger and starting again going deeper each time, before long he had 2 of your fingers inside him and was clenching around them trying to feel more than he was getting.

“Please” he murmured trying to move his hips in a bid to get you deeper inside him.

“Please who?” You teased, liking the little pet name he gave you earlier.

“Please Mistress” Came out more of a whine than he intended but he felt too needy to care.

Scissoring your fingers inside him you began to make sure he was stretched enough for the glass toy, before reaching over to get it, this of course required removing your fingers from your sweet little brat. Near sobbing in protest at the new lack of attention you cooed at him, kissing the inside of his thighs.

“Now be a good boy, and you can have your reward.” Raising the toy from its box you show it to him and watch him throw his head back and groan in anticipation. You pour oil onto the toy being sure to hold it over him as you do so, the excess oil dripping from the glass down onto his abdomen making him flinch and buck his hips up into the air. After wasting just a little too much oil teasing Melli, at last you finally press the cool glass to his hole. Feeling the colder glass against his burning hot skin made him shiver, adjusting his hips to try and get you to press it into him. Happy, that you finally get to see what you came here to see, you guide the bulb on the tip of the toy past the ring of muscle and inside your lover, the sounds of his delight making you wetter by the second. Much like earlier with your fingers, you push the object into Melli before slowly removing the majority of it and pushing it back in deeper equally slowly. You watched, with your lip caught between your teeth, at the expressions you were pulling from your lover, using them as the basis for any change in angle or speed, finally finding the spot you were looking for. Massaging his prostate gently at first before building speed, watching intently as his hips moved involuntarily and his poor cock twitched and leaked. Before long you had the omega begging incoherently, partially begging for you to give him more and partially begging to the almighty Sinnoh, though for what he was begging the god he never quite said.

After a long build up, Melli’s orgasm came crashing down on him, cum bursting from his sore untouched cock and splattering itself across his chest. His chest heaving with each of his breaths you couldn’t help but find amusement in how he looked at that very moment. Unfortunately for him but very fortunately for you, his cock didn’t go down. With his heat he wouldn’t get any real relief until he was buried inside his alpha and had his mating gland bitten, and Arceus, right now that’s all his alpha wanted. Leaving the toy nestled inside his anus, you move to straddle Melli once more, licking his seed from his chest and holding it in your mouth. Looking at you with fucked out eyes and craving more from you, Melli didn’t seem to notice you hadn’t swallowed. Bending down to kiss him you press your thumb to his jaw signalling wordlessly, making him open his mouth. Smirking at his eagerness you spit his juices into his mouth, the taste of himself hit his tongue combined with the taste of you and made his eyes roll back into his head, making sure to swallow it all. Pressing your lips to his once more, your tongues dance with each other, each chasing the others taste. Breathing heavily, you pull back from each other both still lost in the other’s scent.

Reminded of your cycles by the firm cock resting against you, you move to try and take him in, asking once again if your omega agreed. Your babbling was bordering on incoherent as you moved yourself to grind against his dick again, praying he will let you take him.

“I want to fuck you, please? Please let me fuck myself on you, please. Fuck Melli I want to mate you, please say you’ll be my mate, I want nothing more than to mark you and make you scream. Please” Losing your sense of control now that your lover had been thoroughly fucked, you needed more for you.

“Yes, please, please. Mate me, make me yours. I love you.”

Melli’s words were all that you needed to lose the grip on your final thread of sanity. Lining his cock up with your hole, you dropped yourself down onto it. Rolling your hips in time with his, your speared yourself on his cock repeatedly, hard as you could. Thinking of nothing except chasing that final high. You were so close when you finally looked down again at Melli, his expression was nothing short of beautiful to you. Tears had formed in his eyes from the pleasure of overstimulation. His mouth was wide open as he panted, trying to catch his breath, and there was drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Feeling yourself balancing on a knife edge you lean forward biting down hard onto the soft part at the base of Melli’s neck, the mating gland. This little fucker is Mine! Was your final thought as you reached your final orgasm of the night and crashed down onto the chest of your mate. Eyelids heavy you shuffled off of Melli as best you could and lay with your head resting against him. You could hear bird pokemon chirping outside and the beginnings of the settlement waking up, but nothing could stop you and Melli from falling asleep right now. Smiling in your sleepy state, you hoped that with a bit of luck your cycles will last another day and you can wake your mate up with a nice blow job...

WTF IS THIS TITAN SASAGEYO ASS POST

Oh my God 'a little'? You gave me a masterpiece some of y'all and on do better than me I swear to God. It's so good what the fuck how do I even begin.

You better sleep

#ro.chatting #smut #melli.thirst

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.

So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.

“Hello, little girl.”

But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.

It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.

“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.

“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.

I hoped not.

Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though. “You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”

“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.

“Barely,” he corrected.

“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”

I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.

“Yeah, sure feels like it.”

His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.

“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”

“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”

He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.

“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”

“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.

He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”

“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”

Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.

It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”

He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”

“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”

“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.

“My last one is on Wednesday.”

The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”

“You should call my professors and yell at them.”

He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”

“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”

After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”

It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”

The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.

But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.

“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”

“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.

“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”

But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Unfortunately.”

I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.

“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.

But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”

“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”

“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.

“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.

He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.

“I want… you to go to bed.”

“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.

Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”

“I love you, too, old man.”

He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.

“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.

“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.

Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”

“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, little girl.”

—————————————————

Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.

It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.

The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.

I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”

“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.

“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.

“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.

But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.

“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.

“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”

“But you weren’t,” I snorted.

Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”

There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.

But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”

I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.

He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.

Speaking of…

"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."

In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.

"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."

While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.

“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.

Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."

The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.

A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.

“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.

“Is that a challenge?”

I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.

“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.

Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.

As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.

It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.

“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”

But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.

Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.

His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.

Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—

“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.

Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.

The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.

I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.

For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.

Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.

He kept a few for me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.

“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.

I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.

Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.

There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.

“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.

Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”

The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.

I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.

But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.

I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.

“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.

Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”

His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.

“Take me home.”

Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.

“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.

“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.

“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.

I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.

“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”

With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.

I couldn’t resist.

“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.

“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.

After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.

—————————————————

The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.

“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.

Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.

From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”

It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.

“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.

“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.

“Why’s that?”

“I wanted you so badly.”

There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.

“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”

Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.

“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.

I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.

“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”

Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.

“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”

“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”

“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”

He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.

“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.

“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.

He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.

“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”

The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.

“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.

“I don’t know…”

If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.

“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”

It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.

“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.

“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.

I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.

It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.

“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.

“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”

Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.

I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.

“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”

I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.

His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.

But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.

Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.

“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”

My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.

I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.

My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.

Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.

That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.

“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.

“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.

“I’ve heard that one before.”

Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.

It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.

“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”

“Gross,” I joked.

“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.

“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”

Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.

“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.

“Good afternoon, Spencer.”

I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.

And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”

Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.

It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.

Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”

In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.

“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”

Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”

Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.

“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.

“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”

“And do what?”

It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.

Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.

And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

| Finale |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #here to misbehave #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #reid series #spencer reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #dr spencer reid #reid request

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folkloreguk · 3 years

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❥ My Sweet Evil Heart (C.Chanhee)

A/N: I wrote this as part of an angel/demon collab for The Boyz! You can find the masterlist HERE. This was really fun to write and I got to live out my alternate universe dream in which I'm a detective...I hope you like it, I'm always welcome to any form of feedback!

genre: demon!Chanhee, detective!reader, angst, fluff, reader is constantly sleep deprived, Chanhee is the sweetest demon ever

synopsis: You, a highly respected detective in your department, are investigating a case of a very strange demon who seems hesitant to do evil...but can you trust someone who is supposed to be the personification of wickedness?

words: ~ 10.6k

Have you ever met someone deeply unhappy? Someone who seems to, at all times, be fighting a war inside of themselves? Have you ever felt empathy for somebody, even though they tested you, over and over, as if the worst part inside of them was trying to make them lose you on purpose? Did you hold on and never stop believing in them? Or did you say something to drive them away, making them think they would only hurt you in the process of you trying to make them see clearer?

This is the story of a demon, whose every cell demurred at his evil nature. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start with the basics.

Being one of the head detectives at the local police station was not an easy-going, nor an amusing job. Whilst working on serious cases, lacking proper sleep was not an uncommon occurrence for you, and in some instances, self-care came up short until the mystery had been solved and the guilty ones were locked away. Every case pulled you in and swallowed you whole, keeping you deeply invested for days and nights until your brain felt like it had turned to mush and your body worked on autopilot, until you functioned a little like a highly intelligent zombie. And yet, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else in your life. The thrill was close to an obsession, and seeing justice being served thanks to your work was more addicting than any drug could ever be to you.

Most crimes in your world were committed by demons, of course. They were your worst enemies, the monsters you saw in your nightmares and the reason you never strolled down a street without a gun by your hip. It wasn’t forbidden for them to walk the earth, so long as they kept to themselves. Their evil nature made it almost impossible for them to uphold these terms, though. You wished you could lock them all away in some putrid prison cell, or better yet, send them back to where they crawled out from originally. But the law couldn’t convict beings before they had done anything wrong. So, it was on you to make sure you kept an eye on the sinister beings, figure out what they were up to and stop them before they could actually hurt somebody. Like that morning, when you were called to a liquor store to investigate a break-in.

“My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, I am the lead investigator,” you greeted the store owner with a handshake upon arrival. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I came here this morning at around 7 to open up the store. When I got out of my car, I saw the broken glass of the window,” he explained.

“What was taken from inside the store?” you inquired further.

“That’s the weird thing. Nothing is missing from inside,” he said.

“We might just be dealing with vandalism,” you thought out loud. “Do you have security cameras?”

He did, and so you went along with him to the back of the store. It was true, the interior of the shop seemed completely untouched. You suspected whoever had done this had never even intentioned on entering. There was a college campus not too far from the store, and you recalled countless times you had witnessed careless vandalism done by some intoxicated students during a Friday night. It was a very human-like crime. Demons weren’t known to do things by halves. Their crimes were usually the go-big-or-go-home-type of crimes. But then, when you watched the security footage, you were stunned.

At precisely 3:29 am, a dark figure appeared in front of the window. They lifted their arms, swinging a baseball bat against the glass. And against your speculation, they did climb through the hole in the window. With no mask or disguise whatsoever, the demon man looked right into the camera in the corner of the room. The abyss of darkness in his pitch black eyes was unmistakable. He looked around, as if he was debating on whether he should have done more, but then, to your utter confusion, spun around on his heel and climbed right back out the window.

You assured the store owner you would be looking into this case. With nothing left to do, you headed back to the police station. You had taken the security footage with you, and the moment you arrived in your office, you played it on your computer screen. Over and over - only puzzling you more, with each rerun you saw. You worried this might only be a warning. Not seldom had you been a witness to demons playing with their prey, feeding off the fear of innocent souls. Was this one indulging in one of those little twisted games? Right away, you uploaded the demon’s face onto the database for criminals, even if vandalism didn’t compare to the serious allegations that stood against other faces on that list. While you turned your attention to other cases, his features wouldn’t leave your mind. Even when you left your office at night, he was still the most prominent person in your memory.

By the time you began your walk to your home, the sun had disappeared. You couldn’t help it, even if technically you could finish work earlier, your desire to solve your assigned cases was always higher. Had you just walked home at 5 pm, you were sure to end up on your computer at home, researching and digging around on the web to discover possible clues. This way, at least you had all resources you would need at your office at the police station.

Now, in the dark, the streets were rather abandoned, most shops had already closed, and the moon dimly cast light through the clouds. Those conditions were what made it a breeze for you to notice your shadow. The figure had been following you for 5 minutes now. Judging by how carelessly loud their steps sounded and by their not-so subtle choices of hiding spots, you could tell this wasn’t something they had practice in. Purposely, you didn’t turn around, so they wouldn’t realize you had caught on to them a while ago. Instead, only a minute or so from your home, you took a turn left into an abandoned alleyway. Your hand was on the gun in your belt.

Just as you had stepped into the alley, you turned. He was right behind you. With dark orbs glaring and teeth snarling he came at you, knife in hand. Your eyes widened – you recalled his face vividly – as you took in the situation in the blink of an eye. After all, you had watched the security tape of him breaking into the liquor store countless times only hours ago. But you had the upper hand from the very moment you had spun around. His build wasn’t particularly strong, but you knew you should never underestimate demons. You grabbed his shoulders and along with him, your body crashed against the red brick wall to your left. He struggled against your grip, but his determined and feisty expression was the by far the most intimidating part about him. His face was inches from yours but looking into the sort of darkness that were demon’s eyes did nothing to you. Your hand was around his wrist with the knife – which he was aggressively trying to bring down on you – but only at first.

Because suddenly, something uncommon occurred. So uncommon, in fact, that not a single cell in your body could believe it. He willingly dropped the blade. It hit the asphalt, the metallic sound echoing in your ears. He relaxed his arm in your iron grip. Demons never gave up. They fought until you had forcefully brought them to the ground or done worse to them. Their ironic god-complex and evilness didn’t allow them to step away from a fight – until this one had come along, apparently. And then, as if his behavior hadn’t already stunned you enough, he did the unthinkable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Without a doubt you thought you had misheard him. Swiftly, you pulled your gun out of your belt and pointed it at his face. One thing you knew. You weren’t going to play along in his little games. In panic, he rose his hands, showing defeat.

“Quit playing games, devil’s son,” you hissed. “What is it you’re trying to achieve here? You’re sorry? For what?”

He was hesitant. With every second, your curiosity only grew. Either, he was a skilled actor or…you had no idea what else it could’ve been about him.

“I almost killed you. That’s what I’m sorry for,” he said. “Does that get me a prison sentence?”

Your eye twitched because this didn’t seem right at all.

“You broke into a shop and attacked me, but then stopped out of your free will,” you assessed the situation. “You’ll most likely get away with a fine and your name in our register.”

If you had been awaiting an evil grin or any sort of enjoyment in his face, you’d be waiting endlessly. If anything, he seemed to be…disappointed?

“But you’re a cop, right?” he said. “You can lock me up, can’t you?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You won’t be locked up if you don’t commit a crime severe enough. As much as I hate it, considering you demons are running free, it’s the law,” you said.

“You don’t get it,” he said. And he was right, you really had no idea. “I should be locked up. You need to get me to jail before I hurt somebody.”

His face was dead serious, but you didn’t want to believe a single word. How could you, when your daily life consisted of hunting down his kind, because all they brought upon the earth was chaos and death?

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” you said, unimpressed.

“I will tell you anything you want to hear,” he said. “If you bring me to a police station. You guys have these lie detectors, don’t you? I will take a test if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

So, that was how half an hour later you still hadn’t returned at home, but rather found yourself back at the police station. Almost everyone had gone home by now, so you took the liberty to choose the biggest interrogation room available. A few minutes and he was sitting in front of you, hands in handcuffs and his body connected to the lie detector.

“Okay, here’s how this works. I’ll start by asking some simple questions, and then we’ll get to the bottom of whatever your intentions are,” you explained.

“Alright. Go ahead,” he said. This was your first time seeing a demon take this sort of test. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered because you knew all they did was lie whilst smiling you in the face.

“What’s your name?”

“Choi Chanhee.”

“Where were you born?”

“In hell.”

“Did you break into a liquor store last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you intend on killing me tonight?”

“…Yes.”

“Is that your definite answer?”

“…No.”

“How come both of your last two answers are lies?” you asked. “You didn’t intend on killing me, but yes is your definite answer?”

“I can’t stop the evil in me but I’m trying,” he said. You were stunned. The answer was the most truthful of them all.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I was never like the others since I came to earth. I’ve never felt a rush like they do, causing mischief and hurting humans. I don’t belong. It’s as if there was a demon inside of me, but it’s not controlling all of me, do you understand?” he said.

“I’m not sure, but go on,” you said.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody or destroy things. But on some days, I’m walking down the street and my body starts following the devil’s orders instead. I usually snap out of it quickly and stop myself. That’s why you’re still alive,” he explained.

“You’re telling me you’re some sort of good demon?” you asked. “Why don’t you go back to hell, if you’re struggling so much on earth?”

“I hate it there,” he said. “And either way, I’m banned from there forever.”

Your head raised as you stared at him.

“Banned?” you asked.

“I stopped a bunch of demons from killing a woman once,” he said. “Safe to say they weren’t happy to hear that, back at home. I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.”

“Can you tell me the name of the woman?” you asked. And he did. All this time, he really had been telling the truth. When you searched up the woman’s name in the computer, it only confirmed your suspicion. She really had been under attack when an unidentified person had interrupted and saved her life.

“I can tell you names of demons,” he said. “If you do me the favor of locking me up, I can sell out everyone I know about.”

You massaged the sides of your head and sighed. This guy really was one of a kind.

“I already told you, I can’t put you in jail for something you didn’t do,” you said. “That’s against the law, and then it’ll be me who ends up behind bars instead of you. I’ll have to let you go.”

“What if I mess up?” he said. The amounts of firsts you were experiencing in the timespan of an hour were giving you a headache. Never had you felt compassion for a demon before. But you were only human, and when you noticed the genuine concern and insecurity in his soft voice, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“How long have you been on earth for?” you asked.

“I don’t know, a few years, I guess?” he said.

“And in those few years, which of your deeds would you rate the most criminal out of all?” you asked. Any other demon would have been able to give you multiple answers, one more vicious than the other. He, on the other hand, took his time and even when he answered, he didn’t sound at all sure.

“I’ve broken into a house before, destroyed a car window and one time I stole a dog,” he confessed with his head tilted towards the floor.

“What happened to the dog?”

“I…gave it back,” he said. A laughter erupted from your throat against your will. In a friendly manner, you pat his shoulder before retrieving the keys to his handcuffs.

“Trust me, you’ll be just fine out there,” you said. “Whatever it is you’re doing to stop yourself from being evil, it’s working. I will let you go now."

Even though he wasn’t happy with your answer, he knew he had no choice but to comply. As you walked him through the hallways towards the exit of the station, you could only think of one thing: your beloved bed. Not only your body but especially your brain was drained from energy. You desperately needed a refill by getting a good night’s sleep.

“You’re the first person who’s been really kind to me,” he said, as you held the door open for him. The night air was cool, and you quickly zipped up your jacket to your chin.

“You gave me no reason not to be,” you replied.

“I almost stabbed you,” he said, bluntly.

“Almost.”

“For most people, me being a demon is reason enough to loathe me.”

“Well I guess I’m not most people,” you said. His smile was gentle, but his black eyes would always give him away. “I’ll be here at the station every day, if you have any concerns or need somebody to consult. But right now, all I want is my bed.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Good night,” you said, before you parted ways. Once more, you journeyed home. He remained on your mind until the moment you slipped off to dreamland that night.

The days passed without a trace of him. You followed your routine, but one thing you couldn’t help. You simply had to tell every person who worked with you about the changed demon you had met. No one really wanted to believe you. It was kind of understandable. Some thought you were testing their skills, seeing if they could figure out you were lying. Others went as far as to suspect your lack of sleep had given you hallucinations. But you didn’t let it go. And after all, you were a highly respected member of the police force. Some said they wanted to meet this demon gentleman, as they had renamed him.

But then you were called to a brand new homicide investigation and all of the jokes at the station were blown away by the intensity and buzz the case brought with it. You had a murder to solve. There was no place for sweet demon men in any part of your brain. Not for now. And as always, you slipped into old habits – staying up all night, living on coffee and quick meals – the toxic behavior was almost inescapable. Your fellow detectives tried their best to keep you healthy and most importantly, sane. They took you with them to get salad for lunch, invited you over for game nights (a futile attempt at giving you a break) and told you to go to sleep on time. After all, they needed your brain to function at full capacity for the case. You knew people were relying on your knowledge, and you weren’t doubting your capabilities. But a highly intelligent zombie was still a zombie. And so it happened that one Thursday night your boss sent you home. Not because you weren’t doing a good job – rather for of the opposite reason.

“You are allowed back at the station when you’ve caught a full night’s sleep. Do what it takes to take care of yourself,” your boss had said. Her tone displayed as much strictness as her eyes showed concern. Truth be told, you were too exhausted to even argue against her order. That’s when you knew. You really needed a rest. You dragged your body home.

“Hello sweetheart,” you greeted your pet bird, who chirped excitedly when you set foot into your apartment. “Guess what. I’m home early.”

As much as you wanted to drop into a slumber right away, your stomach growled. And you weren’t in the mood to wake up half-starved. As you prepared some left-overs from the fridge, you heard your bird call from the living room. “Peek-a-boo!” he sang. It caught your attention. He only played this game with you – when you were outside in your small garden and he was watching you through the window. So who exactly was he talking to, now?

You picked up a knife, because as a detective it was practically your job to be paranoid, and tiptoed into the living room. It would be harder for an intruder to spot you in the dark, so you pushed the light switch. Slowly, you advanced to the window and gently pulled the curtains aside. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw the figure standing between the trees. They didn’t seem to be hiding, if anything they were lazily resting their back against the garden fence. Maybe they weren’t aware you were watching them. Bold of them to assume they could intimidate you by acting so nonchalant. You cracked the window open slightly.

“If you don’t leave my property within the next ten seconds, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” you announced. The figure flinched. The moment he stepped into the moonlight and raised his arms, you remembered his face.

“Choi Chanhee?” You opened the terrasse door and stepped outside.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, eyes glued to the knife in your hands. Quickly, you lowered your hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead of answering his question.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted.

“And so you thought creeping around in a police woman’s backyard was an appropriate thing to do? Wait…have you been stalking me?” you asked. You should have cut back on the sharp tone, but you felt half-asleep and this was the last thing you needed. Plus, the immanent realization hit you, that you had not noticed him at all. You had been so caught up in your work that you had not recognized a demon lingering around your home address, watching you. It hurt your pride a little – and could have ended very differently, had it been a more malovent demon than the one standing in front of you. This one looked terrified, kneading his hands nervously.

“I thought you wouldn’t be upset with me…that maybe you would understand. Because you’ve been the only one who’s listened to me. I’m just trying to find a purpose,” he said, “And my head tells me you’re the right direction.”

Demons. They’ve always had a fondness for the dramatic. But his words tore at your heart strings. His behavior resembled a child who had done wrong and was in the process of being scolded.

“Do you have no home?” you asked, softening your voice.

“I’ve lived with other demons. But they don’t want me there, anymore,” he said. For obvious reasons, you thought. Your head was racing. There was no way you could leave him standing there in the cold. But letting a demon into your home sounded like you must have had a death wish. It’s not like you didn’t have enough space, though. With an extra guest bedroom that nobody had ever used before, he would be just fine. There was no excuse. You cursed your parents for making you get a bigger apartment “In case you got married and had children soon.” You never know what could happen, they had said. And how wrong they had been, but how right they had been on that last part.

“Would you say you’re a tidy person?” you asked. A gigantic yawn came over you, and once again your stomach grumbled.

“What? I mean…I think so?” he said.

“Are you hungry?” You were in disbelief. Maybe it was the zombie in you that had a heart so soft, it took pity on a demon.

“I’m starving,” he said.

And that was how you came to have dinner with a demon. Spoiler alert: It wouldn’t be the last time. You ate quietly, trying hard to fight tiredness but it was no use. Afterwards, you showed him the room he could stay in.

“How do I make this up to you?” he asked.

“We’ll think about that another time, alright?” you said, “I need to sleep now. I’ve got an unsolved murder case waiting on me tomorrow.”

That night, you locked your bedroom door and slept with your gun on your nightstand. Just in case. Even though you were almost fully convinced the demon in the bedroom across the hall was more harmless than a five-year-old, he was still a demon.

When you woke up and saw your boss’ message on your phone, you couldn’t believe it. She wanted you to stay at home for the day. Apparently, you needed the rest and she had no interest in getting into trouble for overworking you (which she obviously wasn’t, you were the one doing this to yourself). When you walked down the stairs, you had almost forgotten about the previous night. It felt a little like it had all just been one wild fever dream – that was, until you spotted the demon sitting on your sofa, your pet bird on his shoulder.

“I let him out, I hope that was okay,” he said. You were dumbfounded. “Listen, I just wanted to say…thank you. Tell me whatever you need me to do and I’ll get it done for you.”

You wanted to go to work. But you knew he would be no help making that possible. Your mind was already wandering off to your case, the tips of your fingers burning with anticipation to search the internet for clues. Your grumbling belly interrupted your eagerness.

“Um…you could go to the grocery store for me?” you asked.

You went back to work the next day. Unsure of what to do, you decided to keep your demon housemate a secret for now. The other detectives would have probably written you off as insane, and you needed them to take you seriously. To be fair, maybe you were a little crazy. But he had been really good on the first day. Only one incident, which involved him dropping an egg on the kitchen floor, stood out to you. Of course, that could happen to anyone. But any other person would not have apologized in the way that he did. Normal people wouldn’t have acted so guilty, had it been an accident. But as long as his malice remained to that extent, you could live with it. You almost laughed at the idea of him purposely watching the egg roll off the counter and not doing anything.

He sure was strange. But little did you know, his egg-dropping shananigans were only the beginning of his uncontrollable little pranks he would pull on you.

Once he let your bird fly out the window. When you came home you discovered him outside, talking to your bird, begging him to come back inside. Little did he know, all it took was a whistle and a few treats and you had him sitting on your shoulder, ready to go back inside. One night you returned home to find him staring at the ceiling in the dining room, a kitchen towel in his hand. When you asked him what he was trying to achieve there, he told you there was a mosquito sitting above him.

“So, why don’t you kill it?” you asked. He looked shocked.

“Kill it?” he asked, “We should probably just shoo it outside.”

That’s when you knew. Choi Chanhee wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. All those times you had worried about leaving him home alone with your bird vanished in an instant as you laughed.

“You’re right. Killing is one of the worst sins. But sometimes, especially when it comes to mosquitoes, you don’t need to worry about any consequences. If anything, I’ll be grateful,” you assured him.

Another instance made you think maybe you had been too quick to judge him as harmless. When you walked into your bathroom in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you almost jumped out of your skin. A red substance stuck to your mirror in what seemed to be random shapes. On impulse, you called his name. On second look, you realized what he had done. The red was merely ketchup, and the random shapes weren’t so random, but they spelled “meeting at 2 pm”. When Chanhee appeared in the doorframe, he already wore his sorry expression.

“What did you think you were doing here?” you said. “You know where the post-it notes are!”

“I- He- The demon in me wanted to scare you…I’m so sorry,” he said. It was difficult to be mad at him when he was so sweet. You had, after all, told him to remind you of your meeting you had that day. He was so easy to forgive, too. Whenever he went to buy groceries, he returned with a bouquet of flowers, and after he had figured out your favorite candy, he made sure you never ran out of your supply. You liked being alone, but suddenly it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at home. A warm sensation filled your heart whenever he asked you about your day during dinner.

Even if after dinner you had to argue with him as if he was your son, because the demon in him had decided to take on the form of a teenage boy who was too lazy to take out the trash. You were still seated at the table, rolling your eyes at the demon’s horrible attempt at being evil.

“Don’t make me ask you one more time,” you threatened him, although you didn’t know what you would have done had he continued to argue against you. Only when he reached for the knife that he had already put down tidily on his plate, your eyes widened. His knuckles were white around the metal and you leaned back instinctively. Your gun was still in your belt – you had sat down for dinner straight after returning home – but you didn’t want to use it. Not on him.

“Chanhee,” you spoke in a calm tone. His face was unreadable. He wasn’t making eye contact. Instead, his gaze was glued onto the blade in his hand, staring blankly. His eyes blinked, almost robotically. Something changed in his demeanor then. There was a tremble in the hand that was clutching the knife. It grew more uneasy by each passing moment. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you kept your eyes trained on him, trusting your reflexes.

“Fine,” he suddenly said in a grumpy tone. Then he dropped the knife. The metallic sound rang in your ears for seconds afterward. You let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding on to, as you watched him get up and retrieve the full trash bag from under the sink. You had been sleeping with your bedroom door unlocked for weeks. Even though it pained you, that night you locked your door again.

At 3:28 am you awoke to the sound of breaking glass. You allowed yourself to yawn and rub the sleep out of your eyes for just a moment, then you were on your feet. Gun in hand, you opened your door. Across the hall, the door to Chanhee’s room stood ajar. Light came from downstairs.

“Chanhee?” you called quietly. No answer. But your ears picked up shuffling and the sound of shards of glass being moved around. You approached slowly, trying not to give yourself away. Then you heard the quiet sobs. Your arm with the gun dropped to your side when you stepped into the kitchen.

He was sitting on the floor like he was one of the shattered pieces of glass himself. When he saw you, he flinched and tried to dry away his tears. But it was no use. They kept coming, and you had already seen them either way.

“I dropped it on purpose,” he said, referring to the broken glass. Another sob went through his body, making your chest ache at the sight of him. “I’m sorry.”

“I have nine more of those. It’s alright,” you assured him. Gently, you sat down by his side. You put your arms around his hunched frame. He stiffened at first but calmed his muscles after a moment and let you hold him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you said. Whatever it was that was hurting him so much, you’d be here to fight it off for him.

“I can’t stop the evil in me,” he cried. His weeps seeped through your skin and tugged at your organs. It felt like a thousand tiny, sharp needles in your heart.

“It’s a part of you. It’ll never fully go away. But look at you, you’re doing such a good job holding it inside of you,” you whispered. He shuddered.

“I tried to kill you,” he stated. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so kind. You do all this for me, and I tried to kill you.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “And that’s what counts. We all have urges inside of us…but it’s what we end up doing that truly counts and makes us who we are.”

“But it’s so hard,” he cried. His face was in the crook of your neck as he sniffled. The small teardrops that touched your skin felt like ice. “And all I do is bother you. I’m an inconvenience. Why don’t you just lock me up with the other demons? Why give me another chance every time I mess up?”

You couldn’t believe he would hate himself so much. Chanhee had more compassion than a lot of the humans you knew had. Some days he sat and pet your bird for hours just because it made him happy, he always had money on him to give to the homeless people in front of the grocery store and he almost cried thinking he forgot to pay for an item at the store (which you had obviously paid for).

“How could you even compare yourself to other demons?” you said. “If you want, I will take you in to work with me sometime. Then you’ll see the atrocities others commit. Even among humans, you’d still be sorted into the best of the best. I believe in you and that you will do good.”

He only sobbed harder at what you had said, and you felt the need to pull him in just a little tighter. You softly rocked your bodies in an attempt to calm him down.

“I would fall apart without you.” Between the hiccups and tears his words sounded like a broken confession, but that’s why they hit so hard.

“You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you,” you whispered, lips right by his ear. Your hands were in his hair, stroking his head as if you could pour all your emotions into this one gesture. What else could you do to show him you would never abandon him the way his demon people had? And it seemed to do the trick. His fists that had been clutching your shirt loosened up and his sorrowful crying turned into mellow breathing on your skin.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you asked. “Let’s get you back to sleep. Tomorrow things will be better.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well for three days,” he said. “But I need to clean this up first.”

He let go of you and started to pick up shards of glass. There was still a haggard expression on him, and his cheeks were painted red and tear stained. And yet he was determined.

“Let me do this,” you said, touching his arm. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. Go to bed, Chanhee.”

This time, he didn’t argue. But his good behavior didn’t stop the apologetic, almost battered look at you. He knew you would be by his side no matter what – but what he needed most was his own forgiveness. And you could tell by the way he spoke about himself that it would take a while until he was ready to accept himself as he was.

You heard his heavy steps on the stairs as he walked to his room. Quickly, you gathered the biggest shards of glass and then used a hand brush to collect the tiny pieces. This wasn’t what you had signed up for when you had taken him in. You thought you’d have to argue with him daily and that you’d miss having your personal space and privacy. You knew it would be new, living with another person after living alone for so long. But nothing could have prepared you for the way Chanhee had swept you off your feet with his adorable charms. You didn’t need to fake excitement when you came home to him, nor did you ever have to force yourself to tell him about your day or have any conversation with him, for that matter. He was truly enchanting with the way he made you care so much. Especially when you had assumed all demons were your sworn enemies.

When you finally dragged your tired body upstairs, you softly pushed open the door to his room, only to see him lying wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. “Even though you’re so exhausted?”

“No,” he spoke. Even his voice made no attempt at hiding the sleepiness. His look was pleading. “Can you please stay with me…just for a little while?”

There was no way you could say no to his lovely gaze and messy hair and outstretched arms. So, you crawled in next to him under the covers. Your faces were inches apart. The last time you had been looking into a demon’s eyes this close-up he had been lying face-up and dead on the side of a road. Those eyes had been lifeless, and yet you felt like they had still held so much ferociousness, even in death. Now you only saw concern and genuine care in the black orbs across from you. You admired his softly sculpted face. It was one that seemed like it would much rather belong to an angel.

“You’ve been working so much,” he whispered. “You must be much more tired than me.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, “I enjoy my work because I’m doing it to help others.”

“You’re a good person,” he stated. There was something in his voice you couldn’t make out. Regret? Admiration?Maybe it was both.

“So are you, Chanhee,” you said. Without second thought, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek. He didn’t flinch nor pull away. Instead, his pretty lips curled into a smile as he closed his eyes, ready to finally drift off to dreamland.

From that night on he seemed to improve a little, day by day. No more breaking things or having to argue about simple house chores. It occurred to you almost as if he had turned into something more human – so much that you dared to take him to work with you. People there had found the idea of your new demon friend strange, and you were sure some would take more than a little convincing to let down their guard around him. You couldn’t blame them for the prejudices – you had once been the same, after all. But Chanhee was okay with it, even when you had explained to him that some people might hate him, just because of his black eyes and what they meant to people. He had lived years of receiving that sort of treatment. Nonetheless, it pained you to think about how used he was to it. It took bravery and thick skin to walk into a police station the way he did that day. He was fascinated, looking behind the scenes. Perhaps you found it amusing how alarmed everyone was when they first laid eyes on him at the station. His ability to turn around their views of his species within twenty seconds or less was nothing but astonishing. He very willingly took it upon himself to walk down to the nearest coffee shop and order ten cups, also earning him the sympathy from the last few sceptics. When you were deep in conversation with another detective, discussing the possible whereabouts of a highly wanted demon, Chanhee suddenly interrupted you.

“I know an underground club where they like to go after…committing crimes,” he said. “Every demon in this city knows about it.”

At that moment you realized his full potential and what good he could really do. That was, if he was ready to sacrifice his people. But he just had – without even blinking. He could be an immense help to you.

“Young man I can see you have a bright future, should you ever decide to join the police force,” said your boss from across the room. Seemed like she had the same idea as you. Chanhee only smiled shyly but couldn’t hide the glint of pride in his eyes.

The following days you instantly made arrangements to get Chanhee an interview with the head of the station. He had been scared, at first.

“What if the other people there hate me?” he suspected.

“They might make assumptions about you in their heads, you know, because you’re a demon. They only know demons to be evil. But the moment they realize how good of a person you are, I promise they’ll change their mind,” you said. “You’ll be precious to us, and if you want to do good, the police is where you can be the most helpful. You’ll change lives, maybe even save people.”

“Yes, I want to help,” he said. “I’m done with my kind.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow,” you assured him. “If you’re too anxious to come in to the station, maybe she’ll allow you to work from home, from my office here. This is just a try, okay? If you really enjoy this work, you’ll have to learn and earn your badge.”

The way he looked at you filled you with so much pride. He seemed to have found some hope. Like he could finally spend his time in a productive and truly good manner. You couldn’t wait to see how he would do.

A tiring day and many discussions with higher-ups at workplace later, you returned at your home, late at always. Your fingers tingled with excitement and you wanted to yell for Chanhee the moment you walked through your door. You had managed to score an internship for him at your station. He was allowed to start as early as the following week. As you walked up the stairs, following the shuffling noise you heard, you imagined his face when you told him the news. You knew he’d be ecstatic. His smile would make you so happy, and you almost grinned at the mere thought of it. The noises were coming out of your office.

“Hi, Chanhee. Guess what my boss-,” you started. Then you fell speechless. Paper was scattered all over the floor. Drawers stood wide open. The orderly sorted piles of case files you had been working on were dispersed into every corner of the small room. Photos and pieces of paper were falling out of the folders. And in midst of it all stood Chanhee.

“Y/N- I’m so-,” he said, helpless.

“Don’t,” you said. Every ounce of excitement was gone from your voice, replaced by an ice cold tone you didn’t know you had in you. He flinched, but you couldn’t keep in what you had to say. “You’re impossible. I can’t fucking believe this! These are real cases, Chanhee! I’m trying to save real people here! This isn’t some broken mirror or a spilled cup of water. I can look past a shattered glass, but this is too much…I honestly thought you were getting better…”

Somewhere you knew you were being too harsh. But your job was your entire reason for existing. This was your life mission, laid out in front of you as if a hurricane had rampaged through the room. It would take days for you to rearrange the files. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to find the correct places for each piece of paper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking because he was about to cry.

“I don’t want to see you right now. Please get out. I need to clean this up and you can’t help me with this,” you said, trying hard not to scream out of frustration. Your eyes were already scanning the floor. You had no idea where to even start. With low-hanging shoulders and teary eyes that were threatening to spill over, Chanhee slipped past you. He granted you one more look before he scurried out of the office like a frightened animal.

Even though your stomach was grumbling from starvation and you could barely stay awake – as always – you needed to get some of the cleaning done. Now. Or you would go insane. Plus, you needed time away from Chanhee. While you collected the paper from every inch of the wooden floor, guilt slowly started to nag at you. You had never raised your voice at him to this extent. And he was sensitive. It wasn’t his fault, that’s what you always told him when he blamed himself for messing things up. He knew that. You cursed at yourself. How could you be so impulsive? All too well you knew how he felt about his demon half. You were supposed to be there for him, to tell him he was doing a good job and to make sure he didn’t beat himself up. Now you had achieved the complete opposite. A dull ache in your chest accompanied your hungry stomach.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. In a haze, you stepped down the stairs and to the door. You needed to apologize to Chanhee. When you opened the door, a delivery girl from your favorite restaurant stood there, handing you an order. You were puzzled.

“Already payed for,” she checked with a beaming smile, “Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you,” you said, voice numb. Before you knew it, she had turned on her heel and was on the way back to the car.

“Chanhee! Your food is here,” you shouted, assuming he was the one who had made the order. You got no answer. When you set the bag down on the kitchen table, you saw a note, addressed to you.

Y/N,

Words can’t express how sorry I am about what I’ve done. All my life I only wanted someone to love me. In you, I thought I might have found what I had been searching for all this time. But I messed up. I always do. I drove you away from what we had. I’ve wondered why I always end up disappointing people. Now I know it’s because it’s the only thing I’m truly good at. You deserve someone you can trust blindly, someone who will walk through fire for you, someone who will take a bullet for you. I can’t give you that. I can’t even trust myself. Thank you for giving me a home and for being the most generous person I have ever met. You will always be in my sweet evil heart. Don’t worry about me too much. I will find my way and you will find yours. Who knows, our paths may cross again. I ordered your favorite food. I know you’re always starving when you get home from work. Enjoy it and don’t let it go cold. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, and don’t forget to take your water bottle with you tomorrow, you left it here this morning.

I’ll hold you in my happiest thoughts forever,

Chanhee

You only snapped out of your motionless state when one single tear dropped down your cheek and onto the note. A heavy blanket of sorrow and regret sunk into your whole body. The emotions seeped through your skin and before you knew it, you were a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor. You wanted to take him in your arms and tell him you forgave him. Hell, you had forgiven him minutes after you had yelled at him. You should have gone to him then. Had you only apologized quickly enough, perhaps he’d still be here. Then he’d be eating dinner with you, and although you’d be frustrated, you both wouldn’t be alone.

Your tears fell into your food while you ate it, unable to control your sadness and frustration you had against yourself. They mixed with the shower water as you stood in silence under the hot stream, overthinking everything. Your pillow was wet from the crying as you struggled to fall asleep. Like a broken-hearted zombie you trudged across the hall and into his room. Chanhee’s covers still smelled like him and you hugged them tightly, as if you could hold a piece of him and bring him back that way. But there was nothing you could have done. He had left, and it was alone your fault.

The next day passed like a vivid fever dream. While you were sat in your meeting, you couldn’t possibly focus on the case your team was discussing. Instead, you pondered whether your makeup was able to conceal your puffy face and the dark circles under your eyes. If it was obvious, at least people didn’t seem to point it out. Maybe they were so used to seeing you tired that it would take a lot more than some tiredness and lack of concentration to arise concern. It was the first time in years you really wanted to go home after work. In fact, you couldn’t stand the laughter and good mood at the police station for one more second. All you wanted to do was scream and cry, and seeing people joke around without any idea about your feelings only intensified your desire. Of course, you could have confided in somebody. But you were afraid they would tell you Serves you right or I told you. You don’t think you’d be able to handle those blatant assumptions and the mocking.

Your plan for the night was set: You’d sit in the bathtub for half an hour, then you’d wrap yourself into a human burrito in a blanket and fill your brain with some brutal movie that would make your life seem like it was mere child’s play. But as most things in your life lately, nothing went as planned. Because after only five minutes in the hot tub, your phone rang on the other side of the room. The first time you ignored it. You really tried. But then it rang again, and you looked up to see the caller ID. It was your boss.

You groaned and quickly stood up, not giving up on the prospects of a peaceful night just yet. But then you heard her message – a break-in at a bank, one dead bank employee, five hostages, a possible shoot out. They were calling for back up. And when there was a chance to throw bad guys behind bars, the most inviting bath or an exciting movie suddenly turned dull.

Not fifteen minutes later you had jumped out the bath, gotten dressed in your uniform, taken your gun and ammunition, and were pulling up at the scene your boss had ordered you to. The bank was in the city center, close to the main square. The police team was stationed in a side street. Some of the team had already been sent to the front of the bank, where the police was attempting to make contact with the robbers.

“They’re holding four hostages in the back of the bank. One of them is at the front, right by the glass doors for us to see. The robbers have guns to their heads. If we come closer, they’ll shoot them,” your colleague informed you.

“Demons?” you asked. Against your will, Chanhee appeared in your mind. You wondered how he was doing. Was he hiding out in somebody else’s garden right now? Had he found a bed to sleep in? Then you quickly shook your head. This was not the time for heavy emotions of any kind.

“Yes. Five of them,” your colleague added. You huffed.

“What do they want us to do? Are they demanding anything?” you asked.

“They want us to let them leave with the money,” she said. You grinned bitterly and nodded.

“What about the back entrance?” you asked. You knew the layout of this bank and had been there multiple times in the past.

“That’s our route. Besides the one at the front, the other demons are inside the bank. The entrance isn’t guarded. A team of four will go to the back and try to sneak up on them. When we have a clear line of fire on all the robbers, we’ll take them out at the same time,” she explained.

“Alright,” you nodded, fixing your bulletproof vest around your upper body. You were ready for this. To others, missions like these would have been nerve-wrecking, and you would have been lying if you said you were completely calm. But the adrenaline was already rushing through your body, and fear was something you hadn’t felt since your very first operation.

“All ready?” your colleague asked the other two members of the team who would go into the bank. You received nods and professional expressions. You had all trained together and were used to functioning like one unit. Sticking close together, you rounded the bank, using a side street so the demons wouldn’t see you approaching. In your ear, the voice of your boss was giving orders and checking in on you. The street was dark and devoid of any life except for your team. Multiple of the surrounding streets had been evacuated and shut off to the public. The scene had something straight out of a heist movie. Except this time, the robbers weren’t going to pull of the perfect theft and get away. You would make sure of it.

“We’re almost there,” you said. “Twenty meters to the entrance. Awaiting permission to go inside.”

“You have permission,” your boss spoke over your earpiece. One last look at your teammates, and you were on the move. Sneaking inside soundlessly was easy. The backrooms were all empty. As you passed abandoned offices, you saw knocked over office equipment and paper scattered on the floors. Lamps had been left on and you heard the faint buzzing of a running computer that was most certainly unoccupied. Moving swiftly, you walked along the corridors, guns pointed ahead at all times. Your teamwork was untouchable. One of you made sure the path was clear, then the rest followed.

“You are one room away from the entry hall,” your boss said.

“Understood,” you answered and slowed down your steps. A cat wouldn’t have been able to walk more silently than you did. Now your ears picked up voices. Somebody was crying. There was shuffling of feet on marble.

“Shut up!” a male voice yelled. The crying faded out into muteness. In the dark, you could make out figures. A few countertops and a good distance separated you and your team from the demons and the hostages. You nodded to your colleagues and they understood. The four of you parted ways, moving into the room and taking shelter behind the bank counters. Once again, you checked the situation. Close to you, four hostages sat on the floor. A woman was still crying, and you could tell she was struggling to keep herself quiet. Around them, four demons stood, dressed in black. Their ski masks kept their faces hidden, but their body languages told you enough. They were not to be messed with. By the far entrance, the fifth demon was positioned with the remaining hostage, and you could spot the police cars outside in the town square. From behind your hiding spots, each of your teammates had a clear line of fire on the demons. The fifth one would be taken out from police outside the bank. You were just about to send a signal to your boss to let her know you were in position. Suddenly, the scraping of feet on the floor alarmed you.

“What was that?” one of the demons barked. The noise had come from your colleague beside you, who was now flinching. You had no time to think. No time to complain about her mistake. If you didn’t act now, they were going to close in on you.

You jumped up, pointing your gun at the closest demon. Right away, the remaining demons had their guns aimed at the hostages’ heads. Your colleagues had done as you, guns held towards the demons. Now you got a proper look at them. They were towering over the hostages, who were crouched on the floor in intimidation. The one in front of you only chuckled. Humans didn’t laugh like this. It was pure malice and recklessness displayed in front of you.

“I thought we told you to stay away,” he began. The only thing you could truly note about him was his mouth. The rest was covered by his mask and where the white of eyes should have been, two orbs of darkness sat, eying you like prey.

“Let the hostages go and we won’t shoot you,” you ordered, with a surprisingly calm voice.

“And why would we do that when we can just kill them?” he asked. His gaze momentarily focused on his fellow demons, as if he was a stand-up comedian and he had just delivered the funniest punch line.

“You will die if you harm even one of the hostages,” you stated.

“Oh, is that so? Humans never learn, do they?” he said. This monster was completely insane. And suicidal too, it seemed. “Go on, shoot.”

First, you thought he was urging your team to shoot. Then you realized, he was looking at the demon closest to you. The very demon you had your gun pointed at. He was asking the other demon to shoot at the hostages. You were preparing to pull the trigger.

But then your mind started racing. You stared at him intensely as your heartbeat quickened uncontrollably in your chest. The dark eyes. The soft lips. His skinny frame and gentle hands. You knew exactly who this demon was. You’d be able to pick him out of any crowd. What the hell was he doing here?

“Shoot!” the bigger demon shouted again, but Chanhee didn’t budge.

“I told you he was goddamn useless,” one of the others said. “Get rid of him.”

“You don’t deserve any of this money,” the bigger demon snarled, and his hand went to his belt. You knew there were human lives on the line. What you were about to do could be considered not only stupid, but wildly imprudent. Emotions were supposed to be left out of police operations. But how could you not have been blind with shock? You were going to let your heart control your body over your mind, and if it was deadly so be it. The bigger demon was now raising his arm at Chanhee.

Before you knew it, you had jumped out from behind the counter. You mirrored the demon’s actions and you pointed at him, pulling the trigger. At the same time, his gun went off. Just in time, you had pushed your body between the two demons.

“Y/N!” Chanhee shouted.

The bullet hit your shoulder and you fell backwards. Burning heat spread through your insides as you stumbled and reached for anything, anyone to hold on to. You could only think of Chanhee, and how your bullet had pierced through the big demon’s skull perfectly. Then, your colleagues opened the gunfire. The shots sounded almost muffled through the intense amount of adrenaline in your blood and the initial effect of being hit. Your body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and a wave of agony spread through you. You grimaced at the excruciating pain, hands grasping at your shoulder. All you could see was white, before you sank onto your back and the world went dark.

~approximately 18 months later~

“Y/N,” Chanhee said, for the sixth time within the last ten minutes. You pressed your phone harder against your ear, holding it up with your shoulder. Your hands were too busy writing a police report on your laptop.

“Chanhee, I promise I’m writing the last few sentences already,” you assured him. He liked it when you came home early, leaving enough time to relax on the couch with him, instead of falling into bed like a corpse. Today, he was especially insistent, urging you to stay on the phone with him until you had finally packed up your things and left the police department. You guessed he was just trying to make sure you couldn’t stop somewhere along the way and start working on something new. And maybe that fear wasn’t so far off the truth.

“I’m done,” you said. “Status report: I’m switching off the laptop. Now I’m taking my bag. I’m getting up. I’m locking my office behind me. I’ll be home in twenty minutes or less.”

His laughter on the other side of the line made you smile. You couldn’t wait to see his face and get to hug him.

“Alright. I can’t wait,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

The walk home was calm. A soft breeze went through your hair and in the distance, you heard sirens of an ambulance. Promptly you were catapulted back to your memories and into the vehicle after you had been shot. Going in and out of consciousness, you kept repeating one name: Chanhee. When you woke up in the hospital bed, you half-expected him to be sitting there, waiting for you to wake up. But of course that was not the case. He had committed a crime – or at least tried to commit one. The prosecution was in his favor. They acknowledged his compliance with the police and his hesitation to hurt the hostage. Plus, he sold out the other demons and showed no resistance at any point. His regret and sorrow was apparent, nonetheless his mistake caused him 11 months in prison – by far less than the other robbers got.

People had called you insane for standing by him. Others thought you brave and newspapers named him the first good demon in the world. Every week you visited him in prison, often more than once. You made the most of your short time to talk, and with your kindest words you let him know that you were still here for him. Every visit you learned a bit more about how he had ended up in that bank.

After he had walked out on you, he had nowhere to go. So, after strolling the street mazes for days he found himself in the very demon night club he had once warned you about. Most unsavory figures twisted his mind into thinking doing good was no use. They made him believe he would never be able to escape the demon in him, and he might as well embrace the malice. They more or less pulled him along to the robbery, while he overthought the whole thing. It hurt you, seeing him cry as he recounted how scared he was when he saw the hostages. Some of them ended up injured, but all survived. You knew he would have never forgiven himself, had one of them died.

The day you picked him up from prison was a day you’d never forget. Holding each other in your arms felt so right, and you had missed it tremendously. His months at the prison hadn’t been easy, but you made sure he felt loved and cared for when he finally returned. He almost refused to believe that you would open your doors to him again. It was no question to you. You’d always be here for him. Even when he insisted you keep your office at home locked at all times. You trusted him almost a hundred percent by now. His demon only came out rarely, especially in times of stress or intense negative emotions. But you only treated him with kindness, and he gave back just as much of it.

“Chanhee I’m home!” you shouted as you entered your home.

“I’m up here,” he spoke. You ran up the stairs, excited to see him. Your eyes fell onto the open door of your office. For a moment, your heartbeat quickened as you approached it. You must have forgotten to lock the door that morning. Slowly, you pushed it open.

“Hello,” he grinned. You only chuckled as you watched him, sitting by your desk, a book in his hands. “I hope you don’t mind me being in here. This chair is so comfortable.”

“It’s all good,” you said. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Umm…Friday?” he asked.

“It’s been exactly two years since you first started living here,” you said. “I think we should get some take out and celebrate, what do you say?”

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” he said. “I’d love that. And you know what? I think I’m ready to start the internship at the police station.”

You smiled proudly. He had put his book down and was getting up.

“You’re going to do good things,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He finally had found his place. His home. And you were never going to give up on him.

#chanhee scenarios #new scenarios #tbz new scenarios #tattoos #the boyz icons #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz imagines #tbz angst #tbz fluff #chanhee fluff #chanhee angst #chanhee x reader #kpop fluff #kpop angst #demon au #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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anerdinallherglory · 4 years

Text

Approaching Sun (30)

Author’s Note: Happy late Valentine’s Day! Fun note: I actually started A.S. on this very same holiday a couple years back. And I did not expect the length or plot this story has taken at allll. Again, I am sorry this is so late. I am hoping to update a LOT more this summer (only one summer class this time!) Unless I get the new job that I am hoping for (fingers crossed). But if I get this job, my free time to write will really open up for me. So it’s a win-win for this story either way.

Also, I want to especially thank these readers: adarkunicorn, softshelldefence, seafoamsands, hatakeliz, harza4925, peachop, cheese-and-biscuits, epitomeofprocrastination, tamnobela, and andreeastroe. These readers really encouraged me to keep writing this story after I was ready trash and take it off all of its publishing sites. You can thank them this story continues.

To all my reviewers, I seriously love you ALL. I am hoping I will get to a point where I can take a break from student emails and respond to each and every one of your reviews in the future. That will be my new year’s resolution this year! I am going to be better. You are all amazing and bring me so much joy and encouragement.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

Chapter 30: A Very Dangerous Game

Sasuke hated Kaguya’s sand dimension even more than he disliked the desert that covered the vast majority of the Land of Wind. This dimension was forever hot despite that the dimension’s otherworldly moon hung low in the dark horizon, a massive orb of blinding white that mirrored the Earth’s moon in exact replica. Sasuke had always felt like the illusion was a reminder of the Otsusuki people, and that Kaguya had designed this dimension to display something that reminded her of home. To Sasuke, the dimension moons eerily reminded him of Kaguya’s pupil-less irises, always watching the spaces that existed between nothing.

Glaring at it in paranoid response, Sasuke, deprived of chakra now, walked toward it slowly and determinedly as a challenge. He would show her exactly how her dimensions were now his domains. The Uchiha decided he would walk freely here because he couldn’t do as he pleased his own world. He wanted to scream curses at that eye-like globe, demanding the Otsusuki show up and take him on now in his weakened state.

“Come on!” he screamed. “All of you! What are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with! I will find you all eventually!” He wanted it done. He wanted this over. He wanted to have a life despite his promise to be the worlds’ sacrifice for peace.

As if to taunt him, Sasuke’s shuffling feet snagged over something in the sand, and he glanced down at his feet in surprise. A ninja’s vest, half-burnt away from acid, displayed itself like a green bearing flag left behind by those who had explored a barren planet. Even though Sasuke had been the only human to ever walk here, Sakura’s old vest that Sasuke had used as a teleport connection between dimensions back when he had been trapped here, always served as a call to his more current jumps. In other words, every time Sasuke had come here over the past couple of years, no matter where he opened the portal, he would always land within a few feet of it.

In the past, he had thought of removing it because it was a painful reminder in many ways. But as he returned consistently to the same spot, Sasuke began to theorize that it had something to do with his ability to travel here. At first, Sasuke believed it was because during teleportation, his path crisscrossed into a connection that had already been created and used before—this was the most likely explanation; his chakra simply wasn’t strong enough to rip a new tear in the fabric of space and time. But as he looked at it now, Sasuke wondered if there was more to it than that. Did emotions tie him to this piece of fabric? And because Sasuke’s friends always existed somewhere in the back of his mind, did his chakra seek it out as something familiar to secure itself to before flinging him through the vacuum of nothingness?

Sasuke glared back at the moon in hatred, wondering too, if it could be just a sick part of Kaguya’s illusions, knowing that the vest had in the past and always, always would continue to stop the Uchiha in his tracks. A temptation reminding him of a different life, one that would cause him to ignore the Otsusuki. Kaguya would want that.

He sat down beside it despite how much he wanted to turn and walk away from it as he always had. This time, he let it be his beacon out of the void, drawing some sort of strength from it in his chakra-deprived state. The whole point of being this exhausted was to avoid thinking of her, but the tattered shinobi vest always pricked him with guilt, especially now when he had left her alone in Sunagakure despite his promises of partnership. It was as if the green material had a voice of its own, saying “See how far she would go for you?” And Sasuke, keeping his thoughts private from the ever-watching rock above, would think to himself “I am doing this for her, too. She will understand eventually. She will accept just how far I am willing to go for this peace we both envision. We have the same goal.”

As Sasuke thought these thoughts again, Sasuke accepted that if they couldn’t be united in love, then at the very least, they would be united in the same goal, the same vision of happiness. It comforted him ever so slightly.

He sighed as he fingered the chakra pills at his waist, guilt invading his chest and suffocating him. How could he tell her his true feelings and make her accept what he was willing to accept? How could he satisfy the both of them and do the least damage?

Sasuke exhaled and leaned back in the sand once more to sleep, sweat beading across his brow in the high temperature. He turned on his side and faced the vest in exhaustion, pretending it was her—pretending to be satisfied with this small piece of the woman he loved and would ever allow himself to dream this close to.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The blackness pervaded all of Sakura’s senses as soon as her feet hit the ground opposite the giant hole she had just created in the sand. She blinked hard, hearing the cursing and alarmed proclamations of those she had attacked. The darkness was like a leaden mist before her eyes and Sakura instinctively created the sign of “release” for genjutsu. And whether it was from her lack of chakra, or because this was a ninjutsu, Sakura’s attempts yielded zero results. The blackness remained and blinded her past several inches in front of her face. When she heard Isao’s shout for her, she had no choice but to dart forward blindly, determined to reach him before someone else did.

“Let go of me!” the child screamed, his pursuer unfortunately catching up with him. Sakura navigated through the pillars of sand-dripping earth that now projected themselves in the air around her. With hands outstretched, she cursed herself. The blow had meant to disorient her opponents and it had, but this damn thickening darkness made it difficult to move forward through the landscape of her own destruction. Thankfully, the waterfalling crumble of sand masked her rushed footfalls.

The kunoichi drew upon her chakra once more, but it came as slowly as before, the medicine still lingering in her system with its toxic chakra clotting effects. Sakura moved hurriedly ahead, hoping that she wasn’t the only one choked with darkness.

Isao’s curses came and Sakura finally rounded a huge boulder to find herself facing the back of the thug’s head. He had his massive hands around the child’s throat, weapon tossed aside in favor of a crueler death to the victim that had caused him so much trouble. Despite his struggle for his life, Isao made eye contact with her the moment they were close enough to see each other. His attacker saw recognition register in the boy’s eyes and spun to face her. But it was too late. Sakura’s kunai was slicing the gray flesh of his throat before he even had time to see her, a final blow that had been delayed from earlier, but determined by fate to be his cause of death. The brutish ninja dropped to the ground instantly and Sakura justified the blood that pooled freely at her feet by remembering his cruel actions to the child that struggled to catch his breath before her.

Sakura picked up the abandoned weapon, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. The sound of the man’s death had betrayed her position, and the footsteps of his companions crunched closer to her location. Terrified, Sakura clutched the child, pushing him behind the jagged column of rock behind her.

“Isao,” she pleaded in a whisper. “You have to make a run for it.”

“I won’t leave you,” he declared, determined to fight to his death for her.

“The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help,” she said honestly. It was a half-truth. There were only a few realities before them, and Isao making it back to the village and bringing help was not likely due to how much time it would take. But Sakura was desperate to remove the brave child from the scenario. She cared too much to let him sacrifice himself for her.

“Miss—” he protested, but Sakura propelled him forward in the blinding darkness, an enemy’s footsteps rounding the earth that cloaked him. It was too late to argue, and Sakura turned to face the phantom-man who stepped toward her in visibility, shadows curling around him as he cleared a path through the inky mist.

Sakura faced him squarely, taking a defensive stance and raising the wicked katana with her sharper green eyes, sending a stare to him along the metal’s surface. The shadow-wielding ninja smirked and the rest of his crew appeared beside him.

“Go!” she screamed in final command at the child whose feet took off into the black at her back.

Sakura brandished the sword in confident threat at her attackers, herself serving as the shield between herself and Isao; they wouldn’t move an inch in pursuit of his direction if she had anything to do with it. Sakura had never wielded a sword before, but in the absence of chakra, she would become a master at it in this moment. Sakura was a kunoichi, a medic, a chakra control master, the pupil of a legendary Sanin, a rising legend herself, and today, she would add something else to her list. Scratch that. She would two things tonight: she would eradicate this new movement of anti-peace revolutionaries, and she would do it at disadvantage with the weapon of her enemy.

. . . . . . . .

As Isao ran, he clutched his side in pain, a sharp stab in his waist. The man who Sakura had killed moments before must have broken one of his ribs as he crushed Isao to the ground. At first, the young ninja pitched forward in blackness, half-debating to turn back to help the pink-haired ninja. But Isao knew the truth. He had been foolish to pursue her and her kidnappers alone and he cursed himself for his rash decisions in his fear of losing sight of them; he should have told someone else even if he lost their trail. Any of them, anyone at allwould have been better help to Miss Haruno than he had been.

Isao’s bravery amounted to nothing and it was evident in every piercing word from the medic kunoichi: The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help … Isao let the command fuel him forward despite the pain, until the night faded into morning hours later and the mighty walls of the Sand Village came into view.

He didn’t know how much time had passed and he didn’t wait to scream for help. The Kazekage was not in the village—he had overheard that much. Neither was the teammate that traveled with Miss Haruno. He yelled the only name he could think of, the name his heart still cried out to despite how much he hated him. The roaring sand shrouded his cries, and the prison walls would buffer it completely, but Isao begged to the air, shouting over and over, “FATHER! HELP ME!”

. . . . . . . .

The taste of the chakra pill was bitter, smoky and acrid. The Uchiha almost gagged trying to swallow it down, and he silently confirmed that Sai had been right—although Sasuke hated to agree with anything his entitled replacement said. What had he called them? Mudballs? Despite the accurate term, Sasuke feared his kunoichi companion more than he hated the taste, so he would keep the complaint to himself.

The pill pooled in his stomach and Sasuke took a breath, focusing on the ignition starting in his core. The rush of power was exhilarating as it topped off his chakra supply, overflowing visibly in a blue-purple halo around him. It sizzled along his skin and Sasuke grinned wickedly as a spiraling vortex appeared before him, much larger than any he had been able to create on his own before.

This was it! It was working! He pushed beyond the core dimension easily, his ready supply of chakra speedily fueling the tunnel between the void, but it ate and ate away at his energy and the color disappeared from his skin. Running off his own meager supply now, Sasuke exhaled and grinded his teeth in concentration. Finally, the connection was made and Sasuke threw himself through it.

He landed roughly, skidding to a halt, and he was ironically thankful for once for the Land of Wind’s high volume of sand. Sasuke found himself smirking up at the lightening sky as he recovered, because this was his first victory in a long struggle of jumping dimensions. To the Uchiha, it was proof that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do: beat Kaguya and the Otsusuki clan at their own game in their own territory. Giddy in his success, Sasuke used the last of his dwindling energy to rise to his feet, his thoughts immediately turning to the woman who had helped make this all possible—he hadn’t achieved this on his own; Sakura deserved the credit. And it was the first time that Sasuke could admit that he needed someone else’s help in his goal.

The dark walls of Sunagakure cut the bright morning horizon in half and Sasuke’s gut twisted in a combination of emptiness and guilt at the thought of returning to Sunagakure to face his friend after their… kiss. Sasuke was torn between finding her immediately to tell her that their plan had worked, pretending the kiss never happened in typical Uchiha fashion. But the time he had stolen away from her “to think” brought him to only one conclusion: he needed to apologize—again—and at least explain why. He had made her a promise to be a partner that depended on each other, and here Sakura was continuing to keep that promise, while Sasuke stole moments of happiness and bailed when he had to face the consequences. Suddenly remembering their sunset conversation the last time he had returned after leaving, Sasuke felt a fresh stab to his consciousness as he recalled her statement: “a part of partnership is communication.”

Sasuke slowly made his way toward the village gates. When he passed through the canyon-like entrance, people greeted him with “good mornings” while others stared openly at him. Their gazes were a little different, warmer, and Sasuke wondered if his teammate’s influence in the hospital had something to do with his newreception in Sunagakure now.

Feeling even more ashamed, Sasuke resolved himself for his female companion’s wrath and made a straight line for the hospital.

When he entered the hospital’s double doors, Sasuke came upon a scene that made his stomach drop into his feet. Kankuro, who was haggard from exhaustion, and had apparently returned sometime in the night, was fisting the collar of a hospital staff member.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” he bristled. “If she’s not in her rooms, then she should be here. Where’s Mako? Where’s the kid?”

“I don’t know sir,” came the panicked response from the employee, terrified to be facing the Kazekage’s right-hand man. “I’m sure they’re in the village somewhere.”

Hearing those words had Sasuke acting before thinking and the Uchiha rushed forward to fist the shirt of the same medic. “Are you talking about Sakura?” His eyes darted between the both of them and Kankuro’s grip released from the startled staff’s shirt in the same moment he shoved Sasuke’s own hand away.

“Where the hell have you been?” Kankuro accused icily, and a fire Sasuke didn’t even know he had left in him, surged from his throat in anger.

“What the hell is happening?” he demanded, taking another step toward the puppet wielder.

Kankuro pinched his nose in frustration, then beheld him in shock. “You mean Sakura isn’t with you?”

Sasuke eyes widened in immediate response, an answer refusing to form on his lips. Instead, he shouted, “You don’t know where she is?!”

Kankuro frowned deeper at his sudden animosity. “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” he explained quickly. “The innkeeper said she never came back to the inn. Mako, another medic, and Sakura’s young patient are missing too.”

Sasuke didn’t wait for any further explanation before he began sprinting up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital, the filter for his behavior now completely removed. Let everyone think what they want! That bastard! When Sasuke got ahold of Mako, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Sasuke’s feet were unusually heavy and his breath labored as he continued climbing to the third floor toward the medicine preparation room they had occupied together only recently.

“Sakura?!” He kicked open the door and furiously searched the vacant room with his eyes. After seeing no one, Sasuke stared at the empty couch where they had sat so close to one another the night before last. As if his memory of her there could recall her, Sasuke gazed openly at it, breathing hard.

Having followed the Uchiha, Kankuro appeared in the door behind him. “We’ve already checked the hospital. She isn’t here. We need to check the rest of the village, quickly!”

She couldn’t be missing. Was she really with that assistant of hers or that child? Were they off somewhere else doing something medical, or were they truly missing? Shit. Shit. Shit.

He turned on Kankuro in his unnerved rage. Sasuke wanted to demand where they had been, he and the Kazekage, but Sasuke remembered that Sakura had told him that they were investigating trouble near the border. He cursed himself again for being selfish and leaving her here alone.

As if reading his thoughts, Kankuro explained, “I was sent back by the Kazekage in the night. He is handling a situation regarding the ninja Sakura said ambushed you both in Tanigakure. The incidents were apparently related.”

“What do you mean?” Sasuke suddenly asked, a deep and cutting sensation coming over Sasuke that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time: fear.

Kankuro looked down and away from him, debating on how much to reveal. “With some unmentionable methods, we were finally able to find out who their target was,” he finally informed with a sigh. His eyes rose to meet Sasuke’s and the Uchiha saw the same raw fear mirrored in Kankuro’s eyes. “It’s Sakura.”

At the very moment that Sasuke’s knees felt like collapsing beneath his weight, the same staff member that the two ninja had threatened seconds before, came running into the room, panting heavily from having hiked the floors.

“Come quickly,” he urged between breaths, turning immediately to run back down the steps. “Isao has returned.”

Kankuro made eye contact with the Uchiha before they both bolted back down the stairs, taking two and three steps at time. Sasuke cursed his lack of chakra that kept him from just teleporting downstairs.

Sitting in a chair, the child clutched his side. Sasuke noticed that he kept trying to rise, but the staff held him down as they tried to bandage a wound on his arm. Deep purple finger marks circled around the child’s neck like a collar.

“Not me! Her! Go find her, please!” he shouted as he struggled against them.

“Calm down boy,” a woman medic urged. “We have to staunch the flow of blood from your arm.” The child looked at his wound as if he didn’t even know it had been there.

When Isao caught sight of Sasuke and Kankuro, he started to cry. “HELP! Please help!” he shouted, and they quickly moved to hover over the child. Kankuro suddenly kneeled before him, taking the gauze from the medic and wrapped the child’s arm himself as he questioned.

“Speak kid,” Kankuro urged, “What is going on?”

“Miss Haruno,” he choked between tears. “She’s still out there! Please, we have to go!”

Before Kankuro could ask the child why, Sasuke did something appalling, an act that Sakura would be disappointed in him for. His sharingan flashed bright, soaking up the last of his chakra like a sponge, and he caught the panicked child’s stare in his own crimson and purple one.

Just as he had to Isao’s father, Sasuke stepped into the child’s memories. Isao’s recollections were almost too overwhelming for Sasuke to handle at the moment, each image dripping with the fear in which young ones saw the ninja world. There was also bravery in them and familial concern for the pink-haired kunoichi. Sasuke skipped through the memories like speeding up a film, an act that made his head throb in pain. He didn’t care about his own state at the moment though, seeking the green-eyed face of the woman he had come to love.

There. Isao’s most recent memory Sakura was of her telling him “to go get help.” Sasuke didn’t have time to go back further and he let the memories play out from that point, mapping the child’s nighttime desert sprint, hours long, from the empty desert back to the gates of the village.

Not needing to explore the child’s mind further, he released Isao and they both gasped. Sasuke clutched his eye, ignoring the angry glare on Kankuro’s face. He didn’t care about Kankuro’s morals or even the child’s shocked state at that moment. There was only one thing he cared about. He would let the child explain the details to Kankuro; Sasuke didn’t have the time to explain things to Kankuro. Instead, the Uchiha did the unthinkable, playing the very dangerous game of popping another chakra pill into his mouth as he sprinted out the hospital doors.

#approaching sun #approachingsun #sasusaku #Happy Valentine's Day #Sakura Haruno #sasuke and sakura #ssfanfiction #sasusakufanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #sasukeshinden #sasuke shinden #sakura hiden #naruto fanfiction #narutolightnovels

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op-peccatori · 4 years

Text

Hopefully, Yours (part 2) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8326

Summary: It took some cake, a friend, and some impulsive behaviour, but they got there. (part 2 of Hopefully, Yours)

Warnings/Tags: making out, language, my cheeseball antics

a/n: I was afraid of opening this doc at one point because every time I did I added more words to it ;; Also accidentally deleted the first draft, so I hope I didn’t leave anything out for this one.

[video]

After Hours | Victor and Y/n

200, 280 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers

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5100 comments

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somsom 5 minutes ago

They’re both so nice. Victor’s always made out to be this heartless CEO, so it’s nice to see this side of him :)

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tooktiktook 7 minutes ago

hmmmMMM

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cheribb 15 minutes ago

their eyes said more than enough <3 <3

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saltqueen 16 minutes ago

what i wouldn’t give to have someone look that soft over me

⌨⌨⌨

Victor eyed the cheerful grin splitting Jason’s face, just a little uneasy in his seat.

While having eager eyes on him was not an unfamiliar experience, he’d never been in a position where he was expected to talk about his feelings on camera. Not that he was about to confess in front of the entire crew of the show, but when it came to you the lines always got a little too blurry for his comfort.

He got a little too eager.

“Just be nice,” Jason had instructed gently, and Victor steeled himself.

They started, quite predictably, by asking him about his ideal type. Resisting the urge to scoff, he tried to stick to the script he’d worked on with Goldman, who had insisted on being present for today’s shoot. Not that Victor was complaining; it wasn’t exactly part of the job description, but Goldman had been enthusiastic, which Victor could appreciate and would certainly reward.

Goldman had also spent most of yesterday handling the public relations department in his absence, preparing them for his appearance on the show. A tentative plan would be sent to him by tomorrow morning. He had faith in them, believing that they would be able to make this look good for him.

“Someone who works hard,” he answered, knowing you would laugh at that. “Who can be themselves around me, someone I can be myself around. Someone...kind.”

The times you’ve spent in Souvenir flit through his mind, some quiet and some full of bright-eyed chatter.

“You’ve known Y/n for some time, right?” the interviewer asked. She looked nice, but he’d been on the block long enough to know that even the kindest faces can often hide the sharpest teeth.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s a very kind person,” he said easily. “One of the most hard-working and inspiring people I’ve ever met.”

You would surely gape like a fool after seeing this. It was a little embarrassing, but Victor was determined to leave your image shiny after this. He would not have any words of his twisted to give you a bad name. If it got even a fraction of his feelings across, well, that was a bonus he wouldn’t mind having. The intimate setting of the ferris wheel had seemed to help some, but his admittedly indirect confession didn’t reach you as he had hoped.

God, but his father would love this.

“Did you have fun on your date?”

“It was lovely.” They tacked on another question and he nodded. “I...yes, I’d love to do it again.”

It was a little curt, but he didn’t really get what Goldman had meant by ‘nod tenderly with a far-off look.’

What would you think of that?

The interviewer raised a brow, her smile widening. “Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

For some bizarre reason, the first thing that had come to his mind at this question was his inexplicable need to check your social idea every day. And the way his heart beats just a little faster when you’ve posted a new picture. How, in moments of weakness, he’d given in and saved a few to his phone. Even a mental reminder of it made him a little hot under the collar.

There were many things he couldn’t even begin to try and explain when it came to you.

Really, the list is endless.

Victor’s current favourite was the video you’d uploaded of eating the tiramisu he’d cooked. He watches it at the end of a bad day and just like that, he feels a little better.

“I think anyone who ends up with her would be the luckiest person in the world,” he said honestly. “She’s beautiful in every single way.”

The last three words were supposed to have stayed in his head, but saying them felt natural. Goldman seemed to approve, shooting him a discreet thumbs up.

When you walk in, sleep-deprived and grumpy but trying to hide it, thinking he won’t catch on as if he isn’t running sharp eyes over every inch of your face. When the first sip of your coffee is too eager, leaving your tongue burnt and him with a pressing need to soothe it with his own. When you eat too much sugar and complain about a stomach-ache; he scolds you for it, but his arms are left straining with the need to wrap themselves around you.

He cherished these moments and wanted every single one all to himself.

She makes me greedy.

“Would you want to be that person?”

Victor laughed, light and incredulous.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I guess time will have to answer that question for us,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, leaving it at just the right note to keep viewers hanging—right along with him.

lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

Hope y’all enjoyed the episode! #HopefullyYours

‎‎

bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp sooo really sorry about this but we’re kinda dying over here

‎‎

raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs Victor’s acc is still private. Maybe there’s something there?

‎‎

srirachafire @hotsauce

@berryberry But Y/n’s isn’t private, and there’s nothing there. Give it up guys, they’re just friends.

‎‎

bandanaman @headaccs

@hotsauce bruh that look?? was not friendship

‎‎‎

raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce those words?? were not friendship

‎‎

srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry you two?? are hopeless romantics

‎‎

lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

@headaccs honestly? me too D:

‎‎

bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp !!!!!! asdfgdvsd

Closing your Moments and the entire thread discussing the episode, you flop back down onto your mattress. Reaching for your newest plushy, you hug it tight, perhaps a tad too aggressively.

It’s odd. You struggle between the visceral sort of pleasure that comes from a job well done—because the response is terrific—and the trembling nerves that come from watching yourself on a date with Victor.

Watching the episode had been harder than you had expected; you hadn’t quite been expecting the way Victor was looking at you—the intense gaze was a little too convincing, and watching it from the audience’s perspective was flustering.

You spent most of it trying to suppress the inconvenient surges of hope, telling yourself it wasn’t real.

There really was nothing to know. The ferris wheel shot had ended there because you had nothing to say to Victor’s answer. You don’t know if he was referring to his past or his present, but the look in his eyes made it clear: his feelings were still there. Instead of pressing him, you chose to stay quiet, exhaustion clear in your face and sinking deep into your bones.

Victor had seemed to understand and maybe even appreciate it, probably not wanting to discuss it either, and only insisted on dropping you home. The ride to your place had been mostly silent, but you had tried to ask him his thoughts on the day and the shoot. He kept his answers concise, appearing a little distracted, which was so unlike him it made you wonder if he regretted opening up.

You’d spent the entire ride trying to quell the delicate little thing trembling in your chest.

The next video started while you were lost in your thoughts, and it happens to be your individual parts. Curious, you lean in, wincing slightly at the way you were fidgeting.

And then they switch to Victor. You both had to wear the outfits from the date for these, but you still weren't quite expecting the impact his voice alone would have on you.

And as always, those fierce eyes have you freezing in place.

“Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

He looks unfazed by the question. Of course, they go over the questions with you beforehand, but you still remember how nervous you’d felt when asked how you felt about him; Victor’s eyes flick towards the camera, filled with intent, as if addressing you—and you close the laptop with a snap, your throat tight.

You don’t have to watch that right away.

You had been very careful about what to say, how to act, channeling your inner-Victor to adopt a marble-smooth expression. Say nice things about him? Easy, you didn’t even have to make anything up. Imply just enough to keep people guessing.

Keep your unwanted feelings to yourself.

Palm coming to rest over your heart, pressing down as if it would alleviate the ache there, you try to sort through your thoughts. You never really thought there was a chance, but to hear it confirmed was a blow you weren’t prepared for.

It’s ridiculous to feel so insecure, you think. You feel like you lost a competition you had never even had the chance to compete in. And over an unnamed, mysterious figure? So silly!

But another part of your mind says it’s okay to feel this way, that it’s only natural. You’ve had such strong feelings for Victor for so long. And all of these feelings, the good and the bad, are yours; the wounds of your heart, the light in your laughter. Fighting them would only make you suffer. The love and the hurt are part of you, both important in their own right.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make it easier, though.

After all, Victor had alluded to his feelings on camera, to your face. Knowing him, he would never do that unless he was sure about the person.

“This fucking sucks,” you admit out loud, and at the heels of your words come the tears. Because, to make it even worse, people really seem to think it’s you.

You can’t blame them, because even you had been taken in by his soft looks. Anyone watching would believe he’s smitten with you. Good for the show, terrible for you.

You’re not strong enough to reply to them, to tell them you aren’t that fortunate, and have been hoping Victor, or someone from his team, would put a stop to it.

But there hasn’t been any word from them and you curse out loud at the fact that he expects you to do something about it. As if there’s any more emphasis needed, your phone vibrates. Unlocking it with a miserable sigh, you scroll down quickly.

‎‎

Minor [19:40]: am I watching this right? Boss, are you dating the CEO? PLS SAY NO

Chik [20:21]: You bitch. When were you going to tell me you snagged THAT? So I was right back then, ha! Anyway, you two are adorbs. The puppy eyes are disgusting. I’m proud of you.

Chik [20:22]: also...deets. Now. I’ll even throw in a please!!!

Lucien [20:40]: Well, now. I seem to have missed out on quite the opportunity.

Kiro [20:45]: I wish you’d invited me. But I guess it wouldn’t have mattered. I hope he makes you happy, Miss Chips! He better, or else ;P

‎‎

Frowning at the texts you scroll back up, hoping, hoping, hoping, and at the sight of the name that always sits at the tip of your tongue, you curl up tighter.

‎‎

Victor [21: 05]: Are you okay?

Y/N [21:20]: I’m fine. Moments seems to be blowing up, haha. Did you watch the episode?

Victor [21: 20]: Yes.

Victor [21: 21]: Did you?

‎

You pause at that, looking guiltily at your laptop. You had, sort of. Fighting off your own thoughts had taken up most of your attention. Resolving to watch it again—a clear display of previously dormant masochistic tendencies, roused by Victor— and actually pay attention this time, you turn back to the screen.

‎

Y/N [21:22]: Yeah, but not the individual parts. It was nice, they made it seem so real! But we’re going to have to say something to let them know there’s nothing like that.

‎

You wait anxiously for a reply, a part of you clearly suffering from delusion hoping he’d oppose that. When there’s no text from him for a few minutes, you plug your phone in to charge and get out of bed, heading for a quick shower before you get something to eat.

Heartbreak hasn't been enough to curb your appetite, and you feel more than ready to let dessert have the chance to make you feel better.

Who needs Victor when you have cake, right?

Just as you’re halfway through cutting a slice of the cake Jason—well, his team—had sent as thanks, trying to keep your thoughts away from the bottle of wine you‘ve got tucked away, your doorbell rings, breaking the melancholic silence of your apartment. A part of you wants to roll your eyes at your dramatics, while the other feels you have the right to wallow for as long as you need to.

The irrational side of you stirs once more, conjuring thoughts of Victor rushing over, and you peep through the hole with a wildly thumping heart.

Lucien’s serene smile chases those thoughts away, and you open the door with a sheepish grin.

He looks a little tired, his dark bangs ruffled; unlike his usual sharp appearance, he looks impossibly soft in his barn red sweater and comfortable looking track pants. He’s also got a folder tucked under one arm.

“Hi!”

“Sorry to drop by so late,” he greets you, his warm eyes bringing you a little comfort instantly. “But you mentioned you’d be working on Miracle Finder tomorrow and I wanted you to have the chance to go over my remarks before that.”

“Lucien! Thank you,” you insist, waving away his apology. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got cake.”

He searches your face for a moment, and his eyes narrow the slightest bit. You feel a little self-conscious in your over-sized sweatshirt and shorts, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in various states of disarray before.

“Can’t really say no to that. Let me get my laptop,” he finally agrees. You wait at the door as he gets it, before leading him in. But you notice his curious, inquisitive looks, so subtle and so Lucien, as he toes off his shoes.

“Everything okay?” You reach for another plate, cutting a second slice as Lucien takes a seat at the table.

“Yes, of course. It’s just,” he hesitates, and there’s that odd scrutiny again. “I wasn’t expecting you to be alone.”

“On a Sunday evening?” The first bite of the cake tastes like sweet comfort over the taste of despondency, and you send a silent thanks to Jason. “I spent the day napping.”

“Well, after the show I just watched,” he says, quite slyly in your opinion. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d be home.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in dating shows.” You’re aware your tone is more than a little petulant, but Lucien only laughs around a mouthful of the cake.

“I am if you’re in one,” he retorts. “This is quite nice, by the way.”

“The director, Jason sent it. And, honestly, it wasn’t planned. We were supposed to have Kai and Hollow on, but they ended up clashing horribly. Jason asked me and Victor was around, so…” you trail off, uncomfortable.

“Is that why you texted me that day?” He seems to have remembered your message, and you wince slightly. You had texted him later with an apology, but hadn’t really expected him to cotton on. He doesn't look mad, just expectant.

“Well, yes, but Jason wanted, he wanted Victor.” Stumbling over your words, heat suffuses your skin as you flounder for a moment.

Lucien watches you with the eyes of a fox and the understanding of a good friend. “Just Jason?”

“Huh?”

“Was it just Jason who wanted Victor?” he asks, tilting his head as your mouth purses.

No, no, of course it wasn’t. You stare down at your half-eaten cake, the other half of it beginning to churn in your stomach. His small, soft smiles. His scent. His rants on street food and the way he dragged you away from food that would ‘absolutely make you ill, you absolute dummy’ as Jason resigned himself to having to cut all of that out. It all comes back in a rush, your head left feeling heavy.

And then it feels the weight of a hand, as Lucien reaches over to pat it gently. “Never mind. Why don’t you get your organizer and we can go over tomorrow’s episode?”

Relieved, grateful and slightly emotional over his silent acceptance, you rush to your bedroom to find your notebook and laptop, barely catching the light of your phone screen before it went black. Unplugging and checking it as you exited the room with your materials in hand, your train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

‎‎

Victor [21:59]: Do you really believe that?

Victor (2 missed calls)

Victor [22:15]: Y/n.

Victor [22:16]: ...Did you fall asleep?

Victor [22:18]: Dummy. Goodnight.

‎‎

Unwilling to delve into what his first text means, you shift your thick planner in your arms and type a quick reply.

‎‎

Y/N [22:19]: Hi! Sorry. I went to get something to eat and then Lucien dropped by. We’re going to get to work haha ^^

Victor [22:19]: …

‎‎

You wait for a whole minute before Lucien calls for you, and let your hand fall, phone locked, with a sigh.

Well, at least he’ll be happy to hear you’re working hard.

Sinking into familiar, engaging discussions with Lucien is easy. Even with the thoughts of Victor looming at the back of your mind, you straighten out a plan for the shoot. Lucien listens to your input carefully, adding his own notes as you squint at yours. His voice, familiar and soothing, lulls you, distracting you from yourself for a short while.

Before you know it, it’s eleven and you’ve got a fantastic plan in hand.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” you say for the second time in a minute, and he gives you an exasperated look. “And thank you.”

“I’ve told you, there’s no need for all that between us,” Lucien repeats, crossing one long leg over the other as he adopts a thoughtful look. “However, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity regarding one thing.”

“What is it?”

You were prepared for a philosophical question. What he comes up with is, in your opinion, way more difficult to answer.

“Why aren’t you with Victor?” he asks seriously. You blink, uncomprehending.

“Like, right now?”

“Right now, or in general. I didn’t think he would just...let you be,” Lucien mutters the last part under his breath, but you still catch it. He continues to say something about possessive bastards, but you’re not touching that.

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” you say, slowly, with a nervous laugh, shoulders hunching a little. “All of that was just for the camera. Victor and I aren’t like that.”

“But you have feelings for him,” Lucien points out, cutting straight to the heart of the matter and yours. Really, this is almost cruel. Lucien turns to face you fully as you sigh and sink back into the couch.

“I do.” It’s the first time you’ve admitted it out loud. Sure, some of the people in your life have had an idea, but you’ve never said it. Lucien seems like a good person to start with. “But he doesn’t feel the same way, so.”

And you’ve never said that out loud either. It hurts, as you put it out into the universe. As if shying away from it before would have increased your chances.

Lucien looks at you oddly. “Did he say that? Because the way he looks at you says otherwise. It’s quite embarrassing.”

You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“I’ve never told him how I feel,” you mumble, pressing the side of your cheek into the soft fabric, hoping it would swallow you up.

“Then how do you know how he feels?” Lucien continues to probe, and you exhale forcefully because it’s so clear to you; why isn’t it ever as clear to everyone else?

And Lucien is supposed to be your smart friend!

‘Well, there’s also someone else in his life but I can’t exactly say that.’

“Because it’s Victor,” you declare with an emphatic sweep of your hands, hoping it would somehow get your point across, that it would explain how unattainable he is. Just as you do, two things happen successively.

One: Lucien looks at you as if he wants to boink you on the head or laugh really loudly. He does neither, but his mouth twitches violently.

And two: there’s a series of loud, heavy knocks on your door, before the culprit seems to remember you have a doorbell and rings that instead. It only rings once, but you can sense that the person is still there.

Exchanging alarmed looks with Lucien, you rise to your feet and shuffle towards the door.

“Let me,” Lucien murmurs, stopping you before you can reach the entrance, and steps forward to look through the peephole. His only reaction is a quick, sharp exhale before he steps back to unlock the door.

Without telling you who was just knocking at your door like a maniac.

“Wait, who i-” the words fall away with your panicked thoughts, as Lucien opens the door to reveal your uninvited visitor.

It really is Victor this time, with his chest heaving as if he’d run up the stairs. Victor, with his inky hair pushed back carelessly, in dark grey sweats and a light grey t-shirt and indoor slippers.

Victor, with a furious look in his eyes as he pushes past Lucien, who looks a little too entertained in the face of such ire.

“Sorry to intrude on your cosy evening,” he says, after a short pause, through clenched teeth. You stare at him in disbelief, unable to form actual words at the moment. It feels as if a concentrated storm itself has swept into your living room, ready to swallow you up.

Of course, a part of you would be more than okay with that. Even with that knife-sharp glint in his eyes, you can’t help but want to throw yourself at it, let it graze the softest parts of you, in an emotional variation of bloodletting.

Sometimes you surprise yourself with the things you think.

Maybe you should’ve changed into nicer pyjamas after all, damn it.

“Victor? What-is everything okay?” You look him over carefully, seeing no visible signs of injury. The stony look on his face, however, keeps you from coming too close. What could you possibly have done now?

Swiftly, you run through a list of work-related tasks. Nope. Nothing. You’ve been sure to give it your all this week just so Victor wouldn’t feel the need to call you.

Even now, though, something under your skin starts buzzing, as it always does when his entire attention is on you.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” he says mutinously, crossing his arms over his chest. Okay, you’re sensing more than a little hostility here.

And, because life is unfair, bitchy is also a good look on Victor.

“Well,” you draw out, looking past him at Lucien, who shrugs lightly. Victor frowns at the exchange. He levels a downright lethal glare at Lucien, who tilts his head in clear interest. Kinda hot, but you should probably keep that to yourself lest you push Victor to the point of spitting fire. “It’s...late...and you’re here…?”

That has his mouth doing that little spasm it does when he’s pissed. “And I notice I’m not the only one. What, is it just me who’s barred from coming to your place this late?”

“Well, n-no,” you stammer, looking once more at Lucien who seems content to watch and be unhelpful. “But Lucien was just here to talk about tomorrow’s episode.”

Why are you here?

The question seems to hang in the air, unsaid yet clear.

Victor says nothing, standing tall in your living room like an indignant matron. You feel helpless, confused, elated and increasingly offended because of the implication in his words that only catches up to you now.

You pick the path of offense.

“But what, exactly, did you think Lucien was doing here?” you ask, your tone turning decidedly cooler. He returns your glare. Behind him, you see Lucien trying to hide a smile. “You seem to be under the impression that I make it a habit of entertaining people in my evenings?”

Victor blinks at that, arms coming loose, and you hold up a hand.

“And even if I did want to have friends over at night,” you say loudly, through gritted teeth. “What business is it of yours?”

“It’s inappropriate,” he insists.

“No, what’s inappropriate is you coming into my house and telling me who I should, or should not, be spending time with, regardless of the time.” Much to your frustration, you find yourself blinking back tears as your voice cracks towards the end.

Victor deflates at that, the ice in his expression melting in the face of your furious tears; Lucien, concern clear on his face, takes a step towards you. Your eyes squeeze shut, as if that would hide you from them; anger and embarrassment war within you at not only crying in front of Victor, but to have a quiet Lucien witnessing this ridiculous drama.

Where did your peaceful day go?

You hear footsteps, hesitant and barely audible, come closer, feel the heat from a body as it nears yours.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” It’s Victor.

Your eyes snap open to the sight of his back, your feet carrying you forward without the aid of your thoughts, a hand curling loosely into his t-shirt.

Leave? Just like that?

He stops in his tracks, looking back down at you in surprise. You’re not sure what he sees as you keep your eyes fixed on his shoulder, but it makes him sigh softly.

A thumb wipes under your eyes, gentle, and strong arms wrap around you carefully, pulling you into an—unreasonably broad, you think—chest; his comforting scent envelopes you, pulling you back from the edge.

It’s frustrating. You want to yell at him for barging in like a lunatic. But you don’t want him to leave. You want to sink into his steady embrace and allow the solace it brings.

With your face pressed to his t-shirt, you miss the way he looks back at Lucien, who nods and turns to leave, but not before holding Victor’s gaze for a moment longer—you don’t see the warmth drain from his face, the vicious warning warning clear in his eyes.

Victor pulls you closer, nodding once.

If Lucien’s answering smile is a touch more resigned than amused, neither of them can really acknowledge it.

You try to pull back when you hear the door close gently, but Victor cards a hand through your hair and you slump back into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stroking your hair, with a gentle hesitance uncharacteristic for the decisive man. “That was...extremely inappropriate of me. I should not have done that. I can leave. I should.”

He should. But neither of you move. His heart beats a little faster, the sound clearer the longer your ear remains pressed into his chest.

With cotton in your mouth, your mind totally mush with the knowledge that Victor’s hugging you, and with the little voice yelling that he does not get to hold you after driving you to tears—it takes you a moment to form a response.

But you can’t resist. “So what you’re saying is you made an impulsive decision.”

The soft motions of his hand pause before he huffs into your hair. There’s no other response, and it makes you smile a little.

“Why did you?” you finally ask. Victor quite visibly lost his cool. While he did seem to have something against Lucien, this was a bit much. You hadn’t been aware that the hostility ran this deep.

He tucks your head under his chin, the arm around your waist tightening, and as the anger subsides, your face begins to heat up as you realize how intimate this is. But Victor seems content to stay like this, and your heart hammers when you feel something brush the crown of your head.

“Dummy,” he mutters, and yes, his words are slightly muffled by your hair, and you feel the urge to stick your head in the refrigerator. “You had that guy over this late at night. Do you really need to ask?”

“It’s just Lucien,” you respond, and this time he lets you pull your head away to look at you with abject disbelief.

“Just? There’s no just with that guy.” He seems serious, so you swallow the laughter bubbling up.

“Lucien is a dear friend,” you assure him. “You were really that worried about it?”

“Worried,” Victor repeats, staring at you. Your confusion is clear in your face, as the feeling that you’re missing something creeps in. “Worried. Yes. I was worried.”

You nod encouragingly, and take a quick step back when he laughs. It isn’t one of his airy laughs, that escapes him when he finds something funny. It’s low, almost strangled—and then he steps forward, expression melting into sheer intent.

When he speaks, his voice is a full octave lower and it scrambles your brains with shameful ease.

“Since he was the one you considered over me for our date that day. Yes, I suppose I was worried,” he muses, matching every unsteady step you take backwards with one towards you. You refrain from pointing out that it was for a show, and all too soon, the back of the sofa hits your hips and Victor looms over you.

You tuck the part about him knowing you wanted to ask Lucien first away for later. Victor, his soothing scent, the heat from his breath, his tempestuous gaze—your senses flood with him.

“Y-yeah. But you didn’t need to be, he always helps us out,” you point out confusedly, and he gives you a familiar, unimpressed look that brings a small, and odd, measure of relief.

“What kind of a person would I be,” he says, and your stomach swoops as he leans over you, hands resting on the top of the sofa as you lean back. “If I let dangerous men like him think they have a chance with you?”

“Dangerous? He’s…” The rest of his words catch up and you can’t think, tongue struggling to form coherent speech. “Not...dangerous?”

“Too dangerous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your temple. Something in the back of your throat trembles. “Even if I don’t have the right, I…”

He doesn’t continue.

Holding your breath, you count to five before releasing it, pulse beating an anticipatory beat in your veins. “Why should anyone think they don’t have a chance with me?”

You know he hasn’t, but with how everything in you stills after asking that question, you wonder if he stopped time.

You’re not sure if it’s the right question to have asked, or the worst.

But it gives him pause, and when the tip of your tongue slips out to wet your lips, his eyes slide down to your mouth. A large hand slides up your spine to rest at the back of your head, your skin erupting with goosebumps at the touch.

Your lips part on the softest sound and it makes something rumble in his chest, quiet but clear with how close he is.

It gives you what you’ve been dreaming of—Victor’s lips falling over yours, soft, with a rushed breath and fervent eyes, something desperate at the edge of it. Everything goes quiet, with only your blood pounding in your ears. It feels as if every inch of you is awake in a tingly sort of way, your thoughts deserting you at the way he looks at you, ready to devour.

There’s hunger in his eyes, and you feel faint when it hits you.

It’s also his answer, you realize, mouth opening to say something, anything, and he pulls you back, kissing you fiercely. Something in you caves, spilling into your blood, setting it alight with a burst of sparking desire.

Victor kisses with his entire body, like he does everything else: controlling every inch of it, sweeping your mind clean, licking into your mouth with the determination that drives his every action, to conquer.

But you’ve been determined to match him since the day you first met him, all too eager to push back and clash. You don’t mind the clack of teeth, the lack of rhythm, and Victor only presses in harder as your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers weaving into his hair. Your tongue is a sly thing that licks along his, your mouth a clever warm weapon that sucks at it, and he unravels.

Hands that were so careful lose their caution as they dig into the sides of your hips, slinking down and hooking around your thighs as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps against your lips, almost questioning, pupils blown wide. He looks so good you might just lose your mind, and this is after a kiss.

Taking a page out of his book, you kiss him again.

He carries you around the sofa—with a strength you’ll be sure to admire deeply once you’ve regained the ability to form thoughts—even as he sucks bruises into the delicate skin of your neck, sitting down with you sinking into his lap.

You’re shivering, you realize, at this sudden fulfilment of a desperate, impossible wish. Your knees press into the sides of his thighs as Victor kisses the corners of your mouth, the curve of your upper lip, the plush, swollen jut of your lower lip—and you feel deliriously drunk.

He watches you carefully.

“Oh,” you say, half-slurring, kissed stupid. “That’s why.”

“Hm,” he agrees, nuzzling the side of your face. His eyes are bright, his arms a grounding touch around your back. “No one should think they get to have this.”

“No one but you?” It’s meant to be clever, sharper, but it comes out shy instead. He nips at the shell of your ear, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it.

“If you allow it,” he confirms. He presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear.

Something swells within you, sweet, sudden and threatening to dissolve you into tears. It breaks open, everything you’ve worked so hard to suppress spilling out like hoarded treasure out of a box now too small to hold it.

“I like you.” It comes out in a rush, and you slap your hands over your face. This time, his low chuckle rings clear in your ears. But when your breath hitches on a sob, his grip on you tightens, lips finding your forehead. “I really like you. So much. I have for a while. At the fair, all of it, I wasn’t...wasn’t acting.”

“What, and you thought I was?” He looks a little offended when you take a peek at his face. But the sight of his ruffled hair and kissed-puffy lips sends a hot, thrilled jolt through you, and you have to restrain yourself from pouncing. “I have many skills. Acting, admittedly, is not one of them.”

“I thought maybe it was a hidden passion or something,” you mutter, trying to repress a wet laugh at the withering look he gives you, gentle hands wiping at your eyes. “What, you were great!”

“Nope. That was all real,” he declares, pulling you in to rest against him, your head on his shoulder. You feel a little awkward, but that’s mostly outweighed by how much you want to stay here. “...well, maybe I was a little…”

“Nicer than usual?” you offer, and he huffs into your hair. “Cheesy, like you binge-read several romance novels the night before?”

“Cheesy?” He protests, and you laugh with warmth building and rushing through you. “I thought you liked all that.”

“I do.” This time, the kiss he presses into the crown of your head is firmer.

“Then I’ll do it.” You look up at him, a little enchanted, a little bewildered, but the former wins out as the corners of his mouth curl up. “Every silly thing you want to do. Oh, and I really like you too.” It’s almost a scoff, but the tremor in his voice and the flush that spreads across his skin speaks his truth.

“Really?” you ask, your grin a little mad and ridiculously beatific. It feels unreal, the joy and relief spreading through you; he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” Victor asks, and the solemn sincerity in his voice prompts you to deliver a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek, just because you can. To your unending joy, the lobes of his ears are almost impossibly red.

“Never,” you assure him, peppering more kisses over his skin, fascinating by the sight of him pinkening. A thought strikes you, dampening your rising spirits. “I thought...thought there was someone else.”

He makes a soft, surprised noise in his throat, disbelief winning out over the tenderness for a moment. “Who?”

“I don’t know!” You press your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent, hoping it would help with the remnants of hurt. “Some mystery goddess.”

He’s quiet as you nuzzle his rapidly warming skin, feeling the first hints of sheer mortification settle in at the way your voice just cracked. He whispers something.

“Sorry?”

Victor clears his throat. “Just you.” He buries his nose in your hair before you have the chance to lean back like you want to. “It’s only ever been you.”

Not expecting the sincere confession, it feels as if the breath was punched out of you. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He toys with a strand of your hair, curling it absently around a finger. “I didn’t want to overstep. And to make you feel like you had to reciprocate.”

You stay silent, sensing that he has more to say, even though you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

“I’ll admit that I feared you would feel pressured to be with me. And that would...I would rather see you happy with someone else, than see you miserable with me.”

“I could never be miserable with you,” you protest at once, feeling almost offended by the mere suggestion.

“I’m not...I know I can be difficult.” The words fall out in a rushed exhale, as if he wants to get them out before they can be swallowed; you feel weak with the force of your emotions. “But I can try for you. I did that day. I wanted you to relax, to have fun, like you do with your friends. I didn’t want you to be so...cautious.”

It’s true, you realize guiltily, that there are times where you can’t completely relax in Victor’s company. Those are the days where your feelings sit a little heavier in your stomach, when his words strike a little sharper. The thought of disappointing him, of doing something not to his taste, of judgment, held you back.

But the day of the fair had been different. He met you halfway, maybe even more than that, and never said a word of complaint. You’d assumed that had been for the camera, though.

“Please,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you realize you’d said that out loud. “No, that was…” He lowers his gaze, long lashes fanning over the tops of his cheekbones. “That was to show you that you can have fun with me too. I...like you. The way you are. Every bit. The determined, unyielding parts.”

You stare at him.

“The hurting, unsure parts,” he says, a little quieter. “The silly, ridiculously cute parts—don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” you ask, your overworked mind trying to process his words, knowing your smile is probably embarrassingly dopey.

He scowls at you. “Just be yourself with me. Dummy is fine.”

“Victor,” you exclaim all of a sudden, startling him. “How am I supposed to stay standing in the face of you saying things like that?”

He rolls his eyes again. “First of all, you’re sitting right now, and I don’t plan to let you move for a while.” Predictably, you feel a little lightheaded at that. “And as for the future...then don’t try to stand, dummy. You can just rest here.” He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, patting it firmly.

“I’m going to die,” you say with absolute certainty into his shoulder. “I can’t survive this.”

“You have to,” he mutters dryly, tucking you more firmly against him. “Haven’t you seen the discussions? Our ‘love story’ can’t end in your death, too many would be left devastated.”

“Including you?” The look you direct at him is positively vulpine, and he snorts, pushing your head back down. Bully.

The titillated fluttering in your stomach makes you smile.

“...I can’t become a widower before we even get married,” he says solemnly, and you can nearly feel the blood drain from your face as you rear back.

The corners of his mouth twitch with something like mischief, and the smack you deliver to his bicep is perfectly justified.

The undoubtedly chiselled muscle you feel very briefly will also require further rumination once you’re alone.

He’s cracking marriage jokes, no doubt referring to the few comments gushing about a secret wedding. An hour ago, you had been under the impression that he was madly in love with some mystery figure.

Like a bird just freed, your heart flutters at the thought of him having feelings for you.

“Say it again.”

To his credit, he doesn’t do you the disservice of pretending he doesn’t know what you’re asking for. He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the side before finding their way back to yours.

“I like you,” he says, a little lower, a lot deeper. “Dummy.”

You wish you could see what your face was doing, because it makes his eyes go really, really soft. Now that you aren’t weighed down by the frantic need to hide your feelings from one of the most astute people you’ve ever met, you feel like you could float away the way you’ve seen Gavin do, just from how free and happy you feel.

“Just for the record,” you say quietly. “I like you the way you are too.”

“Hm?”

“Even when you’re being a jerk.” He tweaks your ear lightly, rolling his eyes when you giggle. Your heart beats a harsh beat as you try to come up with the right words. “But you’re also the best man I know. When you have it together, and when you don’t—I’ll be there for you. Always.” The way he’s always been there for you.

He kisses the tip of your nose, his pretty eyes a little shinier than before.

“We should aim for a real date first.” He sounds decisive, and a little hoarse.

“...I have a list of places I thought would be good for our first date,” you admit, eyes still locked with his despite your shy admission. He looks pleased, always happy when you take the initiative, and you watch his mouth do that tender thing for a second before leaning in for a swift kiss, catching his lower lip between your teeth as you pull away.

“Good.” His head falls back onto the sofa as your lips trail down his neck curiously, mouthing at the slope of his adam’s apple. Just because you can. “Send it to me.”

“Good,” you murmur, breath hitching in your throat as his hands curl over your waist, skimming the hem of your sweatshirt. “We’re doing this, then.”

“Most definitely.” With how throaty his voice has gotten as you reach his clavicle, a gentle explorer, you’re not sure words will be your allies for much longer.

“Will you be my boyfriend then, Mr. CEO?” you ask playfully, tasting the words in your mouth. Victor makes a soft, content sound in his throat.

“I’m all yours,” he affirms, relishing the words in his mouth, raising his head to look at you through hooded eyes. You both know it, just a little, but saying the words brings a giddy, vulnerable sort of feeling with them. “And you…”

With no need for hope, just certainty, you rise up to kiss him softly.

“I’m yours.”

BTS:

Goldman stares at Jason in horrified disbelief, shocked by the words that had just left the director’s mouth. He glances at his boss, whose only reaction had been to cock a brow.

“Would you be open to replacing Kai?”

“I’m...not really one for such shows,” Victor says, quite delicately in Goldman’s opinion, knowing the man usually has no qualms about being savagely blunt.

“I’m aware. I just thought it would be something different, something that would let people see a different side of you,” Jason explains, still completely at ease.

Victor’s expression makes it quite clear he doesn’t care about people seeing other sides of him.

“Who’s the other participant? Did Hollow come back?” Goldman asks, curious despite himself. In his very personal opinion, which he will definitely be keeping to himself, it might be nice for Victor’s image if people saw he isn’t always heartless.

“Oh, no. She didn’t,” Jason says pleasantly. But the look in his eyes is almost hawklike as he keeps them locked on Victor. “I asked Y/n to do it instead. She agreed.”

Now, to the untrained eye, Victor gives no outward reaction to that statement.

But Goldman sees the way his brow twitches, the way his lips purse the slightest bit. He wonders if Jason, as a director with many years of experience under his belt, caught it too.

“She agreed?” Victor asks, sounding as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” Jason answers, suddenly distracted as he glances at his wristwatch. He sighs, a touch too dramatic to be convincing, but Goldman doesn’t think Victor cares about that. “But I understand. We wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not interested in. I have to go check on her, we’ll keep you updated.”

Something is happening here, Goldman realizes. Jason isn’t rushing out, but seems to be waiting for something.

Victor, staring at the surface of the coffee table, is struggling.

Goldman struggles too. He struggles not to roll his eyes in abject exasperation, to pray for divine patience. Why is he like this? Of course, to step into such an obvious trap surely goes against all the instincts he’s honed over the years, but none of that matters when it comes to the delicate matters of the heart!

Instead, he catches Jason’s eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes glinting.

“But who else would you ask to step in on such short notice?” Goldman asks, pointedly.

And finally, Goldman holds his breath as the ghost of a smirk passes over Jason’s mouth.

This is it.

“Oh, it shouldn’t be a problem. Y/n said she could call Professor Lucien, having already guessed Victor wouldn’t be, um, up for it. She really knows you well, huh?” Jason informs them cheerfully, and even Goldman isn’t expecting that. He thought Jason would go for the ‘who will help poor y/n’ route.

It’s obvious manipulation, and they all know it. Knowing Victor, he will stubbornly refuse to give in and suffer for it. At least, the way he’s glaring at Jason seems to indicate that.

Goldman rushes through several justifications in his head, forming a rapidly coherent argument as to why he should do it, carefully keeping ‘if you don’t want to see her with someone else, suck it up’ and ‘please, please, watching you sulk is really sad I can’t do it’ off the list.

Surely, Victor wouldn’t let the sexy professor sweep you off your feet? He’s heard the man talk, that kind of smooth talk should not be allowed and holy hell, Jason has played this really well.

“They do get along well, so it should work,” Jason muses, slathering a little more icing on his three-tier cake of clear-cut manipulation, drama, and subterfuge.

“I’ll do it.” It’s said through a tightened jaw, but it rings clear in the silence of the room. Goldman abandons his mental speech, head whipping around to stare at Victor.

“Oh?” Jason sounds genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t been aiming for this from the start.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving no room for argument.

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, oddly somber, finally abandoning the pretense. So he is in possession of some morals, who would have thought?

“Give me the briefing,” Victor says, shoulders set in a firm, determined line Goldman is all too familiar with.

Jason relaxes into his seat, relief clear in his face.

And as Victor turns to him, giving him specific instructions about his outfit, cologne and flowers, determined to do this right with that familiar, besotted spark in his eye, Goldman feels warm pride trickle in.

‘We’re gonna get you the girl, boss.’

Aaaaaaand...CUT.

I know the last behind the scenes thing wasn’t really needed but I had to

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mr love li zeyan #mlqc li zeyan #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #my writing #tag yourselves im lucien

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sweets-r-cool · 4 years

Text

Sleepless pt. 2 (Bakugo x reader)

So- it seemed like everyone rlly liked part one- so thank you for that... anyways- I hope this lives up to your expectations but idk just

Part one

One week. One whole ass week of (7) full days.

That was the amount of time you spent ignoring- completely avoiding- Bakugo Katsuki.

According to him, you were a dumbass. However, you weren’t so stupid as to the fact the last comment he made before he left the gym that night (morning?) was basically a weird, sort of twisted not really but also really a confession.

The girl he was talking about was apparently a dumbass, you were his dumbass. Your face flushed at the thought.

You kind of hated that it did though. Considering, believing you were the girl he liked also meant admitting you were a dumbass. You kind of were- but that didn’t mean you were willing to acknowledge it.

That was irrelevant.

Bakugo Katsuki liked you. The angry hedgehog of Class 1-A, who called anyone he didn’t call an insulting nickname an extra, had feelings for you. It was kind of weird. Such an angry existence feeling more than the willingness to deal with you. It made you nauseous, but in the excited sort of way. As well as the super embarrassed sort of way.

Hence why you literally ran an extra lap in training when you noticed the ash blond boy walking over to you. You literally ran away from him. You didn’t even like running.

It was also why you were currently in the same gym room the whole situation rooted from. Pounding your fists against the very same punching bag Bakugo had been that night.

At this rate, it would be like a reverse deja vu situation. It was currently 3:18 AM. Also, you were already in the gym; however, you really hoped it wouldn’t actually be reverse deja vu, because that would mean Bakugo would come to you, and as mentioned before, you were avoiding him.

You didn’t really have a good reason for avoiding him. It was just sort one of those situations you didn’t want to be awkward, but the problem is you knew you’d make it awkward somehow. You and your high on sleep deprivation mind.

You were still unable to sleep,and it was still because of Bakugo.

Only now, it was because you couldn’t help the giddy feeling in your heart, stomach, cheeks, and overall existence. It made you roll around in bed smiling and kicking your legs until the adrenaline wore off or until you simply fell off your bed with a squawk from your mouth and a thud from your body, earning an “Are u okay?” text from whoever heard your antics.

You eventually took a small break from punching your feelings away to drink some water. When you did, your phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram.

That was odd. Kirishima wasn’t usually awake at this time.

You gulped, praying to whatever deity up there that Bakugo wouldn’t be able to guess your whereabouts.

You were glad Kirishima had your back. Even if it did sort of intervene in his role as wing man, you didn’t feel like talking to Bakugo yet. Kirishima was a real one. You’d probably just find a way to yeet yourself into oblivion before that. Even if that wasn’t a very realistic choice.

You stretched your back and yawned. You should be asleep by now, but whatever. Bakugo and Kirishima were awake for what ever reason, though Kirishima seemed like he was woken up by Bakugo. In his words, most likely a ‘so not manly’ move on Bakugo’s part. If a bro is able to enjoy sleep, you should let them. Then again, suffering with sleep deprivation together was always fun.

You picked up your stuff, deciding that should be it for tonight. You were kind of sore already from earlier today’s training and so adding anymore than this would only make you more sore, which wasn’t ideal.

You walked to the door, casually swinging it open.

You nearly ran into someone’s chest due to the fact it was clad in a black tanktop which almost blended in with the darkness of the hallway. Luckily, you caught sight of the fair skin attached to the ash blond locks...

What-

Suddenly you felt the color leave your face as your eyes met with deep crimson ones, piercing in the best way possible as always.

Within what felt like the millisecond, your hand reached for the door knob, pulling it towards you with the purpose of slamming it. Only when Bakugo caught hold of it, successfully stopping you, did you decide this was the end.

You turned around, maybe you could get in a few more good punches to that poor punching bag before you died of embarrassment. You felt a cold sweat replace the natural one, caused by working out and not your emotional state.

How could Kirishima betray you?!

You pulled out your phone.

Maybe you should tattoo ‘Lysol’ on his forehead instead of Kaminari’s, because that was what he deserved like the bacteria he was. Friendship was fragile as glass, there was no coming back from this for him. He probably just told Bakugo so he could go back to sleep without having to deal with your bullshit. Kirishima was fake. So fake.

That sucked for Kirishima, because now you were going to make sure he felt your pain.

You meant it. You were coming for his kneecaps-

“Hey, Dumbass,” Bakugo’s raspy voice stopped you in your tracks as he walked through the doorway. You turned around with a sheepish frown, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You breathed out harshly, “Narnia?” That worked. In your brain, of course. You were gonna die. Good going, you.

Bakugo deadpanned at your idiotic answer. His look read, “What the fuck?”

You really couldn’t blame him.

Where was the portal to the void when you needed it?

You straightened, opting to find a way out of this. “Ya’ know what, Bakugo? I just realized, Narnia is that way, since- ya’know, there aren’t any closets here for me to hide in. I mean,” you cleared you throat, “use as a portal.”

You began to swiftly walk with purpose. Purpose to escape and avoid this awkward interaction. You barely made passed him, the door was so close when he grabbed your wrist, not intending to let go.

You head snapped to his gaze, then down to your wrist and his hand. You laughed, the panic underlying in it clear. “Hey, Bakugo. Just thought I’d let you know, I spilled dumb bitch juice all over me, so you might wanna let go before it spreads-”

“Shut the fuck up and talk to me,” Bakugo asserted.

You sighed, standing up normally instead of the previous ready-to-run pose you were in just the second before. “T-talk about what,” you asked coyly.

You could practically see the angry tics for on Bakugo’s temple as his eyebrow twitched. At the same time, his face was dusted with a light blush, which only got your face to turn a deeper, much darker red. Bakugo cupped your cheeks, you flinched and your heart started beating faster.

However, you felt slightly relaxed and also disappointed when all he did was squeeze your cheeks together. Though it hurt a little, it was something your poor heart could take at the moment.

“You fucking- You fucking know what I’m saying, Dumbass,” he said as you managed to pry his hands off your cheeks.

You sighed, turning away, embarrassed still. “Yeah,” you began to pout, “but what kind of sort-of but not really confession was that, you asshole?!”

Now wasn’t the time for you to get mad, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of how late (early?) it was or if it was because you weren’t used to talking about love or things like that. It was probably the latter, considering the only other person aside from you who knew about your crush on Bakugo was Kirishima and Kirishima alone.

It was whatever, you already got mad, there was no going back.

Bakugo looked confused for once as you turned back around with an expression on your face he’d never seen before. Were you... flustered?

“Don’t look at me like that! I like you, Mr.I’m-good-at-everything-but-confessions! I like you, you asshole, and if your gonna confess do it better,” you crossed your arms, fuming in a more joking way, but your face really was red and no amount of pretending it wasn’t would change that. “So yeah, I like you... now what?”

You couldn’t keep your lips in a frown for much longer as you found your lips curling upwards instead. Bakugo took a few steps towards you, his chest only inches from your own.

You had to look up at him, due to your height difference, but that wasn’t what you cared about.

Bakugo scoffed, his eyes not leaving yours. Bakugo wasn’t even sure it was possible to pry his eyes from your captivating e/c, not right now at least. “I like you,” he smirked, watching your face deteriorate back into it’s flustered expression, “is that better?”

You huffed, “Much-” you were cut off when Bakugo pushed his lips against yours. Your eyes widened before fluttering closed as you melted into the kiss.

It was fiery, just like Bakugo himself. It was hard not to smile. The kiss was also sort of needy, maybe it was because you ignored the explosive blond for a whole week, or maybe it was because of how long you liked each other without acting on it.

It wasn’t something you cared to know the answer of.

There was also one more thing.

You couldn’t tell if you cared or not anymore, but the back of your mind screamed you would still not be able to sleep, too happy to. All because of this dumb hoe, Bakugo Katsuki. It was fine, because now he was your dumb hoe.

~ extra ~

“Sleep deprived as always, eh, Y/n?” Kirishima nudged your elbow, both in a friendly way and to keep you awake.

“Watch your back, Kiri, if you want to keep your knee caps...” you trailed off, glaring daggers into him.

“What?! Didn’t things go well?!” the redhead exclaimed, panicked.

“Yes. They did, but still. >:(”

~~~~

it’s currently 2:21 am for me rn lmao

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justreadingfics · 5 years

Text

Looking For a Heartbeat (19/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left. It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings for this chapter: fluff, some angst, lots of pinning, use of hormones as an excuse.

A/N: @suz-123 is my angel and I love her. Links are messing up posts, you can find the masterlist link on my description.

“Hey.” Your smile is bright as you spot Bucky walking into the Doctor Nadine ́s waiting room.

“Hi,” He smiles back. As handsome as ever. He’s been keeping his face with nothing but a light stubble lately and the little jump in your heart reminds you that, despite loving his full beard; you also have a huge soft spot for that look. Maybe it’s because the light shade enhances the outlines of his beautiful and plump lips. He’s sporting his customary outfit: white henley and dark jeans which enhances every single delightful part of him as he walks and his many, hard muscles move through the fabric.

The sting on your lips makes you notice you’re biting them as you stare at him. You blink and swiftly compose yourself as he takes a seat next to you.

“Am I late?” If he noticed your shameless gawking, he doesn't let it show.

Goddamn those pregnant hormones, and goddamn Bucky for not helping at all by being that extraordinarily hot on a daily basis, only adding to your increasing frustration.

“Not at all. Doctor Nadine is, though.” You try to put on some nonchalance into your voice to disguise your current state of…distress.

“Here.” Only when he hands it to you, you notice the little paper bag in his hands.

Accepting the bag, you smirk and side eye him, as he shrugs. You laugh when you find in your hands a stuffed little pig, all white except for some greyish brown stamps all over it and the nose and the inside of the ears, which are pink.

“I couldn’t resist.” He looks guilty as a shy smile curls up his lips, “The clerk said it's from a Disney movie called Moana.”

“It will look awesome next to the Unicorn.” You grin, pressing the stuffie against your cheek and relishing in its fluffiness before placing it back in the bag, “Speaking of that, the kids were pretty bummed by you leaving earlier yesterday. You have a couple of new fans.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “They’re awesome…” His lively expression falls a bit as his eyes bore into yours and he bites the inside of his cheeks, “I had to sort something out... with Anna.”

“Oh…” You still feel his eyes on you as you turn ahead at the information, averting his eyes from him. “Ok.”

You both stay quiet. The silence isn't comfortable at all as you tap your fingers on your thigh, gripping the little bag hard in your hand. The unspoken question tugging at your tongue as dread pinches the pit of your stomach. God, you hate feeling like that.

“And did you?” You can’t hold it back anymore. “Sort things out?”

“Yeah, actually.” Bucky looks down as his eyebrows snap together, “It was a good talk.” Bucky nods, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Good.” You repeat his words, tightening your lips in a failed attempt of forming a smile for him, “Good, good, good…” The mumble slips out quietly from your lips as you turn your head to stare ahead, legs distractedly bouncing.

“It was a very good chat.” Bucky talks again and you hum in acknowledgement. “We admitted our mistakes. Forgave each other.”

The sting is sharp against your chest as your heart drops to your stomach. You just nod, gulping down the lump in your throat, without once looking back at him. You shouldn’t be feeling like this… anxious… jealous... Weren’t you the very one to tell him he should talk to Anna? Listen to her? Very sensible of you, right? You fight the urge to roll your eyes at yourself right before you hear his voice again.

“It was good to close this chapter. Getting romantically involved was a mistake.”

Your face snap to him. His eyes were already on you, but you can’t quite read his guarded expression.

“We agreed on that and now we can move on.” He adds, softly. His hands linked together of his thighs.

“Oh, so you ́re not back together.” You ask as your unwise faltering heart needs a confirmation.

He simply shakes his head.

“Good.” You definitely shouldn’t sound as joyful as you do. You clear your throat and try to keep an even expression on your face, for good measure. “I mean… Are you ok?” You ask with honest worry. Despite the stupid feelings that keep making a fuzz of your chest, you know what Anna means to Bucky and, yeah, if it meant he would be happy, it would hurt you, but you would understand if they had gotten back together.

“Yeah.” His lips curl down, “I was a jerk to her. You told me I would hurt her, and I did.” He shrugs, and you see the little bone in his throat moving as he swallows.

“Oh, Bucky, I-”

“But we're good now.” He nods to himself, not allowing you to lie and say you really didn’t mean that. You did. It doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, but you knew in heart at the time that he would end up hurting her. Running away is never the answer. You learned this the hard way.

“Ok,” You nod, keeping the thoughts to yourself.

His eyes meet yours and you spot the softness in them when he speaks, just as softly, “Time to move on.”

You smile at each other. A shared smile full of unspoken words. But it’s also full of history and easy and honest and it keeps plastered on your face the whole day.

~~~

A tiny kick makes you place your hand over your round stomach and smile.

“Are you waking up, peanut?” You mumble to your belly, drawing small circles over it.

You’re a little bit more than 29 weeks now and the baby has been making themselves noticeable for a few weeks already. What started out as a fluttery sensation now has turned into full kicks and jabs. A child of two Avengers, no doubt about that. You love feeling them. Well, maybe except when the little brat hits you with the force of a tiny super soldier in your ribs, which they’ve been very keen to do the last few days.

The baby is big. So damn big and heavy. 20 inches and already 7 pounds. A whole lot more than expected if they didn’t have a super DNA in them. As they develop that strong, it’s been getting more and more difficult for your body to carry the pregnancy. The appointments have been more frequent, almost daily. Doctor Nadine estimates you won’t get to the 39th or 40th week, which has been making you a bit anxious, of course. As much as you’re dying to see the little face of your peanut, a premature birth is never ideal. What makes you sleep easier at night is that Tony’s has gone over the top and there’s medical assistance available for you 24/7 at a short walking distance to the Tower’s med bay.

You and Bucky have been discussing names. He’s been allowing you to come up with all the options so he doesn’t let the sex slip with a biased suggestion. After hours, days and weeks of research and debates, so far you’ve narrowed it down to Mary or Ava if it’s a girl and Theo or Lucas, if it’s a boy. Being one of the best spies in the world, he didn’t put on any expression or say anything that could spill the beans.

Speaking of the daddy, he’s always around, always bringing a little cute souvenirs which he absolutely couldn’t resist buying on his way over the tower. He’s still living at his little apartment in Brooklyn and whether this would change after the baby arrived or not you don’t know and, to be honest, you won’t ask. You’ve been talking and talking and talking, but nothing more than things related solely to the baby. Anything that could lead to certain topics or interpretations have been avoided. Having him around has been more than you could ever wish for and you wouldn’t handle him getting scared and running away from you again.

You’ve decided to continue living at the tower after the baby is born, for the team of uncles and aunts pure joy. It is the safest place on earth, and the floor Tony has been remodeling into a mega apartment for you is almost ready and perfect. He’s been taking care of everything and you really don’t mind. You were never one to really care about decorations and stuff and it’s his way of showing love, so you gladly accept it. Well, except for the nursery, which you and Bucky were adamant to be responsible for and have been working on the room together.

Just right now, he and Steve are applying the wallpaper you two have chosen and putting the crib together while you’re in your new kitchen, which is already done and fully functional, squeezing some fresh lemonade for the two hard workers.

After you place the Jar and the glasses on a tray, you walk towards the nursery, but what you find when you cross the opened door makes you choke on air and almost drop all the lemonade to the floor.

Bucky. Standing on a ladder. Shirtless. With his built, bare back to you as he reaches the roller up to glue the highest part of the wallpaper. His locks are trapped in one of those damn low buns of his, as droplets of sweat ran down the deepened line between the muscles of his back. Your eyes descend his body and meet his jeans hanging low, showing you a large stripe of the black boxes he has underneath.

Shit. It’s been like this now. Just the sight of him making you dizzy and most definitely… bothered. As a rush of heat washes over your core, you tell yourself it’s the damn hormones fault and, of course, you being completely sex deprived for so long, but you’re not really sure if it’s really this or the fact you have him around you almost all the time now, and having him around had always been enough to cause a number on your body reactions.

You hear an inhuman sound when he stretches his back. Your eyes widen at the realization the sound must’ve come out from you when he looks over his shoulder and spots you there: pathetically standing by the door, holding a tray with lemonade, dumbly staring at him.

He smiles and promptly climbs down the stairs, “Hey,” He greets as he drops the roller on the floor, covered by newspaper, and walks towards you, using his forearm to clean some sweat off his forehead.

Goddamn.

“Hey,” You mumble back, somewhat breathless as his broad, shirtless, sweaty figure stands in front of you. Your tongue darts out to run over your dry lips.

“So? What do you think?”

“What?” You blink.

He narrowed his eyes at you an chuckles before pointing his hand towards the walls.

“Oh.” You jump, finally taking your eyes off of him to let them roam around the room. The balloons wallpaper is neatly glued, and you can see the room turning into a nursery by his hands, “Oh, Bucky.” You sigh, already feeling tears forming in the corner of your eyes. Yeah, besides horny as fuck, you’ve been easily emotional, too. “It’s perfect.” A huge smile across your face.

His smile matches yours, “It’s almost done. Steve went to his room to grab a toolkit so we can start putting the crib together.” He nods towards the closed box on the floor behind him, before his eyes drop to the trail in your hands.

“Oh, I brought you guys some lemonade.” You lift the trail, “I figured you’d be thirsty.”

When his gaze meet yours again, you spot the change in his eyes, the blue a bit darker and a hint of amusement sparkling on them, “You have no idea.” His voice drops a note and laces you by the core.

You swallow thickly, not sure if he’s deliberately trying to drive you crazy or it’s your pregnant dirty mind making you see things.

“Ahm, h-here,” you stutter and move fast to place the trail on a worktable which is right beside you and pour him a glass, handing it to him and trying to pay no attention to the flames burning you up from the inside.

You, obviously, can’t take your eyes off of him as he thanks you with a smirk and brings it to his lips. His eyes close as he gulped down the whole glass all at once. Your gaze drops to the scars on his chest… He must’ve got them treated, because they’re light and clean, almost blending to his skin. Very different from the angry marks you used to trace your fingers on while he was sleeping, feeling him sigh deeply under your touch-

“Hmmm, ice cold and full of sugar. Delicious.” He licks his lips and your gaze snap up to his face, taking you out from your mind filled with memories.

“Of course,” You chuckle, “That’s the right way of lemonade.” As he laughs and his eyes crinkle adorably, you spot a drop slipping from his lips and running down his jaw. You need to do something about it, don’t you? Lemon could damage his skin, after all. “Ahm, you have a… let me-” You reach to his face and he stiffens when you delicately brush your thumb over the his jaw to catch the drop. You sense the twitch on his jawbone, when, almost unconsciously, your hand cup his face and you let your thumb skim up to the corner of his lips.

You don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. All you focus is on the loud hammering of your heart as his eyes flutter close and he leans on your touch. You breathe through your parted lips and your gaze falls down to his mouth. His beautiful and rosy lips... It’s been so long since you got the chance to kiss them…

“Ouch.” Your hand flies from Bucky’s face to your belly.

Bucky’s eyes swiftly open. For a second he seems lost, as if he’s just woken up from a dream and didn’t know exactly where he was. When he spots your hand on your belly his eyes go round, “What’s happening? Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckle, “The baby has kicked me. They’ve been doing this a lot, but it has never felt so strong-ah-” You gasp and laugh as your eyebrows draw together when the little one hits another heavy strike.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, looking down at your belly as pure awe takes over his face. When he glances up to you, his eyes is evidently glowing with expectancy, “C-can I?” He hesitantly asked, raising his hand in direction of your belly just as timidly.

When you nod and takes your hand from your stomach to allow him to touch it, he immediately places the empty glass of lemonade on the worktable and steps closer to you. Not until that day Bucky had asked to touch your belly… The gentle touch of his hand through your dress is almost too much as the electricity runs down your spine unbidden and makes your heart race.

“Here.” Taking in a shuddering breath, you place your hand over his to slowly move it to the right spot where he would be able to feel the baby. He’s so close to you… so close.

“I-I can’t feel anything.” The disappointment is evident in his voice and in the small pout that follows.

“Ahm, why don’t try talking to them?” You suggest and he glances up at you, “It usually works for me.” You shrug.

His eyes narrow and he smiles tightly after focusing on your belly again. Your hand still covering his.

“What should I say?” He whispers.

“Um, why don’t start with “hello ``''?

“Ok…” He nods before taking in a deep sigh, “Hello, my baby.” He murmurs softly and carefully strokes your belly, “I’m your daddy.”

Just like that, as if it had been planned out, you feel the kick. Bucky promptly lets out a breathy smile.

“It was a big one. Did you feel it?” You ask, quietly, trying hard to not ruin their moment.

He nods quickly, his lips pressed hard against one another. As his gaze remains down, yours remain on him. His forehead almost touches yours and you try to breathe. The magic you had experienced moments before enveloping the both of you again. The three of you, actually.

“I can’t wait to see you,” He keeps talking to your baby and it kicks again, “I love you so much already, my baby.” The blue of his watery eyes meet yours, “Our baby.”

Your melt under his words as you sulk in a breath and nod, “Our baby.” Your hand tightens the grip on his as the warmth of a single tear runs down your cheek.

Every single one of your days, you spend trying to suppress, deny and bury the feelings, the stubborn and immeasurable love you have for him. The love you once felt so afraid of…Because it’s the right thing to do. It’s what’s best for you, but most importantly it’s what’s best for him… You’re not afraid of this love anymore… You haven’t been afraid of it for a long time now. But he is. He is and what you’re afraid of is he’ll run away from it, from you…

Every day is a fight against your feelings, sometimes you lose, others you win. Today...one simple touch and the fight is slipping off your grasp...

His right hand doesn’t move from where he feels your baby saying hello to him, while you shudder at the cold sensation of metal meeting your middle before his arm circle your waist, pulling you closer to him as the warmth of his body rolls off to yours. Your legs turn into jelly and you’re grateful for his hold keeping you stand. He drops his forehead to yours and all you have to do is move one inch and you would be able to feel the taste of him again, after so long…

“Bucky…” You whisper, as your eyes flutter.

“Hey, pal. I think this will do it-”

You could feel the soft brush of Bucky’s lips on yours before you quickly let go of him, ceasing any kind of contact as Steve bursts into the room.

“Ahm, am I interrupting anything?” Steve asks, frozen in place with the toolkit in hands, after an uncomfortable silence settled in the room.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot Bucky, with hands on each side of his waist and head hanging low as his chest heavies, “No, of course not.” You put on a smile for a skeptical Steve, “I was just here to bring you two some lemonade. There it is.” You point to the jar, “Help yourself, Steve. Ahm, I – I gotta go to the bathroom, my bladder is the size of a marble, now, you know? I’ll come back later for the tray.” You cringe rushing to the way out without taking a breath to spill the words, or sparing another glance at Bucky before you leave the room.

Today, you lost.

~~~

Ch. 20 coming soon(ish)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes series #bucky angst #bucky series #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic

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adifferentbrandofbeans · 4 years

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Affect - 7

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words: 4.4k

Safe flight

The only words I had spoken to him in a week, and I had not even spoken them. I had ignored every message he sent. Every picture of the ocean, every video of the group sipping cocktails, every goodnight text. All of it had gone unanswered.

Part of me felt guilty for leaving him hanging, it felt petty and childish. However, part of me wanted him to feel as I had. Fucking confused.

All week I had been tormented by my own brain, rationalising and exaggerating the situation every five minutes with no respite. Work was no distraction, my work so mind-numbing that all my brain was consumed with had been him. Days had been spent inputting details while imagining Harry’s lips on my skin, nights spent wishing my hands were his.

He had consumed all my thoughts and I despised it. Why did I let it bother me so much? Harry and I are friends. Friends who occasionally fool around, sure, but friends none the less. It is not as though I am desperate to get into a relationship with him. I am not sure I even want a relationship at all right now, the one major boyfriend I had made sure to leave his mark in my life. How could I ever want to get into a situation like that again?

No. Harry and I are friends and that is that. That cannot be why I am so bothered by seeming pictures of him with another girl. I mean, sure, having him kiss me before I left was… unprecedented. It was new and different and a little bit exciting, but that does not mean I want to be with him. He surely does not want to be with me either. Harry had been romantic, practically dedicating a song for us, but Harry is romantic. It is the reason so many people adore him, he has a heart of gold and a beautiful soul.

Finally, my brain had come to the realisation that I had let myself get swept up by the excitement of it all. The sneaking around felt charming. The idea of loving under the sun was alluring, no doubt about it, but the sun has gone. This aspect of our relationship is needs-based, nothing more. No need to read into his actions anymore.

Just landed. Can’t wait to see you, alright if I come round? x

My throat tightens at the idea, but I agree anyway. This relationship is driven by need and I do need him. Having such a concentrated taste of him and then having him ripped away feels too cruel. There is no way I could deprive myself of him now.

When he finally arrives, it is late in the night, so he knocks quietly, but I hear him loud and clear, having been doing nothing but sit on my sofa, sipping at a glass of wine for courage. I hold my breath as I open the front door, my hand shaking nervously as I look up at him.

“Hi,” Harry says softly.

I exhale quickly at the sight on my doorstep. Harry is still dressed for warmer weather, a light and billowy floral shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal a peak of chest hair. He is golden. In just one extra week he has bronzed beautifully, his smile looking even brighter as he looks to me.

“Can I come in? Bit cold,” he says with a shaky laugh.

“Oh,” I say with a shake of my head to bring me back to Earth. I step aside for him to walk inside, closing the door behind him and watch as he walks into the living room. “Wine?” I call after him.

“I’m good, thanks, clear head and all that,” he says as I follow him to the sofa.

I sit down at the other end and top up my glass until wine almost spills over the brim. Harry’s eyebrows knit together as he watches me.

“Long week,” I explain with a wave of my hand, hoping he will avoid asking for details.

“Yeah, noticed you were a bit absent,” he says gently but the guilt still pangs in my chest.

“Uh, yeah, you know work… and didn’t want to interrupt you guys’ fun,” I mumble, desperately making up excuses I should have practiced before he got here.

“Oh,” he replies, and his face softens, “That why you’ve been kind of weird?”

My body tenses instinctively at his words, part of me wanting to explain that I have been ‘weird’ since he kissed me and then most likely shagged another girl hours after I left. But I hold back.

“Yeah,” I mutter, “Hope you all had a good time though,”

“Wasn’t the same without you,” he says and I almost scoff.

Quickly reminding myself of the newly formed line between my emotions and my libido, I take a gulp of my wine before setting it down.

“I’m glad you came round actually,” I say, and he smiles brightly.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, my vibrator kind of quit on me last night,” I laugh.

“Oh,” Harry says softly, looking down as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

“What? Did you want to come round and show me holiday snaps?” I tease and he looks back up at me with a smile.

“Not exactly,” he breathes, “You look good, by the way,” he says, eyeing me up and down as he stretches, the long journey evident in the way his shoulders click as he reaches out.

“Shut up,” I laugh, climbing into his lap until my knees are either side of his hips.

“Mean it… missed you,” he says gently, his arms coming up, hands softly gliding up and down my bare arms.

“Hey,” I say softly, lifting his gaze with a finger under the chin. His eyes stow away into mine and I take a deep breath to ensure my voice does not shake when it comes out, “Just fuck me, yeah?”

His eyes stay on mine as he lets my words sink in. Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, he gives me a slow nod. I nod back and pull my shirt over my head, watching as his eyes trickle over the newly exposed flesh.

After that we fall into a mess of movements, our bodies going through the motions as we undress and collapse back into each other. The sex is grabby and rushed, almost the antithesis of the last time. This is pure physical need. And afterwards, when I am slumped over Harry’s body, his hands on my hips as we catch our breaths, I do not feel completely satisfied.

I take a sip from my wine, partially redressed in underwear and a vest. Passing the glass to Harry he takes a drink to finish the glass before pulling me back into him, so that I am sat across his knee.

“Wanna go to a party tomorrow?” he asks, looking at me hopefully.

“What party?” I ask, setting the empty glass down on the ground.

“Thing for the record label, anniversary thing, there’s a dinner and then an afterparty,” he explains, looking down and playing with the fabric of my vest with one hand while the other rests on my bare thigh.

“Is it fancy?” I ask, my muscles tensing slightly at the thought. A holiday with a small group of people who belong in Harry’s world is one thing, but a concentrated group in one place celebrating the thing they have in common that I will never understand is another thing entirely.

“Think the dinner is but the party is at a club, probably a little fancy,” he tells me softly, his voice still a little bit hoarse from grunting my name moments ago.

“Not jeans and a nice top kind of vibe then?” I ask, joking to hide the slight panic the idea stirs up.

“Probably not,” he smiles as he looks up at me.

His hair is a mess and exhaustion is clear on his face but he looks relaxed and happy, and it is a beautiful look on him. It is probably the look that makes me nod my head. Or maybe it is because I knew the grin that would occur when I agreed, big and lopsided and so endearing it makes me resent him for being so perfect at times.

“I’ll dig through my wardrobe then,” I tell him. He smiles brightly and relaxes into the sofa, fatigue overtaking him. “Want to stay here tonight?” I ask, brushing the hair away from his face. Leaning his head into my hand, he closes his eyes and nods slightly.

“Mm… s’nice,” he mutters at the way my fingers massage lightly against his scalp.

“Come on, loser,” I say, standing up and grabbing both his hands to pull him from the sofa.

He complies with no argument as I walk him to my bedroom and get him settled. By the time I come back to bed with two glasses of water he is already fast asleep. With a small smirk, I slide into bed beside him.

In the morning, I have to sneak out of bed and tiptoe around my flat so as to not wake Harry. Figuring that he could do with some well-deserved rest, I leave him a spare key and a note telling him to text me where to meet him later. When I come home from work, the flat is empty, leaving me an addendum on the scrap of paper I had left him.

Thanks for letting me sleep in, you’re a godsend. See you tonight, look gorgeous – H x

Beneath is the address of the club, instructing to meet him there at 9pm. Three hours to get ready. Instantly, my mind begins to panic as I flick through my wardrobe, desperately seeking something befitting the occasion. All I want is to blend in, but I have a strong feeling that my budget-friendly attire will not cut it. I wish I knew who else was going so I could tag along rather than show up alone and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Eventually, I land on black flared jumpsuit, attempting to dress it up with some jewellery, but feeling like a phony. Curling my hair within an inch of it’s life and plastering on enough makeup to somewhat hide me away, I order a taxi.

Fidgeting through the whole journey, I text Harry to tell him I am on my way and touch up my lipstick repeatedly until I cannot stand the colour red any longer.

I thank the driver when we arrive and head towards the entrance of the club. The street outside is lined with paparazzi all standing idly, checking their equipment as I walk past and up to the main door.

“Private party tonight, sweetheart,” the bouncer says, holding his hand up to stop me proceeding any further.

Trying to ignore the gut punch he just delivered, my attempt to dress up clearly not fooling anyone, I nervously tell him my name and he checks the list in his hand.

“ID?” he asks. My hand shakes as I give it to him, humiliation eating at me as he looks down at it, then up to me, before exhaling and handing it back to me. He nods his head slightly, silently telling me I have permission to enter. Part of me does not even want to walk inside. Part of me wants to go home and pretend I got ill and could not make it. But I already told Harry I was coming, and not seeing him for a week did feel strange, so I take a deep breath and step into the club.

The pounding music and flashing lights does little to quell my anxiety. A petite blonde offers me a flute of champagne and I gladly take it, gulping it without caring to notice the shocked look she gives me, mainly distracted by my stupidity at not taking several shots before turning up here.

My eyes scan through the mass of bodies, urgently trying to spot Harry among them but it is no use. All I see is glamour. Women in tight little dresses dance with men in expensive suits. Harry blends right into a place like this. No doubt, he will be the one to find me. With that miserable thought, I make a wise decision to head to the bar.

Once the bartender finally notices me, I order two shots of tequila and a double vodka lemonade, greatly appreciating the open bar. I knock back the shots and turn back to the crowd, craning my head to try and find my friend. It soon proves to be like trying to find a beautiful, famous needle in an equally beautiful and famous haystack.

Watching as the room bounces with energy and intoxicated happiness, I could not feel more out of place. My very existence here feels like a cruel joke. My chest feels as though it is tightening with every thump of the blaring bassline. Deciding I need air, I quickly make a beeline for the smoking area, incredibly grateful that the small outside space is far less crowded, and I can take some deep breaths in semi-privacy.

Taking time to focus on inhaling, exhaling, counting my breaths, I regain some normalcy, just in time to hear someone call my name. Looking up, I see Will approaching me with a smile plastered across his face which I cannot help but return, grateful to see a familiar face.

“Thought that was you!” he exclaims happily, wrapping me in a hug.

“Hi,” I mutter over his shoulder as he squeezes me excitedly.

“When did you get here?” he asks upon releasing me, the smile not wiping from his face as we catch up.

“Just now pretty much,” I reply, his presence helping the tightness in my chest.

I explain to him about meeting up with Harry but not being able to find him, leaving out the humiliation and anxiety being here induced.

“Oh, there’s a booth tucked away we were all kind of hanging out at,” he tells me, grabbing my hand and leading me back into the club to find our friend. It dawns on me that I should have expected to see Will here, he and Harry worked together regularly during the promo of Harry’s first solo album, the launch party he had a hand in organising being the night we met. Getting along with Will had been effortless, so being guided by him through the sea of heated bodies helped me stay calm. “Look who I found,” he announces as we reach a populated table in the corner of the room.

Half of the members of the group flick their gaze towards us for a split second before returning to their conversations, however, a few pause, offering small, polite smiles, which I bashfully return. I notice Harry around the same time that he notices me. He is mid-conversation with a woman in her mid-20s, brunette, slim, beautiful, absolutely his type if his record is anything to go on. She is smiling brightly at him as he speaks, gesticulating wildly until he spots me a few feet away. For a moment, I think his eyes fix to mine and Will’s interlaced hands, but I blink at his gaze has shifted. He utters something to the woman he is speaking to before standing up to come and greet me. The brunette smiles gently to me, clearly not threatened by my sudden presence.

“You’re here!” Harry grins, pulling me into a hug and swaying us side to side. “You look amazing,” he says, releasing me and grinning down at me.

“Doesn’t she just?” Will speaks with a charming smile that spreads up to his eyes and makes them crinkle around the edges.

Grateful for the soft lighting, I feel heat rise to my cheeks. Harry looks between us for a moment, slightly puzzled before grabbing my hand and pulling me to sit with the group. Will offers to get more drinks to replace the one I had failed to notice I had been sipping nervously.

Sat amongst Harry’s work colleagues and peers I instantly feel like an outsider again. Sitting in on conversations I do not fully understand, all I can do is offer polite smiles and nod my head where appropriate. Harry’s eyes drift to me every so often, checking in on me and offering me a sympathetic look, understanding my awkwardness. In the same way, I offer him a look and small nod, understanding that this is what tonight is all about and he should enjoy himself. Still, he looks to me regularly.

When Will arrives back with the drinks, he sits beside me and chuckles, “You’re hating this,” he observes.

“Not really my scene… hard not to stand out,” I admit, brushing over some deep-rooted insecurities in a more socially acceptable way.

“Since when was standing out a bad thing?” he asks with a reassuring smile, determined to elicit one from me. “Wanna dance?”

I look down to the ocean of bodies filling the room, moving freely and happily, I cannot deny the desire to feel the way they do. I nod and motion to Harry where we are going, to which he nods and smiles quickly.

Will and I make our way to the edge of the dancefloor, hips and shoulders starting to move along with the music.

“You’ve got to relax!” Will laughs loudly, having to raise his voice so I can hear him above the music. Not noticing how tense I must seem, I watch him as he dramatically shakes out his arms and legs, earning a deep laugh from me. At least we both stick out; I think to myself.

Deciding that if I am here, I might as well have fun, I join Will in his mad dance moves, laughing along every time he almost bumps into someone or spills his drink. We move along to the beat, sometimes moving offbeat too, dancing happily and excitedly as our favourite songs play loudly, remixed until the whole room seems to bounce along to the bassline. I realise the DJ is playing remixed versions of the artists belonging to the record label and smirk at the attempts to merge soulful ballads with dirty beats. I cannot help but laugh aloud when an Only Angel remix starts playing. Immediately, I look to Harry to beckon him to us. His eyes are already on me when I find him through the crowd and call him over. A smirk spreads across his lips and he makes his way towards us, the rest of the room noticing his movements and smiling at him as he comes to join them and celebrate his music.

When he reaches us, cheering that he came to join, he dances alongside us, grooving to his own beat and singing along as the room suddenly shifts. The atmosphere changes and it feels as though we are at one of Harry’s shows, witnessing him entice the population with one swing of his hips.

As the song continues, Harry refuses to break eye contact with me, making me laugh as he grabs my arms and puts them around his shoulders, crouching to dance with me so our legs are slotted between one another. Laughing at his antics, I play along and groove with him as he leans in to set his mouth beside my ear.

“Haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you,” he says lowly, his hands moving to hold my hips. To the average bystander, he is simply guiding me so that our bodies move in sync. No one would notice the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my curves, just enough pressure to understand.

Drawing my head back to look him in the eye, I see that mischievous glint and have an inkling we will not be staying much longer.

“She’s an angel,” I continue to sing along, pretending not to be affected by the way his body moves against mine or the way his breath hits my skin and spreads chills across it.

“My only angel,” he says with a smirk, a darkness spreading across his features as the song shifts suddenly, “Let’s get out of here,”.

It is not a question, but I nod anyway, following his lead as we say goodbye to Will and then the group at the booth. Harry takes my hand in his and leads me to the back of the club, mentioning that everyone had been leaving this way to avoid getting papped while paralytic.

Once outside, Harry makes a call for a driver to come and pick us up.

“You cold?” he asks me as we wait, gesturing to his suit jacket.

“I’m good,” I say truthfully, enjoying the shocking drop in temperature that the evening air provides. “Was getting a bit heated in there,” I tease.

Harry smirks and steps in front of me, “Something that I blame you for wholeheartedly,”. A hand reaches up to hold the side of my neck, his fingers stretching over my jaw, eyes dropping to my lips, “Red suits you.”

“Think it would suit you too… Could look pretty on your neck,” I say, dragging my nails gently across him, “Your chest… Stomach…” my hand follows, “Right here,” my hand settles lightly over his groin, enjoying the way his breathe hitches in his throat.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice low and quiet. His eyes widen, shining brightly as he watches me, studying my face, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. I watch his Adam’s apple bob slowly, a smirk tugging at my lips at his reaction.

“Mm,” I hum with a nod, relishing the way his body seems to weaken and melt under my touch, my hand softly palming against him.

“You’re really cool, have I ever told you that?” he asks with a grin, breaking the tension and stirring a laugh within me.

“And you’re an idiot,” I chuckle, removing my hand and taking a step back from him.

“Hey, where d’you think you’re going?” Harry smirks, stepping towards me to close the gap between us. With a soft lick of his lips, he cradles either side of my face in his hands, eyes flitting across my features. “Fancy watching some rubbish telly?”

“I thought you were too horny to party a minute ago?” I ask incredulously.

“I kind of am… kind of just want to hang out with my girl,” he smiles at me so warmly that I think I might just melt under him. He looks so sweet; how could I ever deny him?

Trying to ignore the lump in my throat caused by hearing him speak to me so tenderly, and the use of (hopefully) my new nickname, I nod.

“I don’t know if this is blurring the lines too much…” Harry utters gently, his face just inches from mine, “But I really like kissing you,”. There is a breathless laugh in his voice which I cannot help but mirror.

“Yeah,” I whisper, our lips almost brushing as I speak.

Inching even closer, our lips touch lightly, his mouth moving delicately against mine despite however many drinks we may have both consumed tonight. There is something in his kiss that roots itself deep within me, spreading a warm fizz throughout my extremities. His touch is addicting, and it takes a lot of strength to pull myself away from him when a car rolls up beside us.

“This us?” I ask, fidgeting slightly in the cold night air. Harry nods and opens the car door for me, letting me slip in before closing the door behind himself and telling the driver my address. “Harry?” I ask, trying to pull his focus back to me rather than staring out of the window at the city passing by.

“Hm?” he hums.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask before I can really think about it, my curious mind taking over my rational one.

“No,” he says softly, still gazing out of the window, “You?”

“No,” I reply, my voice equally soft, “Do you ever get lonely?”

He pauses before turning to look at me and takes my hand in his, “How could I ever feel lonely when I have you, eh?”.

Try as I might, I cannot avoid the sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew what Harry and I have is just casual, but to hear him say I am basically an alternative to loneliness still stings. I give him a small smile to placate him until he is staring out of the window again. Using rooting around in my bag for my keys as an excuse, I withdraw my hand from his.

When we arrive at my building, I hear the driver ask if Harry wants him to wait here. I wonder how many times this man has had to sit outside someone’s home, waiting for his boss to finish shagging to be driven home. Harry tells him he can leave and follows me up to my flat.

“Place is kind of a mess,” I grumble as we enter, slightly embarrassed by the laundry drying in the hallway, my underwear on full display.

“I remember this,” Harry says with a smirk, lifting the fabric of my red sundress, “That was a good night,”

“Barely remember it,” I lie, brushing past him to head to my bedroom.

I pick up some more comfortable clothes to change into, offering Harry some stuff he has left here in the past before heading into the bathroom to change and take my makeup off.

Stop being weird.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I let out a sigh. How did I get myself here? I look at myself, freshly barefaced, hair scraped into a bun, and plaster a smile across my face.

Fake it ‘til you make it, girl.

Giving myself a mental shake, I exit the bathroom and head back to my room, knocking softly.

“Come in,” Harry laughs, watching as I enter, he adds, “You’ve seen me naked before,”

“Yeah but that was different,” I admit quietly, climbing into bed beside him, staring straight ahead at my laptop that he has already set up and queued our favourite show.

“You alright? Seem a bit…” Harry asks, looking at me with kind, concerned eyes.

“Yeah, just a bit drained,” I say. Not a total lie, nor is it the complete truth.

“Can always talk to me, angel,” he shares, putting an arm around me and kissing the top of my head.

“I know,” I reply truthfully, “You’re my best mate, Harry, you know that?”

“Likewise,” he says, squeezing me into his side.

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deathfrisbeeinthetardis · 5 years

Note

Bliss 7 and 12 please ;-;

Thank you anon, I absolutely adored writing this prompt, but being me I ended up with more angst than I planned to write for such a sweet prompt, but the ending is soft I swear. I hope you like it

Prompt Bliss 7. “Look at you… Goodness, you’re so cute.”

Ryan doesn’t know what they are even doing at this point.

This is the tenth time this month that he had lingered at the office after work, throwing himself into doing and redoing his editing as people trickled out and the buzz faded away. His neck is straining and his eyes ache, but he catches himself before he rubs them, not wanting to jostle the contacts. The office is not the pinnacle of comfort and luxury, but he would give up his bed and all his jerseys if it meant he could be spared from his mind.

There is no use thinking about it really, what’s done is done, but he can’t help his reluctance. It’s just an apartment, his rationality says. But why does every empty space hurt to look at, his heart whispers.

There are so many of them now.

So he had hung back, and Shane had stayed with him, the two of them editing their various projects side by side, a giant bucket of Chicago Popcorn™ Shane’s parents had sent between them.

The problem, as it usually was, is that Shane’s company and some good old fashioned sleep deprivation don’t mix well, and productivity took the fallout, their work ethic gradually sliding off the table until they’re positively undoing efforts that they’ve already put out.

Yes, maybe Ryan had something to do with Shane’s elbow and back crashing onto his laptop keyboard and deleting nearly two hours of editing, but it’s Shane’s fault he doesn’t save the videos every two minutes like Ryan does, non-compulsively of course.

So their nights aren’t the most productive, but it’s off-hours so no one can really tell them off. The office is empty, unflipped light switches plunging patches of desks into shadow between the bright spots in mesmerizing patterns. The warehouse desk layout leaves much space for the mind to fill, but Ryan’s worked here for so long that he knows every twist and turn. He’d bet good money that he’d win in a ghost race through this organized mess.

Ryan’s pretty sure the only person doing actual work tonight has chosen to evacuate from their desk to one of the corners farthest away from the pair of them. He feels a little bad to bother him with the un-moderated volume of their conversations and the not-so-infrequent giggling fits, but right now he’s too relaxed and happy to care. It’s the only time he gets to feel like this anyway.

The Unsolved title card flashes, pulling his attention back to the screen, a white bar inching through the multicolored blocks of carefully compiled video and audio files at the bottom of the monitor. Ryan’s quite proud of this one, the crew were able to get some stellar shots on-location and there was probably one of the clearest spirit box replies they’ve gotten, no matter how hard the other man tries to discount it.

“Aww you cut that part out again?’ Shane pouts beside him, headphones perched precariously on his big head.

"You can’t just go and tell ghosts they’re gonna be on Youtube every time.” Ryan swivels his chair to face Shane, a lofty air in his voice as he does his best to look down his nose at the other man, even going so far as pumping his seat up a few inches. Shane’s lip trembles like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s an argument they’ve had before, and Ryan knows how it’s going to go almost down to the line, but it’s always fun, so he plays the game.

“And why not?"

"They’re not from this time, they don’t even know what electricity is!”

“So you are admitting the spirit box is wack.” Shane rubs his hands together evilly, smiling so wide he could have been in that truth or dare movie, no special effects needed. “Oh, this is very good.”

“I did not say that,” Ryan protests, nudging Shane’s leg with a foot and feeling intensely satisfied when the boot leaves a dirt mark on the other man’s dark jeans. Jeez, they are literal children sometimes, but Ryan never has this much fun.

“It’s just, they’re ghosts, and they’re making the effort to reach out to talk to these two idiots, cut them some slack.”

“You’re the only idiot here. I, Shane Madej, am a man of science.” Shane doesn’t even have to level up his seat and he’s still taller than Ryan. It is so, so not fair.

“This is science!”

“Uh-huh,” Shane says, deadpan. There is movement just out of Ryan’s periphery, and he cranes his head to see the guy leave, wincing internally. He should probably apologize for being loud, but that can totally wait a day. Maybe two.

“There has been plenty of evidence on ghosts and you know it.”

“From what I’ve seen? You really want to go into that?” There’s a challenge in Shane’s posture, and Ryan feels a rush in his chest that overruns the empty ache there, sees the trap but he jumps anyway.

“Hell yeah I do, we’ve caught some pretty good stuff along the way, Waverly, ‘brown and white’? The freaking Sallie House?"

"We both know the whole flashlight test is horseshit, Ryan.” Shane smirks, leaning back in his chair languidly with his hands behind his head, “As to the rest of those, the demons and ghosties gotta work harder than that, cause right now they don’t seem very interesting.”

“How dare you! They’re more than interesting. They were all people once.”

“Let’s list what they’ve done, hmm? Jostling toothpaste, nudging bouncy balls, whispers so gentle you can’t even–”

“Nope I’m not letting you trivialize the evidence, it was fucking creepy to hear those on location.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a wimp.”

“Fuck you.” Ryan shoots back, but there’s no real feeling behind it. He pulls a serious face to match Shane’s, squaring his shoulders and oh watch how fast he folds now.

The other man’s joy is infectious, and soon Ryan is joining him, their laughs swallowed up by the high ceilings and far walls. Ryan’s eyes catch on the lights shining down on Shane, tracing golden lines along the edges of his lanky figure against the shadowed monotony of conference rooms. Breathless and curling into themselves, their gazes meet and linger across five feet of space.

They’re just two guys working into the small hours of the night, just another aspect of their life that their ghost hunting career has bled into, it’s all normal.

Except it isn’t.

Neither of them needs to be here to work, least of all Shane, and really, Ryan thinks with a twist in his chest, it has just been the two of them spending time in each other’s company. And Ryan does genuinely enjoy it. He loves the ease of their interactions, how they can hound each other mercilessly and bicker, how Shane can poke that special unhinged laugh out of him and make him forget about everything else.

And how he, in turn, can make the big guy’s eyes all curvy and bright like no one does.

But there’s no use thinking about things like that.

There could be, a small voice says, a light shining weak in the churning abyss. Ryan passes a hand over his face and keeps it there, not trusting himself to not let his heart spill right out.

“Ryan?”

He had thought he found the one with Helen, the person in the world he’d like to spend his life with, but then things had started falling apart, and she had left. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, Ryan knows, but he had gotten used to having someone to come home to, someone who knows him for who he is.

You can have that again, the voice goes on small and determined, and Ryan wishes he could block it out. Isn’t he always good at that on their investigations? It was basically in the fucking job description.

You just have to let yourself see.

Shane is safe, someone to trust, someone to rely on. No one else would have born with him all the times he lost his mind in those haunted places. No one else would have hummed Mama Mia to him constantly in those first days when Ryan hid the pain so well on camera, knowing the familiar tune would take the tears away, if only for a minute. Just one Shane Madej hailing from the Land of Lincoln, his co-host, his best friend, and the most important constant grounding him while the rest of his world is turned up-side-down.

“You okay buddy?” There is a sharp tone in Shane’s voice, and Ryan belatedly realizes his eyes are wet. Shane’s face is flushed from laughing, but now he leans forward and there is suddenly so much care in the slight tension of his shoulders that Ryan wants to cry.

He can’t risk losing this, he doesn’t know what he would do if he manages to fuck up this last good thing in his life.

“Yeah,” He gives the other man a small smile, turning back to his screen to start up the video again, and he feels Shane relaxing back into his chair reluctantly.

Soon he’s leaning forward again, attention rapt on every little detail Ryan had painstakingly compiled.

“Hmm, didn’t you make a face at that point?” Shane taps a finger against his chin, eyes narrowed in concentration as Ryan reaches out to pause the replay, the lines of blue and yellow stark against the black background.

“Oh, that? I didn’t think it would anyone would be interested to see it.” Ryan’s fingers tap at the keys for a few seconds, pulling up the clip from the front camera and overlaying it on the video.

"I didn’t know it was gonna scare ya.” Screen-Shane says, tipping his head to the side and schooling his face into an impressive mask of innocence as he batted his eyes at screen-Ryan.

In-real-life Ryan feels warmth coil in his chest at the memory, and he smiles as he watches himself sputter for a bit, finally settling on a determined, You know what you did. He actually huffs out a laugh at his piss poor attempt to look intimidating, when the camera angle in the VO booth put Shane so much clearly taller.

On the screen, Shane’s looking down at Ryan with a grin, though he at least has the self-awareness to look a little sheepish. Their eyes lock, and with an appropriate pause for dramatic effect, “I do.”

The clip takes another few seconds to end, their raucous laughter sound from his speakers. Then Ryan’s left with the still of both of them looking at the camera, frozen grins bright on their faces, captured in time.

And Ryan’s caught in fucking limbo again, his free hand flexing in on empty air at the edge of his desk.

“Good stuff huh?” Shane’s voice is quiet.

“Yeah.” Breathe, just breathe, how is that so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard.

“You considering switching the text out for this?” There’s a smile in Shane’s voice, and Ryan clears his throat and drags in a shuddering breath.

“No it's—I’ll uh, I’ll put it in.” He hears Shane wheeling close on his chair, but he doesn’t turn to look, locking his eyes on the monitor and busying himself with the familiar shifts and adjustments. He just needs a bit of time to clear his head, then he’ll recover the ability to be a half-decent friend again, he’s sure of it.

Ryan’s got his cursor hovering over the clip, leaning forward to keep an eye on the time markings when Shane loses a soft breath, his voice an awed murmur.

“God, you’re so cute when you’re focused."

And Ryan’s world freezes over.

Around the edges of his vision, he sees realization, surprise, and something like fear flit across the other man’s face. But Ryan doesn’t do much, just holds as still as he can, like he can stamp down the giddy hope in his chest before it even has a chance to rise, so he can convince himself that it’s all just a freakishly detailed fever dream, because Shane can’t have just said that.

Shane saw him as a friend, nothing more. Ryan does want that to be true, he really should.

Breathing is becoming such a fucking bother again, he thinks absently. Maybe if he didn’t do it, life would be much easier.

"Oh-oh god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that, what kind of shitty friend am I—just,” Shane breaks off, dragging both hands through his hair and tugging in frustration. When he finally speaks he sounds broken, voice thick as if he’s holding back tears, “I’m so sorry.”

It’s all too much, there’s a loud rushing in Ryan’s head. He bolts out of his chair, needing the freedom in space to think, to process. His chest tightens when Shane flinches at the sudden movement, eyes wide, fingers white where they’ve wrapped around the arm of his chair in a death grip.

He needs air, Ryan thinks, and his feet start carrying him away, faster and faster. But Shane follows him, and it has always been like this, he supposes. Ryan takes the lead and Shane hops on for the ride, for better or for worse, always a steady presence at his side when he needs him the most. Sometimes even when he doesn’t want to.

Shane’s steps close in and he catches at Ryan’s arm, “Ryan wait, please.”

Ryan blinks hard, but he doesn’t get to wake up this time. Shane’s fingers are burning points of pressure on his mind.

He opens his mouth to speak but there’s a strange taste, two cool lines trace down his face and his vision is swimming, and oh wouldn’t it just be perfect if he blacked out, poor little Ryan, can’t even take a fucking joke without fainting—

“Oh god, don’t cry Ry, please, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Was it a fucking joke.” Ryan bites out, voice barely louder than a whisper but it still comes out harsher than he means. He can’t look at Shane, so Ryan keeps his eyes down, stares at the mud on Shane’s boots from their last shoot. He needs to know.

“No,” Hurt, that’s what it is, and there’s far too much of it in Shane’s voice for it to be right. “No it wasn’t.” Shane lets go of Ryan’s hand to curls an arm around himself, and Ryan aches for the burning contact like it’s a physical wound.

“Oh.” It’s more a punched out puff of air than a word. Oh.

“I-” Shane swallows, eyes shifting then settling back on Ryan, “I was looking at you, and it-it slipped out, I’m sorry.”

The silence isn’t complete, of course it isn’t. The sound of traffic exists at all hours of the day here. But it still envelops Ryan, wrapping around his throat and trying to suffocate the words he’s struggling to form.

“Don’t be."

"What?” Shane breathes, hesitant, almost disbelieving, his eyes dart to search Ryan’s face, “you’re not saying—do you—”

“I think I can.” Ryan says, and he tastes truth on his tongue.

Not now, not even tomorrow, but maybe next week, or the week after that.

“You do?"

"I do.” He affirms, and Ryan’s throat closes up with something warm when a lopsided grin starts to form on Shane’s face, small and hopeful, a gentle flush creeping onto his cheeks. They’re just standing in the office looking at each other, and Shane’s hand lifts up a little as if to reach out, but he catches himself before it makes it into Ryan’s personal space.

“You wanna head back home? I’ll pack the popcorn.” Ryan can’t really breathe, so he just nods and offers Shane a watery smile.

Their fingers brush when Ryan hands Shane a blanket for the couch, the corners of Shane’s eyes are crinkling and Ryan is breathless. He’s been feeling like that a lot tonight, and it seems that life is determined to keep him that way with all the curveballs it’s been chucking at him.

But this time it’s not a bad feeling. Not at all.

He fiddles with his sleeve and watches Shane settle down, making his way around his apartment with a familiarity accumulated over years’ worth of movie nights and beers and popcorn.

It’s still too soon, and he doesn’t think he can do anything about this whole thing he’s got himself into. But he’s got Shane with him, and for once Ryan’s not afraid he’s going to leave.

And maybe, Ryan thinks. Maybe one day he won’t need to hide from his apartment and its empty spaces.

#this took way too long to write #sorry for the wait anon #i was 1.5k in and then my brain was just like fluff??? have some angst instead #but it's hurt/comfort I guess #things are okay at the end #shyan #bliss prompt #how did I twist it into something that i cried to write #i love dying and being dead #alex writes #also I am very proud to have used that 'oh' trope after ryan has that realization #i do love that one very much

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crmediagal · 5 years

Text

Update!!!

To those who may be interested: I’ve resumed posting my WIP fic, Seeds of Redemption, at my personal website: www.crmediagal.com. I had deleted the story on fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own last year due to unnecessary negativity, so I’m happy to share that the story is BACK in full force (pun intended), being revised, and updates have resumed!

* * * If you would like to receive updates and access to the story, please fill out the form on the Contact page and you’ll be granted access! * * *

Story: Seeds of Redemption

Synopsis: The First Order may have fallen, but the Proclamation has risen in its stead. As the galaxy is threatened by the coming of a Second Darkness, Ben Solo must painstakingly navigate both sides, the Dark Side and the Light. Only he is no longer alone in this fight, with far more at stake to lose than he ever would have dreamed. Rated M, AU, Post-TFA.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15 *NEW!*

Excerpt from Chapter 15:

Rey eased her dozing daughter into an upright position and placed her carefully against her chest. The baby squirmed a little in her arms but soon resettled herself comfortably, breathing softly upon her mother’s neck and not reopening her eyes, even as Rey proceeded to pat her back for several minutes more.

Rey nuzzled Astrid’s tiny cheek and noted the milk stain running down the side of her mouth. She wiped the remnants away with a towel and a smile, quietly humming as she continued burping the girl safeguarded in her protective fold.

Beside her, her husband snored at the ear-splitting level that he always did, particularly on his first night home from another intense spy mission: as bloody loud as the Millennium Falcon’ s rip-roaring engine itself. It amazed Rey that any of their children—at least, when they were wee ones and required night feeds such as this—could sleep a wink alongside Ben when Rey could barely manage it. She glared at the enormous lax form beside her, presently out cold on his stomach with his bare feet dangling over the edge of the bed, and anticipated that she wouldn’t be returning to a dreamland herself anytime soon.

Rey had been awake and nursing their third child for a half hour or so, but she rarely minded these sleep-deprived moments. They were precious to her, despite when she was dead tired and running on nothing but fumes, for they offered her a heartfelt reminder of all she had struggled to find in life: a sense of belonging; a family of her own.

By some miraculous stroke of luck (Rey didn’t believe in Fate), Rey had attained a warm and cosy home life since lonely, isolating early days spent as a scraggy orphan on Jakku’s desert terrain, where she had grappled to survive day to day on her own, without nurturing, parental guidance…or love. This current life left the Force sensitive in a constant state of wonderment, for awaking beside a devoted husband and three healthy, active children who loved her left the Jedi needing to pinch herself just to ensure that it was real. And it was. It was no longer a wishful fantasy that had lived for longer than she cared to admit in her head; in a dream world.

Now that she had tasted its utter sweetness and completion, she wouldn’t dare let go. Not ever.

Ben suddenly twitched in his sleep and mumbled something unintelligible, bringing Rey’s thoughts back to the present. She turned to the slumbering lump of a man next to her, who was mostly hidden beneath a pile of blankets, and reached over to brush a thick curl out of his closed eyes. They instantly fluttered open, though only halfway.

“Mmm?” he moaned into his pillow, recognising Rey’s touch in the darkness and quickly determining that all was safe and sound. He closed his eyes.

“Hey,” Rey whispered, running her fingers tenderly through his overgrown locks, “you were dreaming. Nothing bad, I hope?”

Ben grumbled what sounded like a ‘No’ and lazily roamed in the shadows for Rey’s arm. “Astrid go back down?” he asked once his hand found her waistline, feeling reassured and secure.

Rey smiled. “She’s here, love.”

Ben’s eyes lifted once more to soak in what was, to him, always a breath-taking vision: his wife, with all her dishevelled brown hair tumbling down her back, dressed in a beige, see-through nightgown—it’s one sleeve was drooped over a naked shoulder, which Ben found sexy as all getup—and angelic child snuggled against her for warmth. He was too fatigued to full-out smile, but the appreciative expression that crossed his weary, dark irises conveyed their regard, no less.

Although his entire body ached in objection, Ben rose onto his elbow and leaned in to properly kiss Astrid’s forehead. The baby made a small squeak but remained fast asleep. He thoughtfully glanced at Rey, too, and his warm lips inched forward until they were ghosting over top of hers. She pushed back against them, deepening and prolonging the exchange.

“I love you,” he murmured once their lips parted. It was a sluggish, half muttered declaration but profound. Ben then reclined into Rey, draped his large arm across both Astrid’s back and her waist, and drifted back to sleep within seconds, snoring as obnoxiously loud as before.

Rey snorted, amused, and rubbed a hand up and down his back. Ben didn’t stir this time. She pressed a light kiss to the top of his head as well, her lips curling into a loving smile as she spoke softly into the night air, “We love you, too.”

She knew she ought to shimmy out of bed and return Astrid to her crib, but Rey no longer wished to move from this cushy, intimate position, sandwiched between two of her greatest loves: her husband and child. No, she concluded before shutting her eyes and praying for a little bit of rest, I’m never letting go.

Available to read in its entirety at www.crmediagal.com

#reylo #reyben #reylo fanfic #kylo ren #ben solo #rey #star wars #crmediagal writes #seeds of redemption #feel free to PM me if you would like access to read this story #or others #happy star wars week

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pastelwitchling · 5 years

Text

Malex one-shot Angst/Fluff Prompt List #9 (Prompt #7)

7. “You’re a terrible liar.”

***

Alex had been up for days, and was starting to forget what having coherent thoughts felt like. Since Michael had said those dreaded words, since he’d so enthusiastically confessed to Alex that he was trying to leave the planet, Alex had found it impossible to sleep. So, he did what he could; he focused on Jim Valenti and Project Shepherd. He went over Jim’s records, as well as his father’s files over and over again, his and Kyle’s only lead having been Caulfield, an old state prison.

“This guy sounds like he was off his rocker,” Michael said as he searched the halls with them, his hands in his pockets, his eyes glancing at Alex and Kyle every so often.

Alex’s migraines, which had started off as simple stings a few days ago, were now violently throbbing, and with Michael chirping in every few seconds, for seemingly no other reason than to piss Kyle off, Alex was struggling to remember why he had asked for his help with this investigation.

Because you need him, the small part of Alex’s brain, that was usually fighting for sleep, reminded him. Alex had recently discovered that Caulfield was somehow linked to Project Shepherd, and he knew that whatever his father and Jim Valenti had been doing, they had been doing it together, and the answers were most likely to be here.

And I need Guerin here with me, he silently confessed. It’s ridiculous, and childish, and if I managed to survive a decade as an airman, this shouldn’t be so hard.

“But it is,” he muttered loudly, unaware of himself.

“You say something, Alex?” Kyle asked, and Alex could hear the barely constrained irritation in his voice as he glanced at Michael. Apparently, he thought, Michael’s tactics to upset Kyle were working.

Alex shook his head slightly. “Nothing. No, nothing.”

“Alex,” Michael said, his voice closer now, softer, “are you okay?”

No, he wanted to say. You’re leaving, and I’m so sleep deprived because of it that I don’t think I can spell my own name right now.

But Alex only ran a hand over his face, and said, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle said. “What would our dads be doing in this place?”

Michael shrugged. “Any number of things. They could’ve been called in to separate a jail fight, going over security protocol, overseeing a transfer.”

Kyle scoffed, and Michael eyed him darkly. “You got something to say?” And Alex closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, because he already knew where this was going.

“You just seem to know a lot about what happens in prisons.”

“It’s cause I’m smart, Valenti. I know you must wonder what that’s like—”

“I’m a doctor!”

“Great, if someone gets a papercut, your expertise will come in handy.”

“Stop it!” Alex snapped, and it nearly lost him his balance. There was a buzzing in his ear, and he caught himself just before asking if anyone else heard it. I need to sleep. He pinched the bridge of his noise, his eyes shut tight.

When he opened them again, both Kyle and Michael were eying him with concern.

“Alex,” this time Kyle asked, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept?”

Alex sighed, irritated. They didn’t have time for this. “They had to do it together?” Alex said. “A sergeant and a small-town cop?”

Kyle looked like he wanted to keep pushing, but eventually he said, “Jesse Manes wasn’t always a sergeant.”

“Yes,” Alex said. “He was.” Kyle looked at him like he understood what he meant, which Alex appreciated, while Michael’s look was unreadable. Alex couldn’t take the pressure of it, and he turned away. “Whatever they were doing here, it wasn’t under any official orders. They had their own agenda.”

“Which was what?” Kyle shook his head, looking around as if still trying to understand how they ended up here. Alex couldn’t really blame him. It was hard to believe his father would associate himself with anyone from a jail, as self-righteous as he always thought himself to be. “My god, Alex, what were they doing?”

Alex put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. It was more than the two of them were used to, or had been used to in a long time, and Alex was fully aware of Michael’s eyes on him, burning a hole into his hand, but he knew that Kyle needed some comfort now, and his thoughts were too loud to think of anything else. He really needed to sleep.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Do you plan on tapping out anytime soon? Because I don’t.”

Kyle looked at him for a long time, then said, “You mean that, right? Cause all of this, it’s – it’s too much. I can’t take it by myself, I don’t know how –”

“You won’t have to,” he said with as much certainty as he could muster in his half-dazed state. “This is just as much for me as it is for you. We’re in this together, okay?” He dropped his hand, glancing at Michael who was looking to the side, his jaw clenched. Alex knew he should’ve talked to him, but the ache in his head and his muscles were urging him to stay focused on the mission at hand.

“Let’s split up,” Alex said. “Cover more ground.”

Right away, Kyle and Michael’s faces turned to surprise, then to objection as they both talked at the same time.

“Are you out of your mind?” Kyle said.

“We don’t know what’s hiding here, what to expect,” Michael claimed.

“And look at you, you’re obviously not okay!”

“I’m confused,” Alex said, trying to rest his weight on his left leg. “Are you guys just afraid of going by yourselves, or are you worried for me? Which one is it? Because if you’re worried about yourselves, you could always pair up together. If it’s for me –”

“It’s for you,” they both said at once.

Alex rubbed his face. “If it’s for me, I should remind you that I’m the only one here equipped to carry a gun, and have dealt with life-threatening injuries on multiple occasions in the past.”

Michael raised a brow. “Well, I feel better.”

“It means that if, for whatever reason, I do get seriously hurt, I’m the only one of us that’ll be able to take it. At least, until one of you gets to me. Okay? Okay.”

“Keep your phone on you!” he heard Kyle call out before they split down three separate corridors, each with dim lighting, though not completely dark because of the barred windows at the end of the tunnel. It wasn’t until Alex neared the end that he could hear footsteps behind him, and he slowed his steps. He’d been trained to focus in the harshest of conditions, and knew that, if he really needed to, he’d be able to afford himself a few moments of adrenaline, no matter the lack of rest.

In his condition, he knew he would only have about thirty seconds of sheer stamina, which, as he was taught, was more than enough, but he had to make the best of it.

He felt the presence approaching, reaching out towards him, the slight shift in wind around him an indicator of that much, and with a sharp inhale, he turned around, caught the culprits arm that had been stretched towards him by the wrist, and turned it so that the culprit was against the wall, Alex’s hand keeping one arm twisted backwards, his other on the man’s back, forcing him still.

“Ow, Alex!”

Alex blinked, and instantly let Michael go, stepping back. “What’re you doing, following me?”

Michael huffed, dusting off his shirt. “I had to make sure you were okay – man, you really were in the army.”

Alex frowned as Michael rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to… no, wait a minute, I’m not sorry, you’re supposed to be off on your own!”

“And you’re supposed to be more than half-asleep, so I guess we’re all doing things we’re not supposed to be doing.”

“I am awake,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. His lids were getting heavier, but he wasn’t going to let Michael see that. “Does that mean Kyle’s by himself?”

Michael huffed, dusting his shirt particularly roughly, his eyes on Alex. “Forget Kyle for a goddamn second, and tell me why I’m here. Why’d you ask for my help, Alex? Half dead, and you can still easily defend yourself –”

“I said I’m fine,” Alex said sharply, the noise from his own lips worsening the throbbing in his head.

Michael stared, then, “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Was I interrupting you or something?” Alex asked, and continued making his way through the prison, eyes looking everywhere but Michael, but not really taking anything in. “Your spaceship can wait a few hours, Guerin.”

“Alright,” Michael said, “I get it, you’re pissed about me leaving, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why are you so sure?” he snapped, halting in his steps. “How do you know that I’m not trying to keep you from finishing, that all of this isn’t just me stalling you because I really don’t want you to leave?”

Michael’s eyes searched his face, and with his voice surprisingly quiet as if he himself didn’t really believe his next words, he said, “You wouldn’t do that.”

Alex thought of the missing UFO piece in his backpack, the one he’d deliberately kept from Michael, and he stepped close enough that they were a mere few inches away from one another. “You don’t know what I’d do.”

He stared, then, “You need me here, don’t you?”

Alex swallowed, realized their proximity, and moved away. “Yeah, your powers are useful.”

“No,” Michael said, and he smiled in that way he always smiled when he knew what Alex was thinking. “You may be right. I may not know everything about you, and what you’d do to keep me on this planet, but… there’s one thing I do know for sure.”

“And what’s that?”

“That between me, and the alien, you pick me. You pick me, Alex,” he said. “I was right, wasn’t I? I’m not here because you need my powers, I’m here because you need me. Because all of this Project Shepherd crap scares the hell out of you, and you want me to be here with you for it.”

Alex stared. He was too tired to throw the ball back and forth anymore. “Would you have come? If that’s what I’d said?”

Michael’s face fell. He obviously had not been expecting Alex to tell the truth. Then, his expression turned serious, and he stepped into Alex’s space. “Running.”

Alex saw Michael’s eyes fall to his lips, and at that point, he wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them and kiss him. He inched closer, his lips barely brushing against Michael’s, when he suddenly heard a sound like the clashing of metal against metal. It was brief, but it woke Alex out of his haze, and he stepped back.

“What was that?”

Michael shook his head, also looking in the direction of the two long corridors that stretched out ahead of them. “I don’t know.”

Alex closed his eyes, his brows furrowed. He listened for another sound, and while he doubted Michael may have heard it, he himself heard a soft rustling, like something metallic was being carefully dragged across the wall or floor.

He opened his eyes. “There’s someone else here. You go that way,” he pointed at one of the corridors, “I’ll go this way, maybe we can catch whoever it is.”

“Separate? Really?” Michael said incredulously.

“Would you rather stand here?”

“I’d rather I come with you.”

“I’ll be fine, Guerin,” Alex said, clutching the straps of his backpack more firmly. “I always am.”

This time, he didn’t wait for Michael’s response before he forged on ahead down one of the corridors. Behind him, he heard Michael faintly muttering, “You really are a terrible liar.”

***

The prompt is courtesy of @hellsdemonictrinity.

This is obviously not what happens in the upcoming episode, but I just really wanted Kyle and Michael protecting Alex. We all know fully well that he does not need any help, and is a total badass even on his worst day, but I wanted someone to worry about him.

I’m really annoyed with myself. I was falling asleep in front of the computer last night as I was finishing this, and I never managed to even write the second one, so now, I have two more prompts to write and publish today to catch up.

*sigh* I will work hard to have the next two up today. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed reading this ❤️

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hulklovebot · 6 years

Text

thought of her.

thor odinson x reader

summary: he’s shunned himself of every thought about a woman since jane left him, but now? he doesn’t feel guilty about imagining her, so he lets himself get carried away.

author’s note: hii! this is my first smut and first oneshot on this blog, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving me some feedback, or a follow - i’d appreciate it!

warnings: smut!!, fluff if you squint, male masturbation, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex

Sinking into bed after a long day was an amazing feeling for everyone but for Thor, it felt like sliding into heaven after spending a day in hell. Not that it was really much different from other days, days when he didn’t have to go on missions, but sitting about, discussing future escapades with Steve and Tony and planning out different events wasn’t nearly as fun as it once was. After spending so much time as an Avenger - some yearning child’s dream career, he had no doubt about it - it all got just a bit old. And he needed something new, exciting.

Which isn’t to say a job, not really. Maybe something new, or someone.

It wasn’t far off to say he’d been a bit deprived of any intimate company recently, whether it come in the form of a male or female. He and Jane had broken up months ago and it didn’t even hurt him anymore to think about her, even if he’d spent so much time hoping she would come to his door and love him again, want him back like he wanted her back. Thor was over it - over feeling awful about things he did and didn’t do, feeling miserable about the woman he’d considered the love of his life not seeing him the same way anymore, feeling guilty whenever he went out to see other women. He hadn't been with anyone since. Hadn’t really thought of anyone.

(That’s a lie, is what he said to himself in bed, thinking of it.) There’s one person. One girl. And he’s thought about her for so long.

Thor wasn’t sure what Jane was doing now, or who Jane was doing now, but they’d been over for - whatever it was - coming up on 7 months. And he didn’t deserve to feel guilty over not being caught up in her.

And then there was … her.

Radiant, beautiful, all of the synonyms for the most wonderful words out there - the only that could describe her, but they would never suffice. Thor thought he could be in love with her, but just a bit.

Thor felt - a connection. That he’d never felt before. She was one of the strongest woman, the toughest Avenger though he’d never tell it to anyone. He wanted to love her, and he wanted her to love him. It was simple as that and yet not at all.

But - it went beyond emotional. Because all attractions do.

As Thor sat up, taking his shirt off and unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down his legs and kicking them onto the ground, he thought about it. Surely Jane hadn’t been as wracked with guilt over their breakup as he had. Maybe she found someone else. So why should he shun every thought he’s had of another woman, for fear of her coming back and being hurt by his actions? Why shouldn’t he let himself imagine what it would be like to be with a human who wasn’t her?

He laid back, resting his hands on his stomach. Then he slid it down, just a bit further, and further, until his hand was rested just above the bulge in his underwear.

Thor knew. He should embrace this attraction. Let it happen, thinking of her, the beautiful woman he wanted to love. So he hooked his hands in the waist of his boxers and tugged them down, freeing his still-soft cock.

He wrapped his hand around his base, taking one deep breath and checking that the door was locked. Then he allowed his mind to go into overdrive, filled with the one main question: What would he do to her, if he could have her?

He knew.

He’d take her into his room, late at night when everyone else was sleeping. Maybe he’d push her onto the bed, but the stronger part of him wanted her against the wall so that was how he’d have her. Fingers working at the buttons on her shirt, kissing her so intensely she was whimpering before he even did anything. He’d push her shirt off, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the ground.

Her chest was soft and round, he knew, the Avengers had no shame around each other when it came to nudity - how could they, with the amount of injuries they sustained on missions? Thor had seen her so many times, unable to touch, watching like a civilian at a museum at the masterpieces. With her up against a wall, his body forcing her there like a wall, he’d dip his head and wrap his lips around her nipple, kissing all around the mounds of her breasts. Rubbing at the other, the one he couldn’t give attention to, tweaking at her nipple before switching where his mouth went, and she’d be arching into him, his name like a soft prayer on her lips.

‘Thor … ‘

(He grunted, hand working at his shaft, pumping up and down. This was going to make him break. Just thinking of her.)

He’d get on his knees, tugging at her leggings and getting them in a pool around her ankles. Thor would admire her, for just a moment - lace panties, dark crimson, a beautiful mixture with her skin, so delicious. He’d press his thumb against the damp stain on her panties, feeling the wetness even through the fabric. And she would moan out, throwing her head back against the wall, and maybe he’d get it.

She would have wanted him like he wants her. And it would spur him on.

(Spurring him on now, thinking of it.)

He’d rip her panties. Too excited, too desperate to get them off.

Maybe she’d scoff, hand going to his hair, pulling the growing blonde hair back so he was looking at her, eyes full of desire. “Those were my favourite panties. You should buy me a new pair.”

He’d hum, bringing his face in close to her core, so every breath sends vibrations straight up her pussy. Then he’d lick his lips, knowing she can feel the outline of it by how close his mouth is to her. “I’ll buy you all the panties you want, love, so long as I’m the only one ripping them off.”

(This particular thought makes Thor release a strangled moan, followed by her name, strangled yet clear.)

Thor would dive in like he was off to the chair and she was his last meal, dragging his tongue up her slit and grazing his teeth against her clit. She’d cry out and her knees would buckle and he’d hook his arm under one thigh and bring it up over his shoulder, steadying her just a bit and giving him easier access to what he’d be devouring. She’d taste so delicious too, better than any dessert he’d ever eaten and much more savoury. Like a treat made just for him.

His tongue would trace shapes along her slit, maybe spelling her name, writing the alphabet in her wetness. She’d be so wet, god, practically dripping all over his face and her thighs, and he’d lap up every last drop. Her nails would be digging into his head because she wouldn’t let go of his hair, would make it feel so good and just on the brink of hurting but he wouldn’t care, not at all, just focusing on devouring her.

Her hands in his hair would tighten to the point of pain as he flexed his tongue out, thrusting it into her, making her moan his name so loud that he could feel his pants tighten, feel every inch of his dick quivering.

(Thor’s hand on his shaft picks up the pace, and his legs tighten.)

When she’d come it would be catastrophic, juices spilling on his face, half in his mouth and half all over his chin and lips. Her come would taste better than her, if even possible, and the scream she would release would travel straight to the appendage between his legs, straining it so much against his pants Thor would be sure that his parents were going to be stretched out. The leg not over his shoulder would give out and she’d half slide to the ground but he’d be there, of course, grasping her hip and holding her steady against the wall. Thor wouldn’t be unaware of the power imbalance there, her naked and quivering and him fully clothed and cocky. Just as he’d like it.

“You taste lovely.” Smacking his lips as he would savour the taste, but not swallowing all of it, not quite yet. Standing up, swinging his hands under her thighs and hoisting her up so she’d be in his arms. Pressing his mouth to hers and giving her the best kiss of his life, spurred by her post-orgasmic aura and the adrenaline eating her out would have given him.

“Please.” Thor is sure she would say that, voice a high whine, quivering all over in his arms. “Please, fuck me, Thor, I need it - I need you, please … “

(He roared, hand tightening on his cock, hearing the words plain in his mind as if she’d said them right next to him.)

Thor would place her on the bed, ripping off his shirt as fast as he could, dropping it on the ground. Her hands would go to his torso, raking her nails across his abs, and he’d release a moan, louder than he’d want but just as passionate.

Next would be the pants, unzipped and pulled down so he can tug out his dick, thick and fully hard, heavy and leaking with precum. Maybe she’d gasp at his length - murmur that she’d never been with someone this big, god, that would do it for him - bring her hand down, pump him a few times, spread the precum all over him. Thor would grab her wrist, and it’d be so small. She’d be small beneath him, his large body, and his cock would throb at the thought.

“Ready, dear?” But he wouldn’t wait for a reply, sliding into her and her slickness, and she’d let out such a loud moan of his name, one of her hands going to her chest, kneading her breast and tweaking her nipple with her nails. He’d dip his head down because she’d be making her breasts look so delectable, more than they were before, and he’d wrap his lips around her nipple and suck like a baby, filling her pussy to the brink with his cock, hips pressed against hers.

(Thor feels a ball of something growing in his stomach, breath hitching, thumb going to rub against the head of his cock. If only it were her.)

Thor’s hands would grab her wrists as he slid out and then back in, bucking his hips back and forth, thirsting off her moans and shrieks and cries. He’d pin her wrists up, leaving her before him, legs spread and wrists high, his mouth trailing up her chest to her neck and then jaw, sucking hickey into her skin and then silencing her with a kiss.

She’d be whimpering softly, legs going up around his waist, back arching off the bed. He’d feel powerful, almost impossibly so, as she’d clench around him, swallowing the strangled moan he releases.

(It’s coming, soon … )

“Thor - “ she’d mumble, as he would pull his mouth off her and his grip would tighten on her wrists, no doubt leaving bruises. “Thor, fuck, oh my god - I’m gonna come, Thor, please, don’t stop, don’t - fuck - “

“I’m not stopping.” his hips would snap back and forth, and he’d release just one wrist, gripping her soft thigh and pulling her leg higher up. Immediately she’d let out a high pitched cry, and he’d roar out, knowing his release was coming soon. “Fuck, _______, I’m not stopping … “

Thor would let her other wrist go and grap her hips, now, pulling her up so he can press his chest against hers, their bodies now so connected in every way, sweaty chests together and him buried inside of her.

(It’s coming it’s coming it’s coming, he can feel it in every vein of his body - )

“Come for me, baby, come for me … “ it would be all he had to say before she releases, wrapping her arms around him and digging her nails into his back, and surely he’d be proud to wear the small half crescents the next day. The feel of her erupting around him would send him over the edge, and he’d moan louder than ever, letting himself go, finally, coming inside of her with a chest heaving so frantically he’d think he could be dying.

They’d remain in position, breathing heavily, his cock still twitching in her but steadily softening now that he’d gotten his release. And he’d pull out of her, eyes flitting down to look at the cum steadily pouring out of her pussy, and then he’d look at her, eyes round and wide, mouth open in panting, but she’d be staring at him. And she’d look happy.

“I - “ In the aftermath he wouldn’t know what to say. Just what’s on his mind. As he always did. “I love you.”

(His hand is going going going going, working fast and steady, more action than it’s ever gotten and Thor roared. Pumped his cock and then came, the come landing on his hand, chest heaving at the thought of her, how he needs her. Now.)

(Thor pulled his boxers up over his cock, pressing a hand against his sweaty forehead. Tomorrow he’d get her, take her in every way. For now, sleep. It’s the only thing he can do.)

#thor odinson x reader #thor odinson #marvel #thor x reader #please review pleeeease #and maybe drop me some requests #i'll try my hand at any character #thor smut #thor odinson smut #chris hemsworth #my writing

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eirianerisdar · 6 years

Note

Hey, I recently discovered your blog and I just wanted to say that love your fanfics! Your writing is beautiful. If you're taking requests, would you mind writing something to show the bond between Anakin and Obi-Wan, you know, the famous Kenobi and Skywalker duo and your take on how the Galaxy viewed them?

Sorry this is so late, anon! This fits into @finish-the-clone-wars’s 25/7 Writing Wednesday prompt let me convince you. I wanted some good third-person perspective so this is a companion fic to A Face in the Crowd.

This fic is also cross-posted to FFN.

For the Brother I Did Not Deserve

Generals.

Jedi.

Heroes.

At the height of the Clone Wars, Skywalkerand Kenobi were household names across the galaxy.

Adults spoke of them in cafés and bars as Generals Skywalker and Kenobi, trackingthe progress of the Open-Circle Fleet across the Outer Rim sieges by war-reelsand holonet news. Senators and aides alike called them Masters, as politicians have called the Jedi for ten thousand yearsand more, since the Jedi Order first swore their service to the Republic.

But the young knew them as heroes.

Siblings squabbled over which would win ina full-out duel, Obi-Wan’s devastating calm against Anakin’s fiery resolve;friendships were formed and broken over the keenness of Anakin’s sword-hand andthe steadiness of Obi-Wan’s voice. And yet these petty arguments bonded all theyounglings the galaxy over; there was no skirmish, battle, or campaign thatcould not be won if Obi-Wan and Anakin were there. The fact that they were twomen in an army of millions did not matter. As far as any youngling whoseparents supported the Republic was concerned, the war was already good as won.Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker would see to it.

It was in such a spirit that Yorrick gavehis all in a terrific (and oft-repeated) argument with his best friend, Meron.

“General Skywalker leveled an entirebattalion’s worth of super battle droids last week on Malastare!” Meron yelledas he flailed around Yorrick’s room, nearly knocking over Yorrick’sneatly-stacked collection of Kenobi collectible info-cards as he did so.

“So?” Yorrick interjected from where he satprimly on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms as Meron turned to glare athim. “General Kenobi would have talked his way out of needing to fight them atall. He did as much before.”

“An entire. Battalion,” Meronhalf-shrieked, eyes aglow and looking every inch of his current eight years.

Yorrick rolled his eyes. They might be thesame age, but there were times where Meron’s excitement over GeneralSkywalker’s latest exploits only manifested itself in long, ramblingconversations where Meron’s utter hero-worship surged like the waves ofCoruscant’s Western Sea, beside which Yorrick’s family had a summer home,courtesy of his father’s position in Galactic government.

It wasn’t as though Yorrick didn’t admireGeneral Kenobi as much as his best friend did Skywalker – it was just thatYorrick thought it best to express said admiration in quietly collecting Kenobimemorabilia and keeping up with the holonet news on the Open Circle fleet,instead. He may have sent a fewletters here and there, but he had never received a reply, nor had he expectedone. General Kenobi had a war to fight.

Meron, on the other hand, loved nothingmore than to recount for the billionth time the moment where his heroacknowledged him.

“–I didn’t think he’d actually salute back, you know, since my father and I were so farback from the parade line and there was so much noise going on–”

“I know, Meron,” Yorrick said, a faintsmile curving his lips despite himself as he watched his friend’s face light upat the memory. “He saw you, and he returned your salute. Congratulations. I alsoseem to recall you telling me that you forgot to lower your hand until basicallyall of the 501st had passed by.”

Face flaming red, Meron punched himgood-naturedly on the shoulder. “I’ll convince you Anakin’s better even if it’sthe last thing I do,” he mumbled.

“That’ll take some convincing, “ Yorrickgrinned. “But go on. I dare you.”

“I’m going home in a week. I’ll have youconvinced before then.”

“I’m sure the Alderaani Royal Academy willbe very happy to take you off ourhands,” Yorrick said, dryly.

That earned him another punch.

But Meron’s next words wereuncharacteristically quiet. “My father said you could visit in the winter. Youwill, won’t you?”

A pause.

“That’ll depend on my father,” Yorrick said, earnestly, “but I’ll fight both him and the RCA for it.”

Meron scoffed. “The Republic CoruscantiAcademy’s filled with spoilt brats with their noses in the air.”

“And what does that make us?” Yorrickpointed out. “Alderaani Royal isn’t that much better.”

“Spoilt brats with our noses completelylevel.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yorrick said, smiling.

Meron waved goodbye a week later, nothaving convinced Yorrick in the slightest but glad to call it a ceasefire. “Maythe Force be with you!” they yelled at each other, as was their custom. It madethem sound cool, like the Jedi Generals they loved so much. Meron as Anakin,and Yorrick as Obi-Wan – brothers in all but blood.

The Siege of Coruscant began a monthafterwards.

And another week after that, Yorrick’sworld fell apart with a single announcement from the newly instated Emperor.

Red-eyed and sleep-deprived, Yorrick wentto school two days later to find that it had been renamed the Royal ImperialAcademy overnight, and that there was a new uniform waiting for him, grey andhigh-collared and stamped with the Imperial crest over the left breast,claiming his heart.

He came home in his new uniform, enduredhis parents’ proud fawning over how dashing it made him look, and stood in hisroom alone staring at the Open Circle posters still plastered over the walls,the imitation lightsaber in its brackets reverently hung over his desk, therows of real flimsi books on Jedi and Republic history, and the packet ofStewjon tea he had begged his father to order for him just last month sittingbefore them, still unopened.

He’d been taught how to hold a blaster forthe first time that day; the first lesson in a new mandatory courseacademy-wide.

The Emperor had said General Kenobi was atraitor, as was the rest of the Jedi. An Order now eliminated utterly andcompletely, in a heroic effort by the GAR that once served them.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was dead.

Yorrick crossed to the comm at his desk. Ithad been there, undisturbed, for two days now; the light blinking at its edgeshowed that there was at least one missed message there waiting for hisresponse, but only now did he sit at his desk and flick it open.

Yorrick buried his face in his elbow for amoment, and sighed.

Then he keyed in his friend’s comm code.

The comm channel fizzed to life, andMeron’s voice issued from it, warped with static and yet clear as the day heleft over a month ago.

“Blastit, Yorrick! It’s been two whole days–”

“I know,” Yorrick said, quietly. “Ijust…haven’t been feeling that good.”

A pause.

“Iknow,” – and there was a telltale tremor in Meron’svoice not caused by static or interference – “I can’t believe it, either.”

Yorrick’s eyes prickled with tears – thefirst since he heard the news. “How…how could they betray us like this?”

“Right?I don’t know how Chancellor Palpatine could have done this!”

Now that caused Yorrick to sit up, and to stare at the comm in his hand.

“What…what are you talking about?” hewhispered.

“TheChancellor,” Meron said, with a note of confusionin his voice. “You don’t believethat…that drivel he said about the Jedi, do you?”

“Drivel?” Yorrick said, slowly. “That’s nota word you would use. I would, butnot you. Who’s been talking to you?” A feeling was building in his chest. A scream.

“That’snot the point,” Meron retorted, after a tellingpause. “You don’t seriously believe theJedi betrayed the Republic?”

“I…” Yorrick began, and faltered. “I don’tknow what to believe.”

“Yorrick,this is Anakin Skywalker,” – Meron’s voicequavered, and then steadied with determination – “and Obi-Wan Kenobi we’re talking about.”

Hearing the name set something off withinYorrick’s chest. Perhaps it had been there since two days ago, or longer, but he had read about the five stages of grief before, but for the moment, he waswell past denial and fully into anger.

“I know!” he yelled, and cared not that hisvoice cracked dangerously on the word. “What do you think I’ve been doing these two days? I’ve been thinking. That’sall I’ve been doing. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I went to school todayand everything’s the same but also different and we’re not allowed to talkabout the Jedi any more, and the teacher played this audio recording from theEmperor’s office that showed the Jedi trying to assassinate him,” – Meronyelped at this but Yorrick plowed on, relentless – “and then,” he shouted, asthe tears spilled over his cheeks and scalded invisible scars down to his chin,“I come back home, and I look at my walls, and I realise that I’ve got enoughillegal posters and things here to warrant my arrest. Do you understand me, Meron?!”

A long, long silence.

“I do,” Meron said, quietly. “But audiofiles can be edited, you know that. And you knew Obi-Wan Kenobi as well as Iknew Anakin Skywalker.”

Yorrick barked a bitter laugh through histears.

“Did I, really?” he murmured. “And didyou?”

“Yorrick–”

“The Chancellor was crying for help,”Yorrick was sobbing, now. “And General Windu just told him not to resist hisown murder. Treason. What am Isupposed to say to that?”

“TheJedi didn’t do this,” Meron said, helplessly. “I can’t tell you how I know. But I do.”

That did it. “You don’t know that because you’re not a blasted Jedi, Meron!”Yorrick shouted. “And neither am I! We never were, Meron, and be glad weweren’t, or we’d have betrayed the Republic and been executed like all thosetraitors deserved.”

Meron was silent for a long, ugly moment.

And then: “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Yorrick said, wiping his nose onthe pristine sleeve of his new uniform.

“Yorrick,I don’t want this.” Meron sounded far, far olderthan his years. “But I see I can’t convince you.”

“I don’t, either,” Yorrick said,straightening although he knew the other boy could not see it – reaching forhis uniform cap as though it would lend him strength. He placed it on his head,and felt steadier than he did a moment before. “But this is how it is.”

Meron’s breath was loud through the channelstatic. “Fine,” he said, and therewas such a wealth of control in that word that Yorrick felt for a moment ashamed.“We’ll talk later. May the F–”

Meron cut himself off with a sharp inhale.

Yorrick stared at the comm. The words oftheir familiar greeting and farewell echoed through him. He let them go.

“Goodbye, Meron,” he said instead.

“Goodbye,” Meron said, and as the comm channel collapsed, it caught thebeginnings of a sob.

Yorrick stood, and placed the comm back onhis desk.

And then he crossed to the nearest posteron the wall, grasped its edge with the sleek leather of his new uniform gloves,and tore it down, uncaring of how it split neatly in the middle, dividing theopen circle insignia upon it exactly in two – a rending that left a chasmbetween them.

Yorrick repeated the motion again andagain, broke the lightsaber on the wall over his knee, hurled the bag of teainto the growing pile of discarded objects and stared, narrow-eyed when itsplit open on the broken wing of a shattered Jedi Starbird.

His father, when he found out, praised himfor his initiative and helped him carry it all out to the trash compactor, asteady hand on his shoulder as they watched each box go in.

Time passed.

Meron’s comm number faded in his memories.

Yorrick redecorated his room in pale greyand black, opting for the bare minimum of decoration except the six-spoked-wheelof the Imperial Crest painted on one wall.

And then he focused on his studies to theexclusion of all else.

Utter conviction.

At fifteen, he was an Imperial Cadet.

At eighteen, he accepted a commission fromthe Imperial Navy as an Ensign.

And at twenty-eight, he was a Commander. Ayoung one, at that, and his meteoric rise to that rank did not go unnoticed.

Being on the same ship as Darth Vader wasas terrifying as scuttlebutt told, but Yorrick employed good sense and stayedsilent unless he was called upon, whereupon he did every task assigned to himin as quiet and efficient a manner as possible.

He got quite good at ignoring the twist ofguilt in his gut.

And then, of course, came the Death Star.

Something stirred in the depths ofYorrick’s memory when he heard of the superweapon, of course. Somethingconnected to the mind of an eight-year-old child, who loved a hero for hisability to talk his way out of a conflict without a single drop of blood spilt;but by that point in time he had learnt to treat his Orders as though he were adroid and nothing else. It protected his neck, and by extension, his parents.

And so Yorrick was on the Death Star whenthe Princess Leia was brought in, and he was a shadow at the rear of the bridgewhen Tarkin gave the order to fire on Alderaan.

Millions of voices, silenced in a matter ofmoments.

Meron’s family home, where he and Yorrickused to play hide-and-seek amongst the gardens.

Meron.

The name chipped at the walls around hisheart, and threatened to unbalance him.

Yorrick returned to his cabin and threw up.

And then he stood up, and carried on.

And then the call came in that there wereintruders on the station, and he ran to his post, well-heeled Imperial Navyboots clacking on the durasteel floors, and as he ran, a sound drifted towardshim; a familiar noise of plasma meeting plasma, the scream of kyber crystalsand Force-borne blades.

That sound used to signify hope – hope thatObi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had won yet another campaign, the sound oftheir lightsabers a victory cry in war reel after war reel.

Yorrick rounded the corner to the hangar,and gaped as Vader’s lightsaber locked with that of the old man in anunmistakably Jedi cloak.

“Kenobi!” Vader roared.

And with that single word, Yorrick’s world collapsedagain.

This Obi-Wan Kenobi was not theblade-dancing hero of his childhood memories; this man’s arms shook with theeffort of deflecting Vader’s powerful strikes, and his beard and hair werewhite where they once had been russet.

And yet-

He was still every inch the Master;commander of a situation where there should have been no hope. Not for him.

A young, golden-haired boy darted into thehangar, closely followed by the princess, a man who had the look of ascoundrel, and a Wookiee.

Obi-Wan glanced at them, then back atVader, and his lips curved in the sly smile Yorrick remembered so well – thesmile that said you’re beaten, evenif nothing seemed to be working in his favour.

The smile of calm in the face of whatshould be an inescapable storm.

Yorrick had always understood it. Now itfelt utterly wrong that he should be on the other side of it; part of thatstorm, about to be destroyed by something he did not understand.

It felt horribly like guilt, and the denialof a truth that he had suppressed for too long.

Obi-Wan withdrew his lightsaber and raisedit in a salute, still smiling–

–Yorrick threw out a hand before he knew whathe was doing, mouth open in denial–

–andVader cut down Obi-Wan Kenobi.

But in the ringing emptiness of the momentsafter it happened, Yorrick’s shout lodged in his throat as he realised thatthere was no body.

Only a cloak.

“No!” The boy with the golden hairscreamed. He drew his blaster and fired uselessly at Vader, even as hiscompanions yelled at him to join them on the ramp of battered transport.

They were only metres away.

Yorrick should probably have drawn hisweapon to stop them. He didn’t.

He turned, instead, as what seemed to be anentire battalion of stormtroopers raced past him; as he heard the firing of thetransport’s repulsors, over the lash of blaster-fire.

Yorrick found his way to the nearestseparate hangar, climbed into a shuttle with nothing on his person but hisuniform and his regulation blaster, and set off. It helped that in the chaos,he managed to get to hyperspace with only a few scanting brushes with the DeathStar’s turbolasers.

And then – when the star-studded expanse ofspace beyond the viewport morphed into the blue-white streaks of hyperspace –only then, did Yorrick allow himself to weep.

Months later – after a long circle of theOuter Rim and a delicate situation involving many repeated yellings of “Don’t shoot! I’m a defector! A defector!”Yorrick found himself, at last, on a Rebel base, having gone through a verygrueling interrogation courtesy of Crix Madine.

At least he’d proven his loyalty wasgenuine.

He asked around if anyone had heard of aMeron Junshi. It was the barest sliver of hope, but the last time they spokewhen they were both children Meron had seemed on a one-track road to theRebellion even if Yorrick had not known enough to suspect then.

“Junshi? That’s an Alderaani name,” onepilot said. “I think you’d be better off finding–”

“Junshi. Meron Junshi,” a clear, soft voicesaid behind him.

Yorrick turned, and his eyes widened.

Princess Leia smiled at him. “And as I keeptelling every new recruit, I don’t bite.” She led him to a quieter corner, andher face grew gently serious. “How did you know Meron?”

Did.

Past tense.

He watched her watch him take the news.

“He was by best friend,” he eventuallysaid, although it felt like a lie, now, after twenty years of silence. “He was a brother to me, and I–”

Her brown eyes softened further. “You’reYorrick. He spoke of you often.”

All the breath left Yorrick at once. Tearsstarted at the corners of his eyes. “I owed him an apology. Now I won’t have achance to say it.”

“I’m sorry,” Leia murmured. “He died on theTantive IV – my ship. He died protecting me and the plans I held for the DeathStar.”

In a way it made sense. Meron had spent somuch of his childhood in hero-worship of Anakin Skywalker that it was fittingthat he should die as a hero. Yorrick had loved him so much as a brother, likeObi-Wan did Anakin – but Obi-Wan had never spoken it out loud, either. Yorrickknew it with utter certainty.

How deluded Yorrick had been, to throw itall away on a lie.

Yorrick dashed away the tears. “We wereclosest during the Clone Wars. His role model was Anakin Skywalker. Mine wasObi-Wan Kenobi.”

Leia smiled at that. “As half theyounglings in the galaxy did, it would seem.”

Yorrick laughed. It was a weak, feeblething from too many years of disuse, but it would do.

Leia took his elbow in a soft grasp. “Ithink you should meet someone.”

Yorrick allowed her to lead him intoanother room, where the blond-haired young man whom Yorrick had also seen onthe Death Star was sat, tinkering with a pile of mechanical scraps.

“Yorrick Calder,” Leia said, “allow me tointroduce Luke Skywalker.”

Skywalker.

Luke extended a hand with a blinding smile– the same smile Yorrick recalled from the war-reels, two decades before.

Yorrick shook Luke Skywalker’s hand, andfelt a weight lift off his chest as he did so.

And for the first time in twenty years, he was convinced that there was something to hope for.

END

This is a companion fic to A Face in the Crowd; read that if you want to hear Meron’s perspective.

This is also cross-posted to FFN.

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