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aiiwa · 4 years

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PRETTY IN PINK — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

✗ REQUEST: may i request a lil text fic of yn having the most juiciest 🍑 and taking pics in her lingerie to send to her female friends so they can help pic out which one is the prettiest but she accidently sends them to her best friend and crush iwa and how that would go?????

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff (?) / crack (?)

⤷ warnings: suggestive / mature themes, cursing, and a photo thirst trap photo (?), also iwa talking about masturbating over your photo

⤷ word count: 2.8k

— a/n: for my big booty anon i would sell my soul for 🍑💖

this is set in the same universe as freshman year, so feel free to give it a read if you’d like!!

life after meeting your boys had changed your daily routine in the best way. not a minute went by that wasn’t filled with the familiar craziness you had grown on.

free time was spent humouring mattsun by shifting the couches in their apartment around and engaging in a wrestling match, originally stemming from a fight the two of you had over the last slice of cake a month ago; the current score was an even tie of 14-14 though you had plans to take the lead. when it came to makki, he was more than happy to indulge on your self-care days; he’d even take part in your skincare routine, let you paint his nails, and liked it when you made smoothies to sip on while the two of you waited for your clay masks to dry. every other week was dedicated to retouching his roots with pink hair dye.

other days, you were set up on your bed; under the soft covers, stash of snacks next to you, while your laptop rested on your lap. and at exactly three a.m. you would receive an incoming call from, oikawa. since it would be three p.m. in argentina, he’d take to sitting out on his balcony, basking in the sun and interrogating you on the relationship, or lack thereof, you had with his dear iwa-chan.

speaking of sweet, gorgeous iwa - in your biased and majorly crushing opinion, hanging out with him was your favourite. though you’d never be heard saying that around anyone. just last week he’d all but solidified your love for him even more, when the two of you were up late, binge watching a new sci-fi show that caught iwa’s attention, and he got up to make you some coffee when you started to feel sleepy.

“here we go, coffee with two sugars for the pretty lady.” the warmth you felt run over your body settled before you grabbed at the steaming cup. taking a sip you realised you’d never told iwa how many sugars you preferred, and after asking him, you watched his faint blush bloom under the harsh light of the t.v. screen. “heh, i don’t know...just noticed it, i guess.”

but as much as you loved the guys, there were just some things you couldn’t do with them. things that required a strictly girls-only day out.

“what do you mean we’re not allowed to come? i wanna go to the mall too!” mattsun whines, tugging at the sleeve of your cropped, button-up sweater, while you were bent over tying your laces.

“it’s a girl’s day out, emphasis on girl.” smacking his hand away, you straighten up; sending him the look your mother gives you when you’re being difficult. “so unless your little pee-pee grew into a powerful vagina, you’ll be staying home.”

“but makki’s practically a girl too!” the couch cushion that flew into his face was true to its aim, the swift whack shutting mattsun up.

“fuck off, little dick.” makki grumbled, lanky figure draped over the couch; sans aforementioned couch cushion that was covering his face before. mattsun tried to throw the pillow back at the pink-haired boy, but it was caught with ease. “we agreed to never bring that up again.”

“yeah well, y/n’s talking about some girl-time shit, like we didn’t take her to a strip club, filled with male strippers.” mattsun sasses back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “like makki didn’t get a lap dance from that guy-”

from the corner of your eye, the bulky figure entering the room catches your attention instantly. you could never get tired of eyeing up the way his shirt stretched around his fit body, how his sleeves cut a bit into his arms and knowing he could rip them up with a flex of his biceps. watching him walk up to you, the tightening of his navy blue gym shorts around his shaped thighs, had you mesmerised; dragging your gaze across the outline of his bulge, you swore it twitched just before he stopped near you.

“ready to go, y/n?” he offered a small smile, twirling his keys around his finger. at the sound of his voice, the other two boys halted their bickering over the strip club incident.

“oi iwa, no fair, are you going with y/n?!” mattsun interrogates, thick brows arched in question.

“i’m dropping her off.”

“oh.” makki chimes in. “out of everyone i thought you would be the one with the most complaints, iwa. just the other day when the two of you were together, i wanted to ask y/n for help with my project but you-”

“yeah, yeah that was the other day.” iwa cuts him off, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brows, wanting to know what makki was going to say. oh well, you’ll just get it out of him after. “c’mon y/n, you’ll be late meeting the girls.”

iwa was on his way to the front door when makki asked you what was so different about this trip to the mall that you didn’t want any of the boys to come along.

“i’m going to buy new lingerie, and i need their opinions.” you shrugged, grabbing your hand bag so you could follow iwa out.

busy with shoving your phone into your purse, and checking you had all of your essentials, you failed to notice the scheming look shared between mattsun and makki. or how iwa stood frozen by the door, hand tightly gripping the handle, until you bumped into his warm back.

“lingerie...hm, i wonder for who?”

at makki’s words you felt heat rise up in your face, as you rubbed at your nose.

“y/n~! you could’ve just asked me to come along! i would love to give my opinion!”

you’d never seen keys flying so fast through the air, finding their mark on mattsun’s forehead.

after spending twenty minutes pressing an ice pack to the growing bump on mattsun’s forehead, and listening to him trying to explain to an irritated iwa that he was just playing around; you’d finally left the apartment, and was nearing the bustling shopping district. iwa had been quiet, though not awkward, with only the mellow songs of his playlist, named after you, playing during the short drive. he flicked his indicator on, spotting the two girls waving at you from the sidewalk, and pulled over to the side.

“thanks for the ride, iwa.” you mumbled distractedly, admiring the veins in his tanned arm as he shifted the gear into park.

“anything for my pretty lady.” iwa lifts the corner of his mouth up into a sweet grin, olive green eyes flitting over you next to him. he doesn’t even realise he’d called you his pretty lady, and you press a hand to your heated cheek; ignoring your friends cooing and pointing at the two of you. “do you need some money? are you gonna be warm?” he leans closer to you, putting his arm behind your seat as he searches through his gym back in the back. the intoxicating smell of his cinnamon cologne invades your senses. “i’ll give you my jacket, just let me find it.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, grabbing his bicep to stop him, giving it a firm, very self-indulgent squeeze. “iwa.” you called out to him. he turned to look at you, wide eyed and so fucking adorable. “you’re acting like my mom.”

his handsome features relaxed as he released an airy laugh. “well i love your mom, so i’m fine with that.” he pulled his arm from behind you, jacket in his grip, though not in a way to make you let go of his arm.

“i still can’t believe she messages you to make sure i’m eating right.” you groaned, still squeezing his arm playfully. “and stop trying to give me money, it’s like you want to be my sugar daddy or something.”

iwa’s arm tenses under your touch as he processes your words. “alright, time for you to go.” you manage to catch the bright blush dusting his cheeks; your hand reaching out to pinch them yet all you feel is the material of his jacket as he shoves it into your arms. “get out, your friends are waiting for you.”

you pout at his dismissal; but with the way he was so flustered, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his pretty eyes, you decide to let him off easy

“‘kay, fine~” you drawled in a sing-song voice.

making a show of collecting your things together, you dramatically tugged your seat belt loose; reaching for the door but halting in your actions when the weight of his large hand, dropped on top of your head. allowing him to angle your head to face him, he gifted you with a soft smile that had you ready to melt into the passenger seat.

“be safe, alright?” your eyes blinked with each gentle pat on your head - once, twice, thrice - most likely ruffling your hair you’d spent a good amount of time on. “now go, text me and i’ll pick you up later.”

puffing your cheeks, you nodded as he squeezed your scalp affectionately. unlocking the door, you stepped outside into the cool air, wrapping iwa’s big jacket over your shoulders as goosebumps rose underneath the thin material of your sweater. bumping the door closed with your hip, you bent at the waist and stuck your head through the open window

“bye, iwa.” your lips pressed together in a shy smile.

he mirrored your smile. “see you later, pretty lady.”

walking away, tugging the collar of his jacket closer, you could feel his eyes following after you. only half-listening as the girls teased you, hooking their arms through yours to walk through the entrance of the mall; you glanced back once more to see iwa stick a hand out and wave, before driving off once you disappeared from his view.

steam whirled up and around iwa, as a contented sigh escaped his parted lips. stood underneath the spray of warm water, he felt the tension begin to evaporate from his taut muscles

iwa’s gym sessions, as of late, had been rather extreme. well, it had been this way for a couple of months now, ever since he had met you. he had to overwork his body, send it into overdrive and power through the fatigue - it was the only way to release some of his pent up frustration. the frustration that came with crushing on you, and not acting on it.

you were so fucking gorgeous to him, and you were so damn sweet. every part of his being was steadily entangling itself around your presence, and he had no idea how to stop it. not that he would even want to try. when you were nearby, his ears would begin to twitch at the sound of your voice, searching for you; and when you touched him, wrapping your delicate fingers around his arm to steady yourself, or poking your fingers at his back absentmindedly while teasing his roommates, he could feel his skin tingle all over. but it was when you would look up at him, sparkles in your beautiful eyes, that iwa knew he was a goner.

you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger, and he just wanted to make you his. have you in his arms…and bury himself so deep inside you-

“fuck.”

he shut off the shower with a bit more force than necessary. this was exactly the reason why he’d been visiting the gym more, working out for longer, because his mind was plagued with thoughts of you under him.

especially after seeing you in your cute outfit today. he feared that you’d catch his eyes lingering too long on the exposed skin of your tummy, or trying to memorise the curve of your lush thighs in those jeans. hell, he could barely say anything to you on the drive to the mall, tongue running dry with you so close to him.

with a huff, he carefully stepped out of the shower; wrapping his fully white towel around his hips, and moving into his room. kicking the door closed behind him, he made his way towards his side table just in time for his phone to go off.

grabbing the device and waiting a second for the facial recognition to process; he was surprised to see it was an instagram notification from you. expecting another food porn post, he was dead wrong; with absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared him for what greeted his eyes.

“holy,” he collapsed onto his bed, holding his phone to his face. “fuck.”

you...you-

“fuck!” he growled out.

you’d sent him a photo in your new lingerie, albeit it was most likely by accident, but there you were modelling your new all-pink set. the one he had 'chosen’.

with your arms raised above your head, brushing your hair over your shoulders, the stretched out pose accentuated the curve of your breasts, almost spilling out from the strapped confines of your bra. could he even call it that? it was all studded belt straps and buckles, that matched the thick choker-collar around your lithe neck, and it was not helping his current situation. grazing his eyes lower, a thin belt was clipped around your waist, before a sliver of skin lead downwards to the skinny, almost sheer, material of your panties. it was high waisted, dipping behind your wide hips and the teasing curve of your ass. and then your thighs, fuck how he wanted his face to be squeezed between them. thigh-high stockings dug into your plush thighs, squished out from the way you were sitting on your rug.

leaning back onto his bed, iwa was tempted to check if his heart was still beating, if he was even breathing at this point. but he did check, and he was alive; and the blood circulating his body was currently flowing straight to his groin.

the sight of you, so fucking pretty in pink, was burned into his mind forever.

under his palms the prickling sensation spread across his fingers, itching to relieve himself. one hand trailed across the panes of his abdomen, while the other grabbed at his phone; though it almost went flying out of his hand when it started vibrating and your contact photo flashed on his screen.

“shit.” he cursed, clearing his throat and trying to even out his breathing. he accepted the call after a moment. “hello?”

“iwa?!” at the sound of your voice he could feel his dick twitch, and he clenched his teeth together; annoyed at himself. he needed to get a grip. “oh my god, iwa, i am so sorry!”

‘no, i’m sorry that i want to fuck you so bad right now.’ is what he wants to say. “it’s...fine, y/n.” is what he manages to get out.

he hears you chuckle a bit awkwardly on the other end of the line. “shit, i’m so embarrassed right now.” you confess. “i meant to send that to the girls…”

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” if anyone was to embarrassed it was him. he’d spent months pining after you, and now here he was lying on his bed aching to touch himself to you, towel fisted in his free hand. “you’re beautiful, y/n.” at least that managed to come out right.

“thank you, iwa...i only realised what happened when i was about to send another showing the back!” you laughing at your antics fell deaf on his ears, when the thought of your ass seized control of his mind.

how often had he admired the shape of you the past few months. daydreaming of the way you’d feel in his big hands, silky skin dug into by his long fingers, cheeks jutting out between them. he wanted to hold your ass in the palms of his hands, squeeze and tease you...his hips buck up, grinding against the cotton of the towel and a loud groan escapes his mouth.

“oh- iwa? are you okay?” you asked him, so innocently. he couldn’t take it anymore.

“i’m good...i just- something’s come up,” he hissed out, glancing down at the red tip of his cock peeping up at him. “i’ll call you later.”

“oh, of course! sorry again iwa, hehe, i’ll delete the photo. talk soon!”

his eyes shut at the sound of your giggle, free hand already rubbing himself. “bye.”

ending the call and moving the phone away from his face, he stared at the photo again, thumb hovering over the ‘save’ option, before pressing yes. he’d keep it locked away just for him, a treasured piece of you in his gallery. starting to stroke himself to your perfect body, he waited for the notification that you had deleted the photo from the conversation.

but it never came, though he did, and the photo remained buried under new food posts sent from you.

yet it wasn’t til a few weeks after that iwa began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as much of an accident as you made it out to be.

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi imagine #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack #college au #haikyuu college au #matsukawa #hanamaki #oikawa #iwaizumi #haikyuu!!#iwa x reader

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notdonesimpin · 3 years

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The Truth Is Out ~t.k.~

taiga kagami x fem!reader

warnings: mainly fluff. v small smut scene that mainly just leads into it

synopisis: the story of how kagami’s team and your cousin, kise, find out about the relationship.

a/n: this is long. it WAS purely self indulgent so that’s another reason why it’s long but hope you enjoy :)

“Is this all the groceries we need for dinner? Do you have everything else already?” Riko asks.

Before Kagami could answer, Hyuga tagged another question along. “Do you live here by yourself?”

As he unlocked the door, he responded, “At the moment, my girlfriend is staying here, too.”

The team’s eyes widened and exclaimed, “You have a girlfriend?”

The door swings open to reveal you in the kitchen, making dinner. “Hi, Taiga’s teammates! It’s really nice to meet you guys!”

“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. She goes to Kaijou. Y/N, this is the team.”

He points at each member, telling you their names as they all looked at you with wide eyes, muttering a hello back as they walked in and Kagami walked over to you with the groceries you needed to finish up dinner.

“Don’t be shy! Make yourselves at home,” you encouraged them, grabbing the bags from Kagami. You give him a quick kiss. “Thank you. How was the game?”

He leaned against the counter. “It was really good. I wish you could have been there.”

You rolled your eyes, “My game was good, too, Taiga. Thanks for asking.”

“You still play basketball?” A small voice asked.

You looked around, eyes settling on the boy slightly shorter than you that stood on the other side of the counter. You jump back, slightly startled about how you didn’t notice him standing there.

“Kuroko! How can you still do that?” you exclaim.

“You guys know each other?” the team questioned.

You both nod as Kuroko explained, “She’s Kise’s cousin. She’s older by a few months, though.”

“Adopted cousin technically,” you add.

It seemed everyone's eyes were on you since they were intrigued about the insight into who you were and Kagami’s personal life. Kagami seems to notice as his cheeks begin to redden and he rubs the back of his neck.

“Guys, please stop staring. You’re going to scare her.”

You scoff, hitting him with a towel. “I’m not that easily frightened. Plus, if you’re going to be in my kitchen, you better be helping me cook.”

He muttered something under his breath as he walked past you to grab an apron. You give a triumphant smile, focusing your attention back on the boys and Riko in front of you.

“I quit basketball at the beginning of the third year. I play volleyball now.”

“Why?”

“I had more fun with volleyball. It came a lot more natural for me. Kagami makes me help him with basketball, though.”

Kagami shakes his head, glancing at you from the pot he’s stirring. “You offer because you know basketball is better for expanding your agility.”

“How’d you two meet?” Kiyoshi chimed in.

Kagami’s eyes shot to you, knowing the mischievous smirk that was plastered on your face as you chopped up the vegetables.

“I kicked his ass.”

“She did not!” Kagami tried to defend himself as everyone egged you on to continue.

“When he first moved back to Japan, we went to the same middle school. At that time, I’d recently joined the volleyball team.. He was beating everyone on our school team, making all of them mad and frustrated. Kagami, here, got a little bit of a superiority complex, so I challenged him to a game. His cocky ass thought it’d be easy since I was on the volleyball team so he played around and let me score two points. Before he realized it, I won 5-0. He was shocked and wanted a rematch, but I refused.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped. “You… beat Kagami?”

You look up with a questioning look. “Am I not supposed to? Y’all are talking like this man is a legend…”

Kagami tosses a towel at the back of your head. “Just because you beat me in a game the other day doesn’t mean you’re better than me. I have more wins overall.”

“By one game!” you exclaim.

“Now, I have to see you play. I don’t mean this the wrong way, but you don’t look like the type to be on the same skill level as Kagami,” Riko politely says.

You shrug, “I’m not offended or anything. I grew up playing with my brothers and cousins, and volleyball has helped with my jumping. When it comes to court awareness and IQ, I have Kagami beat. Skill set wise, he’s way past my expertise.”

“You guys get two more questions, then I’m duct taping her mouth closed.”

“She can’t eat if you do that,” Kuroko firmly states.

You point at him, “Kuroko, I’ve missed teaming up with you.”

Kagami huffs, “I can’t win if the two of you team up.”

“How did you two get together?” Hyuga questions.

“Taiga couldn’t take defeat, so we ended up playing one-on-one every day that I didn’t have volleyball. He didn’t know many people, so we hung out a lot during class and after school. Tomorrow will be our one year anniversary. He won’t tell me what he has planned, though.”

The team awed as they looked between the two of you. It was extremely apparent that Kagami was blushing from how his ears were tinted red.

“You’ll know when it’s time,” he said as you turned around and dumped the vegetables in the pot.

“I’m going to put on a shirt really quick,” you inform him, “I started cooking as soon as I got your text since I figured you guys would be starving.”

He nodded, watching you walk off and disappear down the hallway.

“Kagami, I like her. You better not lose her,” Izuki notes.

“I don’t plan on it.” He smiles to himself as he changes the topic, “Now, let’s talk about anything other than my love life.”

The boys easily fell into their own conversations. When you walk back out, you get pulled into Izuki’s conversation where he just wouldn’t stop telling puns, but you found it extremely entertaining.

You help Kagami sit the food out on the table. Before you could fully sit down, Kagami pulled you into his lap and lazily wrapped an arm around your waist. This caught you by surprise because he usually wasn’t this clingy when people were around.

“You feeling okay?” you softly ask as he makes his plate, putting enough on it for you, too.

He nods with a soft smile. “I just want to hold you.”

You both eat off of his plate, joining in on the casual conversations around you.

Later that night, all of his teammates ended up falling asleep in various places in the living room.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually tired,” Kagami whines, tossing his shirt and pants in the hamper as he makes his way to the bed.

You yawn, “It’s midnight and you’re not tired?”

“It’s midnight, meaning that we should bring in our one year anniversary the right way,” he smirks, dipping down to kiss you while you sit on the edge of the bed.

He deepens the kiss, guiding you down into the bed with a hand on the small of your back.

His other hand finds its way underneath your shit and becomes a cool contrast in your hot skin.

“Taiga,” you whined as he began to kiss down your neck. “Your entire team is here. They’ll hear us.”

“That just means you have to be quiet, baby. Let me take care of you tonight,” he softly requests as his fingers play with the hem of your shorts.

“Taiga, you are insatiable.”

He hums, standing up as he pulls off your shorts and tosses them.

He raises an eyebrow and looks at you with a triumphant smile. “No panties? Y/N, I think you wanted this to happen.”

“Shut up.” You try to kick him, but he easily catches your leg and presses a kiss to your ankle.

“I promise I’ll take good care of you, princess.”

The next morning, you wake up around 7 to rustling in the living room. Kagami had his arm tightly wrapped around your abdomen, so you had to pry it off with all your might.

As soon as you got out the bed, you heard a soft whine from him as he reached for you. “Where are you going?” he groans, “Come back to bed.”

“Your teammates are waking up. I figured I’ll offer some breakfast before they leave.”

He opens his eyes and looks at you, eyes narrowing when he noticed that you weren’t standing normally.

“Are you still sore?”

You shift your weight, wincing a bit. It was nothing too noticeable but Kagami knew you too well. “It’s not terrible. It’d just been a while.”

He rolled over to get out of bed as he requested, ”Sit back down for a second.”

You plop back onto the bed, watching him grab one of his shirts and toss it to you.

As you put in each of those items, he found a pair of sweatpants and walked over to put them on you. You lift your legs up, watching him slip the pants up your legs.

You stand up so that he can get them onto your waist and watch him tie the string so they wouldn’t fall down.

He gives you a quick kiss as he stands up, noticing the grin on your face. “What?” he asks, grabbing a pair of sweatpants for himself.

“I guess chivalry isn’t dead,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, “I guess you can walk to the kitchen yourself, then.”

You pout, reaching your arms out to him. “Don’t be mean.”

He squats down in front of you, letting you wrap your arms around his neck as he holds your thighs.

He walks into the living area and you beam, “Good morning guys!”

“May I ask why you’re on his back, Y/N?” Kuroko questions.

“I’m just feeling lazy,” you shrug. What you said wasn’t a lie. You were feeling lazy, but that wasn’t the reason you were currently on Kagami. “Would you guys like breakfast?” you offered.

Riko shook her head with a soft smile, “We’re all about to head home, but thank you.”

Hyuga chimed in, “Dinner was amazing. I hope we get to see you again.”

You smiled, “I’ll actually be at the next game!”

They all cheered as they piled out of the penthouse, leaving you and Kagami by yourselves.

“Alright, princess. Now that it’s just me and you.” He sits you on the kitchen counter and turns around to look at you.

“Happy anniversary, Taiga,” you softly whisper, bring a hand up to his cheek as you lean in and give him a kiss.

“Do you want your gift now or later?”

You hit his arm. “I told you not to get me anything, you stubborn ass!”

He laughs, “I know you got me something, though. Even though we promised not to buy anything.”

You became quiet because you knew he was right as he gave you a triumphant smirk.

“Well, I saw it and couldn’t not get it!” you tried to argue.

“I know you too well. Wait here.”

He walks back to his bedroom, coming back after a few minutes with a small bag.

He hands it to you. “I’ve been dying to give this to you for months.”

Your eyes widened, “You actually held back for once in your life?”

“Shut up before I take it back.”

You shake your head, opening the bag to first see a necklace with a key on it. The key was red and had his initials engraved on it.

“The key to my heart,” he softly spoke.

You look at him to see how gentle his eyes have become.

Taiga has always had a more vulnerable side. He didn’t let it out much even though you’d been together this long. It took a lot for him to let himself fully relax and put down his walls around people since he’s always been seen as some sort of monster because of his dedication and skills with basketball.

You were the first person he connected with once he got back to Japan, so having this kind of relationship with you always made him weary. He didn’t want to lose the only person he connected with so a lot of the things he did were over thought for weeks.

“I know that I don’t say how much I love and appreciate you that often and because of our schedules, it’s been a lot less recently. Y/N, you know how bad I am at this thing. We’ve been learning how to do this together, and I don’t want to fuck up and lose you. I really do love you. You’re the best person to ever enter my life.”

“Taiga, I love you so much. Can you put it on me?”

He nods, taking the necklace from you. You lean forward so he could clasp it around your neck.

You hold the key in your hand as you lean back with a small smile. “I’m never taking it off.” You think of your gift, sitting in the bottom of his closet in the box and pout, “Your gift is so much better than mine.”

He shakes his head, “I’ll love anything that you get me.”

You playfully push him, “I could go get it if you weren’t in my way.”

“Just tell me where it is, and I’ll get it. You’re staying off of your feet today. You always take care of me, so I’m going to take care of you today.”

“The bottom right of the closet. The thin black box and the white box underneath it.”

He rushes off once again. You laugh, grabbing your phone to answer a few text messages from your teammates.

He walks back in with the biggest grin on his face as he reads the label of the black box. “Is this what I think it is?”

He sits the boxes down on the counters, attempting to open the black box but you snatch it away from him.

“This one is last, you fiend.”

He laughed, opening the white box to see a Chicago Bulls jersey customized with his name on it. “Baby, this is amazing!” he beamed, trying it on almost immediately. He spins around to give you a good look of it on him as he asks, “How does it look?”

“It looks like I’m dating a really hot NBA star.”

He gives you a quick kiss, mumbling a thank you against your lips.

“Now,” you hand him the black box that he was a lot more excited about, “you can open this.”

He practically rips the box apart in excitement, making the wallet size picture fall onto the ground. He bends down to pick it up, eyes widening at the sight of you in a lingerie set he’d never seen before.

He looks between you, the picture, and the empty box and asks, “Where is it? I need to see it on you.”

You laugh, pointing at the picture as you swing your legs, “You have seen me in it.”

He pouts, “You know what I mean.”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed with a text from Kise. It read: Tell your boyfriend that I will kill him if he ever hurts you! He’s taking you away from me :( #worstcousinever

Next message: also, how am i supposed to be your favorite cousin if you won’t even tell me WHO it is or show me a picture -_-

Next message: YOUR PARENTS KNOW AND NOT ME?! i'm telling your brothers.

You look up at Kagami with pleading eyes. He sighed, knowing what you were asking without any words.

“We’ll see him tomorrow at the tournament. I’d rather tell him to his face. Plus, I don’t need your brothers showing up to kill me.”

You nod, sending him a quick text saying: I only didn’t tell you because you’re 100 percent going to steal him away. He’s still playing in the basketball tournament tomorrow, so you’ll meet him then.

You sit your phone down, turning the ringer on silent as you refocus your attention on Kagami.

“Impress me tomorrow during the games, and I’ll wear it. If you don’t, you’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

The next day, you left Kagami’s apartment to hang out with Kise before his game since he wouldn’t stop complaining about never seeing you anymore unless there was school.

“Y/N-icchi! I’ve missed you so much!” Kise exclaimed as you walked up to him.

His team was shaking their heads at him, giving you a small wave since they’d seen you around quite a bit.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?” he questions as you both start walking into the stadium to watch some of the games.

“He’s scouting with his team, but he’ll drop by to see us before they warm up.”

Kise nods, “Who does he play for?”

“Not telling.”

“Do I already know him?”

“Not telling.”

“Come on,” he whines, “Give me something to work with here.”

“He’s taller than you,” you say blankly, “Now, shut up and watch the game.”

You took your bag off and sat it down as Kise reluctantly did the same as he muttered, “You’re so mean, Y/N-icchi.”

45 minutes later, you heard your name being called from behind you as Kagami jogged down the stairs.

“Do you have your phone on silent? I’ve been calling you like crazy!”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, noticing five missed calls from him and six from your mom. “My mom is going to murder me!”

“No, she’s not,” he laughed, squatting down to get out of the way of people watching the game as he continued, “She’s here. She wanted to see where you were sitting. She said that you told her about my games today and decided to come earlier to see me play before Kise did.”

As soon as he said Kise’s name, the life drained out of both of your faces.

“So you’re the boyfriend,” Kise leaned forward, trying to be intimidating.

“Kise, be nice.”

“You’re dating one of my rivals, Y/N-icchi! That’s so low.”

Intimidation factor: gone.

You rolled your eyes, “We were dating before you even knew he existed!”

“You’ve only been dating for like two months!”

“Kise, it’s been a year!” you hissed back.

Kagami watched the two of you bicker in amusement.

Kuroko’s voice brought the three of you back to reality. “Kagami! It’s time to head to the court.”

“Right,” he nodded, looking at you.

“Good luck,” you smile.

“I don’t need luck. You’re here.” He gives you a quick kiss.

Kise fake gags and you elbow him in the side as Kagami walks off.

“Oi! Kagamicchi!” Kise said, returning to a threatening state. “If you hurt her, I swear to make your life hell. You don’t know much about her brothers but they are twice my size and ten times scarier, so make wise decisions.”

Kagami's eyes widened as he nodded and rushed off to meet the rest of his team.

“Also, I’m glad you finally told me after I’ve had to act clueless for months. You never come to my practice games, but you show up at our one against Seirin. Then, somehow Kagami and you run into each other outside before his team leaves. Learn to keep better secrets.”

#kagami #kuroko no basket #kagami x reader #taiga kagami x reader #kagami x you #KNB #kuroko's basketball #knb x reader #knb masterfind

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

A Boy Like You | Yoongi

→ summary: for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you.

{or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

→ genre: coworker!au, f2l, fluff → warnings: an overabundance of shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to squish his cheeks; kinda ooc but it is what it is → words: 11.5K → a/n: whaddup kids it’s ya girl... back from the dead after months of not writing shit, and what’s this owo... it’s a fluff fic?? miracles do happen... anyway i wrote this bc i just thot “man, wouldn’t it be super epic if i wrote a super self-indulgent fic where yoongi fulfills every single one of my deepest desires?” well... here is THIS!! pls feel free to scream into a pillow bc i certainly did!! enjoy!!

There is a boy you know who likes to show his kindness quietly. It would go something like this:

The air is thick with static; your hair stands up on end: a warning. The scent of raindrops hitting hot pavement graces your nostrils as a waterfall drops from the sky. You see the sea of heads begin to disappear under a canopy of multi-colored umbrellas. You, the lone ranger, rush back into the building from whence you came, dragging puddles and annoyance with you.

You should have anticipated it, should have thought to check the weather app before scrolling through dull social media posts when you left your house that morning. Instead, your fingers are left cold and umbrella-less.

You tilt your head upwards, watching as gallon upon gallon fell from the sky in an endless cycle. The watch on your wrist reads 5 PM, but the sky says it is 9 PM. The dark, swirling mass of clouds above you will continue on its thunderous parade, pausing for no one, especially not for you.

Your work bag is practically weightless, devoid of anything that might protect you from the onslaught of rain. The only thing inside is a small wallet that holds nothing more than dust and a loose promise of a paycheck. There is no way you can call a taxi like this, and the nearest bus stop is at least two blocks away. You are starting to think that your childhood dreams of becoming a mermaid hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

Then comes the hand of God. It touches your shoulder gently, hesitantly. You turn around to face a stranger, a boy with shaggy black hair and pale moonlight skin. It is not God, but he comes close.

In his other hand is your salvation wrapped in Kumamon print nylon. It is proffered to you with a silent nod, his gaze fixed somewhere behind you as he waits for you to take it. The tips of his ears begin to redden the longer it takes for you to respond. Eventually, your brain connects with your muscles as you robotically pluck the umbrella from his grasp, a stuttered “thanks” leaving your lips.

He nods stiffly once more, removing his palm from your shoulder as though he had been burned. He shuffles for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to say. You wait, patience never waning for the strange boy that you have come to know as your salvation.

He doesn’t find the words after all. You aren’t too offended by his silence, but he appears to be mortified. And so, he leaves just as quickly as he had appeared, like a whirlwind dressed in an oversized blazer flapping behind him like wings. He runs through the rain without another thought, an arm raised above his head in a futile attempt to avoid getting wet.

You try calling out to him, wanting to thank him once more and maybe to ask how you can return his umbrella, but he is long gone. A speck of black dashing through the gray.

You clutch the umbrella closer to you, a feeling of something new growing inside of you. It is too small to call anything, but it is warm.

x x x x x

Umbrella boy has a name, and he happens to work on the same floor as you. You know this because he is standing right in front of you in all his bespectacled glory.

He ducks out of view the moment your eyes meet his. There is a stack of folders in his arms, and he bows his head until his nose touches manila. It’s too late––he knows you caught him staring. He scurries behind walls of filing cabinets and desk cubicles, desperate to get back to his desk where he hopes you’ll never find him.

The office floor is large, but it is not large enough to hide in. It takes only a few minutes until you find him hunched over his desk, every inch of space taken by enough towers of paper to cover a forest. It is no wonder that you never encountered your mysterious umbrella boy; he does a wonderful job of blending in.

Your eyes trail his form, not out of any perverse intent, but just out of curiosity. You never would have guessed from his unassuming and meek nature, but the boy is devastatingly beautiful. The devil is in the details: you admire the soft slope of his nose to the adorable pout of his lips. His eyelids are charmingly mismatched and his cheeks are begging to be pinched. It takes a year’s worth of self-restraint to keep your hands at your sides, if only so you don’t scare him away before you can even introduce yourself.

(You can already imagine your HR department contacting you about nonconsensual manhandling… You admit that you tend to get overzealous with your affection, especially when confronted with cute things. This boy would definitely need to watch out for you if he knows what’s best for him.)

((Also note to self: Stop having these psychopathic conversations with yourself. Being stuck inside the cage which is your brain is torture enough, so let’s not encourage it to get worse.))

There is a lanyard laced around his neck, the gaudy orange color of your company’s logo emblazoned across the thin material. And just out of your line of sight, you catch a glimpse of his ID. His name is––

“Y-Y/N?” He stutters out–no–he squeaks. Ah, so he’s noticed you. The folder in his hand slips out of his grasp, an avalanche of white tumbling all over his lap. He curses loudly, frantically sweeping away the mess under his desk, as if he could somehow magically make them disappear if he just kicked them hard enough. Unfortunately, the papers stay stubbornly tangible, and he is left with a halo of accounting reports around his workspace as a result.

“Are you… umm…” You hesitate with your words, fearing that any sudden movement on your part might cause umbrella boy to combust on the spot. “Do you need help… picking those up?”

“I–Well, no–Yes, but–” His sentences are stilted, his brain struggling to catch up with his tongue. He clamps his mouth shut, then shakes his head like he’s trying to reboot himself. Finally, after a few more deep breaths, he goes, “No. I’m fine. Thank you for offering.” He says that, but he appears awfully content with staring holes into the keyboard of his laptop when he is speaking to you though.

“Still… I’m terribly sorry for startling you,” you say, lips tugging downwards into a frown. You should have guessed he was skittish from how he had acted yesterday, but it’s quite a surprise to see one man so… disastrous, for lack of a better term. It’s awfully cute. “I just wanted to properly introduce myself and thank you for lending me your umbrella yesterday, but it seems like you already knew who I was.”

His face does a weird thing then and there. It almost appears like he was caught in a time loop, like someone was manually reversing and replaying his facial expressions like a video. It takes a few minutes for his little stroke to settle down, but even then, his cheeks remain a rosy pink. “I–I just… remembered your name during the company retreat the other month. I’m not weird or anything, I swear!”

“Well luckily, I was never going to accuse you of being weird anyway!” You laugh, trying to ease the perpetual look of anxiety on his face. However, it only seems to worsen his nerves with how quickly his skin starts to redden. “In fact, I should be apologizing for not remembering your name, Mister..?”

“Min Yoongi,” he replies, pausing for a second too long. He must have realized his delay because he coughs awkwardly into his forearm, averting his gaze away from you in a futile attempt to become nothing more than an abstract thought.

He must be equipped with some sort of superpower, because you’re starting to feel his secondhand embarrassment flood through you like a tsunami. Are you that difficult to converse with? Does he want to be left alone so badly that he’s trying to subtlely tell you to fuck off?

You’re about to start apologizing and scurry off back to your desk in barely concealed mortification when Yoongi clears his throat, his gaze fixed somewhere to your right. Whatever caught his attention must have been revolutionary with how large his eyes are, although last you remember is that the wall behind you is the same dull jailcell gray that you have come to know and hate.

“I just… I’m sorry if I’m acting odd right now. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to my cubicle and I would’ve… I don’t know, tidied up? If I knew you were coming,” he mutters, propping his glasses back up when they start sliding down his nose. They make their slow descent back down immediately after, forever on an endless cycle of up and down his face.

“You don’t have to clean up just for me! I’m not your manager or anything,” you say, surveying the absolute disaster zone that is his workspace. For his benefit, you sure hope that he has a map of his desk and filing cabinets, as it would have been a miracle otherwise if he memorized where anything was located in his personal office sty. “Though, it would be nice if you could see the bottom of your desk every once in a while.”

To your immense surprise, Yoongi lets out a resounding laugh at your quip. Though Yoongi isn’t a mute by any means, it isn’t like he spoke with much volume either. You hadn’t even thought your joke was funny enough to deserve a strained Caucasian™️ smile, so you appreciate that he had considered that you were even slightly funny. You love the pleasant tinkling of his laughter, so genuinely joyous that you can’t help but want to make a fool of yourself just so you can hear it again and again.

When Yoongi stops, the familiar reddish hue that has made a home on his cheeks resurfaces, though it’s less from embarrassment now. His shoulders are more relaxed, and he doesn’t look like he wants to crawl out of his skin as much. He still has eyes averted away from you, however. “Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed too hard at that. I’m normally not this weird… I think it’s just the nerves.”

You cock your head to the side. “Nerves? From what?”

Yoongi freezes, mouth gaping open slightly. “I, umm…” He coughs into his white button-up sleeve, pupils shaking as he formulates a response. “Just from… work. Yeah, I just have a lot of paperwork to do this week and I’ve been, er, having difficulty relaxing.”

Yoongi visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you accept his flimsy excuse, not really lingering on the validity of his statement. “Oh, sure! Don’t overwork yourself too much, okay?” you say, smiling sweetly back at him. He stares, wide-eyed, not really sure how to go on with his life after he’d been blasted by the full force of your grin.

God, you hope you remembered to use a toothpick during lunch. Was there spinach in your teeth? Oh fuck.

“Gah,” he intones, his brain not fully cooperating with his mouth just yet. If you were any more socially inept, you’d probably be doing the same. Eventually, he clears his throat and tries again. “Uh. Yes. I’ll try to do better next time.”

Feeling like you’ve overstayed your visit, you decide that it might be best for you to leave him be before either of you do or say anything more awkward and stupid. Before you turn to leave however, you decide to extend your hand forward, hoping to erase all the previous awkwardness between the both of you and hopefully start afresh. Even though you’ve only just met, you can’t help but feel drawn to him, wanting to see him again and somehow gain his friendship. “Hey, no sweat. It was really nice meeting you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Just Yoongi is fine,” he says, almost like an afterthought. He’s so busy staring at your proffered hand that you are afraid that you might have offended him unknowingly or something. Does he think you don’t wash your hands? Given by the fact that your office’s manager refuses to restock the soap dispensers at the washrooms, that isn’t that much of a stretch. Or maybe he was weirded out by your random handshake? Have handshakes become antiquated these days? Are the kids no longer doing it? Are you supposed to do those awful brohugs like the fresh-out-of-college interns do in the breakroom? Oh God, does Yoongi think you’re old?!

While you were in the midst of your mental breakdown, you soon begin to realize why Yoongi had contemplated returning your handshake for so long. Instead of taking your hand immediately, Yoongi rubs his own two palms together first, much like how one would when warming their hands in front of a fire. He takes care to blow on them slightly before grasping your hand firmly in his, finally bestowing you with your much awaited handshake.

“Umm..?” You stare at your intertwined hands, a little confused about the previous series of events that just happened five seconds ago. Yoongi, in all his adorable and flustered glory, releases your hand much too quickly like he’s been shocked, most likely realizing (belatedly) that what he had done might not be as clear to an observer as it is to himself.

“Oh, I – I’m so sorry about that, again.” Yoongi stutters, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just – my hands are really cold so I was trying to warm them up before I held your hands. I’m – I only just realized how odd that must have looked. Sorry.”

A rush of endearment and warmth surges through you as you behold this high strung boy, your heart flooded with a mix of emotions that make you feel gooey and blissful in one perfect package. No, this boy is the perfect package, all soft edges and blushy cheeks. It’s going to take a mountain and a room of vengeful deities to stop you from walking past his desk to catch a glimpse of him at this rate.

Oh God, you’re whipped already and it’s only been a few minutes since you said hello. He warmed his hand for you for heaven’s sake! Surely your enthusiasm can be excused in this one instance.

“That’s, uhh…” Now it seems that it is your turn to be at a loss of words, your throat clogged with a clump of newly discovered feelings that you don’t have enough time to sort through at the moment. The hamster running circles inside your brain has long since ground to a halt, and if Yoongi is going to keep staring at you with those charming cat eyes for any longer, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to convince the little vermin inside your skull to puppet your body again. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

Thank you? Really, Y/N?

“It’s, uh, no problem. Really.” And with that, Yoongi presents to you his most deadly smile to date: blinding whites coupled his prominent pink gums, with his cheeks stretched like proofed dough that make his dark eyes disappear. Is there a pencil wedged inside your chest cavity, or were you just spontaneously having a heart attack? It’s hard to say; all you know is that your organs have turned to slush, and you make a mental note to send the imminent hospital bill to a certain Min Yoongi.

Cause of hemorrhage: being too fucking cute.

With your daily dose of embarrassment fulfilled, you turn to leave with short stilted steps, as if you have to force yourself away from him like those stubborn souvenir shop magnets that never come off the fridge. “I guess I’ll see you around?” you say more like a question, unsure if he’ll even want to ever see you after that disaster of an interaction. Kim Namjoon from Accounting would be entirely too delighted if he ever found out that he wasn’t the most awkward human being in the office.

“Sure? I’ll just be here. As always,” Yoongi replies kindly, same gummy grin on his face, albeit a little more hesitant. “It was nice speaking to you, Y/N.”

When he returns his attention to his workspace, it serves as a signal to you that you really should be going. Before you leave, you take note of the subtle red tint of his ears that reaches the back of his neck, the gentle tremor of his hands as he reorganizes the files that he had previously dropped. It makes you feel odd for relishing in the fact that you hadn’t been the only one feeling the tension between the two of you, though that doesn’t help lessen the confusion that soon follows anyway.

Why are you so drawn to him? You have never felt so strongly for someone this quickly, and frankly it sort of frightened you. You’re too afraid to confront that blossoming curiosity inside of you. No, it’s much too soon for that. For now, however…

“Oh shit. I totally forgot to give him back his umbrella,” you curse yourself once you return to your desk. The smiling face of Kumamon looks at you knowingly, as if this had been planned all along.

Well. Now you have an excuse to see him again tomorrow, at least.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his tenderness quietly. It would go something like this:

Company dinners shouldn’t feel like as much as a punishment as it does, but that’s just how social gatherings with semi-professional coworkers are like. No one here really wants to be there, but the carefully worded e-mail sent to the entire company clearly suggests that this was more of a “go to the party or risk getting fired” type of deal than anything remotely enjoyable. As much as free food and booze are often harbingers of a good time, it hardly makes any difference when your inebriated boss spends the entire time chatting you up in front of the presence of a dozen or so indifferent associates.

“Oh, Y/N! Good job securing that deal with Mister Park the other day. It’s all thanks to my valuable tutelage, is it not?” your manager guffaws, slapping your back with misplaced camaraderie. He leaves his warm, sweaty palm there, feeling it slide an inch lower than you were comfortable with anyone being. The smell of cheap wine on his breath is making you feel nauseous, and the tacky black and white tiled flooring isn’t doing anything to lessen the incoming migraine.

“Right,” you say with a tight-lipped smile, unable to say anything else lest you lose your job over something silly like establishing boundaries. It’s no wonder that the number of female employees on your floor has significantly dropped over the years, especially with rumors attaching themselves like maggots all over your stupid manager’s name. You wouldn’t be surprised if his stomach exploded ala Alien (1979) style with how much bullshit resides in his body and soul.

You’ve long since given up on anyone saving you, not when everyone was either too busy taking advantage of the free food or too scared to confront your shitty boss. You resign to your fate, ready to scrub yourself clean with a brick once you get home in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the feeling of his hands on you.

That is, until someone clears their throat from behind you.

Salvation comes to you wrapped in a crisp white button-up, thick-rimmed glasses, and cat-like eyes. You almost want to start breaking into Gregorian chant just then to fully express your gratitude to the deities of above for sending an angel in your time of tribulation.

“Excuse me,” the (welcome) intruder says, voice quiet but clear even amidst the cacophonous music and chatter. Min Yoongi steps forward until he is to your right, and you don’t miss the way his shoulder “accidentally” bumps your manager hard enough for him to drop his hand from your back. When Yoongi smiles at your manager, it is all teeth and no mirth, his eyes carefully blank.

Thankfully, your manager isn’t quite as fortunate in his brains department as he is in his stomach. “Oh, Yoongi! It is so nice to finally see you attend one of our social functions. You are enjoying yourself, I hope?” your manager asks, guffawing loudly despite no joke being said. You never did quite understand how some men think they are the most hilarious thing to ever exist since clowns, though you suppose your manager was only missing the red nose to complete the look.

“Thrilled, Mister Lee. Absolutely thrilled,” Yoongi says in a dead monotone voice. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, and Yoongi points a wicked grin back at you before returning to his neutral and passive “work” face.

The sarcasm flies over your managers head like you expected, though you can hardly blame the alcohol for his lack of cognizance. You wouldn’t be half surprised if you knocked lightly on his head, only to hear a resounding echo following thereafter.

“I have never seen you at any of our parties before, Yoongi. What’s with the sudden change of heart?” your manager asks.

“Sir, I’ve attended every single social gathering since I was hired,” Yoongi says plainly, his composure never faltering. He must have better control than you, because you’re sure you would’ve barely held yourself back from smacking your manager had it been you. Though in fairness, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever noticed Yoongi at any of the other parties before this one either.

“Oh really? Well then, you mustn’t have said hello before then!” your manager laughs, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “Always so enigmatic, our dear Yoongi! Well, keep up the good work.” When your manager turns his attention to speak to another one of your poor coworkers, Yoongi visibly gags from behind your manager’s back, grimacing as he pats away all traces of that foul man’s hand germs away from his dress shirt.

“Gross. Now my sleeve is damp,” he mutters, just audible enough so that only you could hear. You laugh out loud at that, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. There’s probably a gross sweaty handprint on my back now,” you say, wincing when you do feel a noticeable damp spot near the small of your back. “Ugh, what a pig.”

“Tell me about it,” Yoongi shakes his head, making a move to get away from your awful manager. He gestures for you to follow him, and you are more than happy to oblige.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way,” you add, keeping in step with him. He leads you out of the disorienting ballroom, though he doesn’t head towards the exit like you had expected. He appears to know the building much more than you do, given by how assuredly he walks. Either that, or he could be leading you to a deadend, but confidently.

“No problem. You honestly looked like you were about to punt him across the room, though I doubt anyone would be opposed to that magnificent spectacle,” Yoongi jokes, same mischievous grin from before decorating his face. He is so different from the taciturn man you had met two weeks ago, back when he had half-hidden behind his desk like an animal being cornered. Though, that might not be the best analogy to think of, as it only painted you as some sort of predator who came after meek and soft-looking men. Which you aren’t. Hopefully.

“Oh, I would’ve done more than just that, so really he should be thanking you for saving him,” you snort, and Yoongi chuckles lightly in response. Like before, his laughter is just as pleasant as you remember. Your greedy heart yearns to elicit the same sound from him once more, for as many times as you can muster before the night ends.

You had been so immersed in trying to keep up with his quick strides that you don’t notice where exactly he has taken you. The two of you haven’t gone too far away from the ballroom before he stops right in front of a metal double door, the neon green exit sign about it glowing conspicuously in the otherwise dimly lit corridor. He pushes it open, allowing the cool evening air to blow across you and your hand-me-down dress.

“Are we… at the balcony?” you ask, though the view that greets you is answer enough. How Yoongi could have known where the balcony is, you can’t say for certain. But any sort of question dies on your lips when you see how beautiful the skyline is: the stars and city lights twinkling indiscriminately, the sound of nightlife and traffic sounding loud despite the streets being so far away, the smell of ozone signalling an oncoming storm.

This, of course, is what you imagine the view to be like. You know, if the ever reliable Seoul smog wasn’t there to obstruct any sort of magical, romantic view that you should have been privy to.

“Oh damn. I forgot the smog forecast today was especially bad,” Yoongi groans from beside you, quickly shuffling through his pant pockets for a face mask. He procurs two black masks, still in their plastic packaging, and hands one of them to you. “Jesus. Sorry about this. Didn’t expect the smog to be so bad… We can just go back inside, if you want?”

Then, you are reminded of your manager, who is basically pollution incarnate with how terrible his breath is. So, you accept Yoongi’s proffered mask and promptly put it on. “Yeah, no thanks,” you say, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. The implication of your acceptance makes Yoongi grin cheekily back at you (or so you think, guessing by how his eyes crinkle cutely above his mask.)

Now properly equipped to not inhale disgusting air matter into your lungs, you step out farther across the balcony, enjoying the way the cool night breeze feels against your alcohol flushed face. (Though, if you were being honest, the heat on your cheeks has less to do with the meager flute of champagne you had earlier and more to do with the company you currently find yourself with.)

“I fucking hate these company dinners,” you whine a little bit too petulantly, complete with the jutted lip of a child who has been forced to wait as her mother engages in an eternity long conversation with an acquaintance. You lean against the railings near the edge of the building, watching idly as Yoongi does the same. “Don’t you think that if they wanted us to get ‘closer’ with one another, they’d first want to address the fact that some of our coworkers happen to be pigs dressed in white collared shirts?”

Yoongi snorts at that, his right hand immediately coming up to his mouth to silence the unflattering sound. Not that it wasn’t completely charming to you, but you do enjoy the slight abashment that blooms across his face shortly thereafter. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh like that. But, I do agree with you… I can’t say that anyone in our department is especially fond of that Habsburg motherfucker.”

Maybe it was the little bit of alcohol in your system, or perhaps it was the sudden rush of realizing that Yoongi is strangely attractive when he swears, but the laugh that exits your mouth sounds a touch too crazed for your liking. Either that, or perhaps you’re finally dying from the pollution.

Luckily for the both of you, it seems that Yoongi likes your weird laugh just as much as you like his. He tries to hide a smile before continuing, “Like, come on! I’m sorry for saying that because attacks on physical appearance is always a low blow, but why the fuck does that dude look like he’s been compressed and flattened on Photoshop? He’s got perpetual flat-face syndrome. You could - you could land a damn plane on his face or some shit.”

The cork inside of your bursts, and you let out the most ungodly guffaw in your life. You don’t even have the time to be embarrassed by how loud your howls are, not when every word he says hits the mark a little bit too close to home. There’s nothing quite as pleasing than sharing mutual dislike for the same person, and it fills you with the utmost glee that Yoongi is no exception to that rule.

“Oh god… You’re right. You are absolutely right. I seriously can’t believe anyone can put up with him. I mean, the damned bastard couldn’t even remember my name until two weeks ago,” you say, shaking your head in disgust. The first few times he had forgotten, you had been gracious enough to laugh away his mistakes as little more than that: mistakes. But when five years pass and peanuts-for-a-brain still hasn’t deemed that remembering your name to be as important as when the “next big Game™” is, then it’s easy to understand the depth of your resentment towards your manager.

“Are you for real?” Yoongi asks, brows raised in shock. “How could anyone ever forget you – I mean, shit, uh,” Yoongi coughs suddenly, red-faced. You tilt your head in confusion, waiting for him to finish. He’s still kind of spluttering when he continues, “What I meant to say is… H-how could anyone forget their employees name after working here for so long?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I have no idea. Honestly, I think he’s trying to purposefully forget everything I tell him. One time, he had asked me what plans I had for Christmas, and I mentioned to him how I was going to be visiting my parents back home, and he has the gall to ask what country I’m from. Like???” Your face contorts as if you had eaten an entire lemon, so wracked with disbelief that Yoongi can see the hypothetical question marks floating above your head. “Bitch, do I look foreign to that bastard? I’ve lived here all my life!”

Yoongi hums, thoughtful. “Your parents live just an hour away from here, right?”

“I… Yeah, they do,” you reply. You eye Yoongi curiously, watching his all-too familiar flush resurfacing on his neck once more. “Wait… How do you know that?”

“You… You were talking about them, once. To Seulgi? Yea, you were, um…” Yoongi coughs unassuredly, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you suppose. “It was a year ago? Something about visiting them during the weekend… Not that I was eavesdropping on purpose! I would never, er, do that…”

You don’t even register his embarrassment as you are mostly shell shocked that he had even remembered that little tidbit from over a year ago. Hell, you didn’t even remember going to your parent’s house until he mentioned it. “No it’s fine, I get it. I’m just surprised that you even bothered to remember that.”

Now it’s his turn to look at you strangely. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him in disbelief. Fluttering of wings begin to erupt in your stomach, but you hardly have the peace of mind to fully grasp why you were even feeling so flustered in the first place. It was just that he had said it so… matter-of-fact, like there was no possible way he could’ve forgotten even if he tried. It was kind of disconcerting, but flattering all the same. But more importantly--

“Wait, you’ve been working at the company since last year? How have I never seen you before this month?!”

“Oh,” Yoongi coughs out a laugh, scratching the end of his nose. He turns his gaze away, looking anywhere but you. “I was just, umm… Really quiet? I don’t really talk to anyone unless I need to. I’m more of a listener.”

“Oh my God, now I feel even more terrible for not knowing your name! I must look like an egotistic bitch to you,” you despair lowly, cupping your face into your hands in shame. You feel another pair of cold hands clasp your wrists, and you watch in shock as he pulls your palms away with a determined expression.

“What? Of course not. You are definitely not an egotistic bitch, Y/N. In fact, you’re the complete opposite,” Yoongi whispers, so quiet that you might have imagined it. He grasps your hands tightly, like he’s desperate for you to believe him.

You stammer in embarrassment, staring wide-eyed at Yoongi as you try to regrasp your comprehension skills. It’s especially hard to concentrate with how close Yoongi is to you, the latter unaware of his own proximity. He had stepped closer towards you to hold your hand, and normally you hated it when people touched you without permission, but somehow… This was alright.

(Unbeknownst to you, this will not be the first time that Yoongi becomes your secret little exception. It’s only the first of many.)

“I-I don’t really know what to say?” Your gaze is locked on his firm grip on your hands, the only thing flitting through your mind: damn, this dude’s hands really are fucking freezing!

It takes another few seconds for Yoongi to calm down, and you know when it happens because the realization of what he had said makes itself apparent on his expression. He turns beet red in a second, stepping away from you with his arms flying off of you like those inflatable tube men outside car dealerships.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, taking two steps away from you. You almost take two steps forward to keep the distance closer, but you have a feeling that he would keep walking away from you until you both inevitably fall off the balcony, so you smartly choose to stay away (even if it pains you to do so). You wait for his breathing to settle, all the while still reeling from his blatant confession just moments ago.

Could you even consider it a confession? Were you being delulu, or is there some sort of connection that you and Yoongi were both feeling?

“Yoongi, it’s fine! Really,” you smile wryly, raising your hands towards him open-faced, much like how you would do when approaching an agitated animal. Like a nervous kitty, you think privately to yourself. “I’m really flattered that you feel so… strongly?”

“I’m… I’m really not like this normally. Honest,” Yoongi says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I never… do that. Whatever that was. Umm.”

Because you’re a freak of nature and enjoy exacerbating awkward social interactions, you decide to respond to him like this: “No worries, I’m flattered, honest! But hey, maybe next time you try to give me a compliment, you could look me in the eye?” You know, like an asshole. Who points out people’s social anxieties like that? You bitch!

On cue, Yoongi’s cheeks bloom into cherry blossoms once more. “I––I, I didn’t mean to––uh!” he stammers.

“No, no, I’m sorry for even saying that!” You apologize profusely, bowing so low that he could probably see the top of your spine. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that! I’m sorry! That was seriously out of line!”

What a pair the two of you were… Like two trains crashing into each other at mach speed, continuously and eternally. A constant and ongoing catastrophe!

(The little gremlin living inside your brain is knocking at your empty skull, whispering deviously, “But doesn’t that make the two of you the perfect pair?”)

When he doesn’t respond back immediately, you have to wrack up enough courage to look back at him. You gasp audibly when you do, and you have to forcibly grip the insides of your bicep to keep yourself from squealing in pure anguish.

Because there, right before your very eyes, is a blushing Min Yoongi looking you straight in the eye with his face squished between his hands, as if he’s forcibly keeping his head locked in place. His pupils are noticeably shaking and his brows are furrowed in concentration, but he’s looking at you. Like you asked.

He’s… He’s too…

“Okay, let me try this again.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be the most embarrassing thing he has ever done in his life. “Y… You’re a great person, Y/N. I hope you know that,” he whispers, voice trailing off by the end of his sentence.

He’s dry heaving like he’s just finished a marathon, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. You’re worried if he even remembers how to blink with how intensely he’s staring you down, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him when your heart is quite literally beating out of your chest like a cartoon character from the 80’s.

“I…” You’re at a loss of words. If Min Yoongi can capture you like this with just a look, then think of how much more powerful he would be if he just learned how to use it. You’re slipping into real dangerous waters, and you don’t know if you’re just a frog in boiling water or if this is where you were meant to be all along.

“Yoongi, I didn’t mean for you to… force yourself like that, really…”

The moment breaks, finally, when Yoongi begins to cry.

“Shit!” you both exclaim, but for two different reasons. “Are you okay? Oh my god!” you reach out for him, not even thinking when you cup his cheeks in your hands. He gently pushes you away with one hand, while the other goes to scrub at his tears.

“Yes, I’m fine! A piece of dust got caught in my eye and I was too slow to blink it away,” he explains, still wiping at his cheeks. He pulls his mask down to his chin, pouting cutely at you. “Sorry. I’m not used to looking people in the eye yet. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Oh my god. At this point, you’d be surprised if your heart was located anywhere near your body. You were running purely on autopilot, so enamored by the boy in front of you that you could almost faint. He was entirely too unreal, unbelievably so. Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find your heart again, and you know the first place where you’d look.

“Give it back,” you mumble, and Yoongi tilts his head at you in confusion.

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“Nothing,” you reply, reaching over him and snapping his mask back on his face. You laugh as he splutters in surprise, floundering about overdramatically as if the elastic on the mask had done any damage to him at all. “Oh, stop it. You’re just being silly now.”

“Hey, I have delicate skin! You never know,” he jokes, but stops when you give him an unimpressed look.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “And well, since I keep saying sorry today, and you look like you could use a little warming up, do you wanna leave this place and get some coffee? My treat.”

And really, who were you to say no to that?

And really, who were you to say no to Min Yoongi?

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his thoughtfulness quietly. It would go something like this:

A steaming hot coffee cup from the nearby cafe manifests itself on your desk one Monday morning. In your sleep-deprived haze, you had originally failed to realize that there was a hand connected to that cup and that it hadn’t actually just materialized from thin air like you had thought. After much blinking and staring, you crane your head up to see Jesus standing in front of you, his glasses still fogged from the outside chill.

“I got you a drink. I hope I remembered your order right,” Yoongi says in lieu of a greeting, a small smile gracing his lips as he watches you lethargically reach over for the cup to lift the lid open. His grin widens when he sees your eyes light up at the sight of little marshmallows bobbing up and down in your hot chocolate, bits of whipped cream already melting away from the heat. When you take a sip, you breathe a content sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut.

“Yoongi, I’m going to kiss your feet right now and you can’t stop me,” you say, upper lip lined with cream and sugar. Yoongi’s hand twitches by his side, but he doesn’t move.

“Even if I have toe fungus?”

“Especially if you have toe fungus,” you say, downing as much hot chocolate down your throat without choking and barfing all over him.

From the rim of your cup, you can see that Yoongi still has his parka on, his signature black mask pulled down his chin indicating that he’s only just arrived at the office. It makes your heart jump a little, knowing that he went straight to you first before anyone else that day.

“I still don’t understand how you hate coffee. Like, I don’t think I’d be able to be conversing with you right now if I didn’t have caffeine running through my veins,” he says, staring at you(r lips) as you chew a marshmallow thoughtfully.

You want to tell him that Yoongi doesn’t talk a lot anyway in the first place, though you have begun to notice that he’s becoming more talkative the more you hang out with him. However, you aren’t quite sure if you’re imagining it, but it seems like Yoongi’s change in personality doesn’t really apply when he’s with anyone else. On the days where you’d pass by his cubicle on the way to the water coolers, he’d still have his usual stoic expression on his face as he goes through his paperwork with the grace of a robot. When he’s with you, however…

“Says the guy who’s started drinking frappes after I suggested them to you. Don’t lie to me, Min Yoongi.” You’re giggling softly, and you can tell Yoongi’s seams are already breaking. Pink gums and straight teeth are seconds away from peaking through. You wink cheekily at him. “You’re just as sweet as your personality is.”

“Stop, that’s so embarrassing!” he exclaims, hiding behind his hands. He’s already smiling. “I’m not as sweet as you think! I’m a mean guy!”

“Yoongi, you literally just bought me hot chocolate with marshmallows because you remembered what I like. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body,” you retort, rolling your eyes at the prominent pout on his face.

“Not true! I stole an extra coupon booklet when I was at the grocery store the other day.”

“Ooooh, I do love a bad boy,” you say, but the two of you are already laughing hysterically. “Seriously, thanks. I really needed this today.”

“Dang, bad morning already?” he winces, having noticed the purple moons under your eyes when he had approached you. He didn’t want to mention it without you bringing it up first, but he had been worried about you since last Friday when you had left the workplace with a slammed door.

“Try bad weekend. Mr. Lee has been pushing my buttons for months now, but I seriously didn’t think he thought it was a challenge. He’s been giving me shitty filing jobs to complete like I’m some overworked intern!”

Yoongi cocks his head, confused. “Aren’t you, like… In the advertising department? Why would he make you file things?”

“Exactly!” You’re all but roaring now, but Yoongi can’t help smirking at the stray dollop of whipped cream that had somehow found its way on your nose. He pulls his sleeve over his wrist, swiping it away with the fabric as nonchalantly as possible (which is to say, he’s as red as a spanked ass when he does it.)

You don’t even notice his actions, still deep in the abyss of your rage. “And also! My shitty phone ran out of storage space the other day so I’ve had to delete all the songs on my library and I can’t find any good playlists on Spotify to help me dissociate on the train!”

“Wow, that’s a mood,” Yoongi says, chuckling. He clears his throat, an idea popping into his head. He turns bashful all of a sudden, gaze diverting upwards as he musters the courage to say, “I-I mean, I think I can help you with that last problem, if you want…”

You stop huffing and puffing long enough to appear intrigued. “Oh? Are you gonna send me a playlist?”

Yoongi splutters. “I mean! If you want it, I do have some songs that I like listening to.”

Yoongi squeaks when you smile at that, radiant and all-encompassing. He wonders how he’s not dead right now.

“Oh god, that would be great actually! Text me the link, would you?” you say, already making grabby hands for his phone. “Here, lemme put my phone number in your phone.”

Yoongi almost drops his phone as he takes it out of his pocket, staring in awe as he watches you type in your number into his phone. He has to keep himself from outright howling when he sees you place a sunflower emoji beside your name. How fitting, he thinks to himself.

When you return the phone back to him, he immediately texts you the link to his playlist. You have to keep yourself from screaming to the heavens when you see the very Yoongi-esque title, “Songs for the Sleepless,” complete with the grainy-noir-film-type playlist art to complete the look. It was just so… personal, so Yoongi, and it’s making you clench organs that you didn’t know were clenchable.

You whistle at the sheer number of songs on the playlist, with the first song being—“Didn’t peg you as a Lana Del Rey fan,” you pipe up, scrolling through his playlist with acute interest. “Kendrick Lamar and Epik High, I understand. But Lana?”

To his credit, the playlist did seem like it had a narrative of sorts, despite the eclectic range of artists and genres. You only recognize maybe ten of the songs from his five hundred song playlist, and you’re very curious to see what type of songs he connects to.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he shrugs his shoulders, though a little bit embarrassed. “Lana Del Rey could sing my obituary and I’d jump out of my grave in an instant.”

“Bit morbid but okay,” you laugh, finger ready to close your music player app when you catch sight of a song with an artist you didn’t expect to see. You reach over to tug on his sleeve, your sly smile already causing Yoongi to break out in hives. “Hey… I didn’t know you shared your name with a singer, unless, of course…”

Yoongi doesn’t even let you finish your sentence when he yelps in surprise, snatching your phone out of your grip as his eyes bug out of his sockets. His ears redden, words tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall as he tries to explain himself despite your raucous giggling.

“I––You weren’t supposed to––I forgot about! That was––I was just––Ugh,” he groans despairingly, smacking himself in the forehead with your phone. You’re still giggling madly, enjoying the spectacle before you as Yoongi’s ears are practically shooting out steam.

“You’re so cute.” It slips out of your mouth with such ease that you almost don’t notice saying it at all; you’re still smiling dreamily at Yoongi as he stares at you in shock, mouth still agape from his earlier rambling. You gasp loudly when your brain cells finally catch up, but by then it’s already too late. Now, the two of you were a matching pair, with your fire engine red ears standing at attention.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that,” you mutter into your hands. You wish the earth would swallow you whole right now.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” Yoongi wails beside you, but you don’t notice the small satisfied smile he’s sporting on his reddened face. “Y-You can’t just say things and not expect me to…”

You look up, wondering why he’d suddenly trailed off at the end. “Expect you to what?”

Yoongi, once again, defies the laws of the universe by somehow turning even redder than humanly possible. “N-nothing. Ignore me. Let’s just admit we’re both embarrassing and carry on, can we?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding enthusiastically. “But, does that mean I can listen to your songs, Mister Min ‘I’m-a-superstar-singer-in-my-spare-time’ Yoongi?”

“I’m not a superstar! I just record songs in my free time, that’s all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Says the guy who apparently raps as a hobby! Seriously, I can tell I’m gonna love it already.”

His gaze is turned upwards, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment. He looks like he wants to say something else, however, and you wait for him as he tries to gather the courage to say what else is on his mind. “S-say, I was wondering… Since I’m already here and all, do you want to maybe go out wi—”

“Yo! Hyung!”

A deep voice from across the office floor snaps the two of you out of your little bubble in an instant. It doesn’t take a genius to tell who it is, not when there’s only one person in the entire company who would dare wear a sushi-print tie to work at one of the most lucrative companies in the country.

Kim Namjoon hobbles over to your little cubicle space in all his sushi-print tie glory, knocking over a coworker’s potted plant in the process. Between you and Yoongi, you had been more surprised by Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, mostly because you’d never been particularly close with the eccentric man. Yoongi probably can’t say the same since he had briefly mentioned that he and Namjoon go way back, though you’re starting to have some doubts about that due to the dirty glare Yoongi was currently pointing at the sentient noodles-for-legs.

Namjoon waves cheerily at you before cutting to the chase as he envelops Yoongi in a not-too-gentle hug. “Hyung! I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t at your desk this morning so I was wondering where you’d wandered off, but of course I’d find you here at Y/N’s de––”

Yoongi promptly stomps on Namjoon’s feet, causing the younger to yelp out in pain. “Namjoon. I told you I’d talk to you later.” Yoongi smiles sweetly, but you can see the aura of danger radiating off of him in waves. “Emphasis on later.”

Namjoon pouts petulantly, but he doesn’t look all that offended. “I was just gonna remind you to ask Y/N if she wanted to join us for lunch la––OUCH! WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET!”

Yoongi appears unbothered, not even looking back at Namjoon’s shouts of betrayal. All the while, he still has his gaze trained on you, never wavering for one second.

“Please ignore my colleague. He can a bit… Unnecessarily loud,” Yoongi says, accompanied by Namjoon’s splutters of indignation.

“Umm?? I’m right here?? Your actual best friend?? Geez!” Namjoon huffs, looking at the both of you incredulously. You just shrug your shoulders, completely dumbfounded by the last five minutes of human interaction.

“As Namjoon was saying before we were so rudely interrupted… I was going to ask if you wanted to have lunch with me? Namjoon can join too, but only if he behaves,” Yoongi jokes, smirking at Namjoon’s ireful glares.

You giggle quietly at the unlikely pair, amused beyond belief at this new side of Yoongi that you hadn’t been aware of. So this is how he is with his friends… Cocky Yoongi is definitely someone you wouldn’t mind talking to occasionally, you admit.

“Sure, I’d love to. Just let me finish all this filing crap for Mr. Lee, then I’ll head over to your desk at around 12?” If you work at a breakneck pace, then you could probably finish sooner if you didn’t let anything else distract you. “Oh! And I should probably return your umbrella before you leave. I keep forgetting to give it back to you.”

“No worries,” Yoongi says. “You should keep the umbrella. I’ve got a spare anyway.”

Namjoon’s head whips toward Yoongi at that, staring at him skeptically. “Dude. Ain’t that your favorite Kumamon umbrella though? Didn’t you almost murder me that one time I forgot it at the McDonald’s last mo––WILL YOU STOP STEPPING ON MY FEET! I’M GONNA GET FLATFOOT SYNDROME!”

“Not my problem,” Yoongi replies, pinching Namjoon’s nose for good measure. He turns to you, waving goodbye. “See you in a few?”

You stretch your back, psyching yourself up to get back to work. “Right. I’ll text you when I’m done okay? See you at 12-ish!”

The boys make their leave, bickering all the while. You catch wind of a bit of their conversation as they turn the corner, their voices echoing down the hall.

“Hey, I noticed that you were looking Y/N in the eye when you were speaking. Why don’t you ever look me in the eye when we talk!”

Yoongi snorts, flipping him off. “It’s because you’re not as nice to look at. Simple as that.”

In your seat, you smile secretly to yourself, butterflies erupting in your chest. Filled with newly found fervor, you chip away at the pile of work on your desk until it starts to vanish from view.

Before you know it, you’re off to see Yoongi once more.

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his vulnerability quietly. It would go something like this:

x x x x x

There is a boy you know who likes to show his love quietly. It would go something like this:

Your day begins with a phone call: a warning. Your boss tells you to come into work as soon as possible, not a note of enthusiasm or friendliness in his tone. He ends the call just as abruptly as it had come, the silence following soon after deafening your ears. Your heart races marathons in your chest, and your brain goes to the worst place it can go.

Your hands are sweating gallons upon gallons as you shrug your coat on, fumbling with your keys as you struggle to place them in your pocket. For a brief moment, you think about calling Yoongi for moral support, but think better of it. You don’t want to bother anyone, especially not him.

You, the lone ranger, walk out of your apartment and into the murky urban outdoors, the first pitter-patters of rain making their descent the moment your foot meets the pavement. You don’t have quite the energy to go back inside to grab your umbrella, not when you’re unsure if you’ll be courageous enough to leave your bedroom once more if you did.

You’d always been a coward, a soft-hearted fool. Content with shouldering the consequences of your actions without another word: a sufferer in silence. For the past few weeks, you thought you might have changed. You’d been smiling a lot more, laughing a lot more. Your cheeks were often more red than any other color these days, and it was all thanks to a boy you know.

He was shy, but brave. Quiet, but talkative. Mysterious, but vulnerable.

He made you realize that there was no need to settle for one side of a coin, not when you could have both. The longer you stuck around him, the stronger your desire was to become… more.

You wanted to be open; you wanted to be known. You wanted to be able to ask for what you want, and never feel the crushing sense of guilt that usually came afterwards. You wanted to be unapologetic, wanted to keep your hands open, waiting for good things to come your way. To never cower in the face of a gift being handed to you. You wanted to have all that life has to offer––

(Him. Him. Him.)

But there is something pitiful about being unable to keep your own promises. The embarrassment of returning to the state where you once were, of turning meek at the first sign of adversity. The dreams of a happier life drifts away from you like mist under the morning sun, and the pressing weight of the world once again makes its home on your shoulders.

And so, you do not cry when your boss tells you to pack up your things within the hour.

You do not cry when you cut your finger on the corner of your desk that had never been replaced during your five-year stay at this company.

You do not cry when one of your potted plants smash to the floor when you try to carry too many things at once.

You do not cry when co-workers you’d only barely spoken to come over to your desk with showers of condolences, as if you’d already died.

You do not cry when Kim Namjoon walks over to you, quietly bending down to help you carry your boxes down to the lobby.

And when all is said and done, you most especially do not cry when Min Yoongi runs to you with his lungs burning in his chest, glasses still fogged up from the morning cold outside. His hair is in disarray and his shirt is on backwards, as if he’d jumped out of bed the moment he knew something was wrong. When he skids to a halt right in front of you, the pain etched on his face is as plain as day.

Wordlessly, he takes the last box out of your hands, placing his car keys on top when he can’t hold onto them both. His eyes flit towards your clenched fists for a second, but looks away the moment you notice. Instead, he walks out to the elevator, and you follow soon after.

You do not cry when Min Yoongi helps you load his car with your things. You do not cry when he takes a first-aid kit out of his glovebox and puts a band-aid on your finger. You do not cry when he offers to pass by the local home depot to pick up a new plant when he notices yours is gone. You do not cry when he doesn’t treat you like your life has ended.

(But you feel it. Pricking along your eyes like a dam about to break. He is doing this to you. He’s making you feel again, and it fucking hurts.)

And so, he drives you home.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Yoongi starts after a while, tapping a rhythm away on his steering wheel as he waits for the morning rush traffic to subside. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, worried when you don’t respond. You keep your head pressed against the cool car window, staring blankly at the gray skyline.

“I… I hope you don’t mind if I play you something. Just… Just listen to it, okay?”

You don’t see him, but you hear his fingers switch their tapping to his phone as he unlocks it, searching for the song he wants you to hear. It takes a moment or two for him to find it, soft curses tumbling from his lips as he goes through his Google Drive for the unfinished draft that he hadn’t meant to show you until it was complete, but well––

You were always an exception to him, weren’t you?

The first notes come creeping up from behind you, and it reminds you of the way Yoongi would speak to you. All soft whispers and gummy smiles, like he’s restraining himself. Slowly but surely, the music grows louder, more confident with its sound. You can picture Yoongi standing upright, hand outstretched towards you as he asks you to follow him.

The song is unfamiliar, but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You’re trying to go through your memories, sorting through the hundreds of songs that Yoongi has made you listen to but none of them seem to ring a bell. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d heard this before when the lyrics finally start.

“Lost in the sea of my regrets, you became my polaris.”

Yoongi’s voice comes from the radio speaker, jolting you from your seat. Your spine straightens, and you stare bullets at Yoongi’s phone as the song continues to play. When you look towards him, Yoongi’s face is a statue; the only thing giving away the fact that he was with you at all was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“The shadows, which had been my haven, no longer feel as good as they once did. You, my light, have changed all of that.”

You gasp, and Yoongi’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. It seems like the two of you stop moving at that moment, neither of you daring to breathe. Even the outside traffic sounds muted compared to the sound of your hearts hammering inside your chests.

“I’ve long since forgotten to pray, but I will remember for you. I only dream of happiness for you, my morning light, my northern star. And I’d give it all up for you.”

Yoongi notices your tears fall before you even do; he’s quick to fluster, scrambling through his car side door for a tissue to hand to you, but he stops the moment he feels your hand fist the elbow of his sleeve. He turns to look at you, all blotchy and tear-stained, but beautiful all the same. And even through your tears, you smile just as radiantly as when he had first seen you.

“Thank you,” you mouth, fingers trembling as you fight to keep more tears from falling, but nothing can stop a dam from breaking. Not when you’re sitting beside the hurricane who broke it in the first place; it was the boy with feelings that never did quite fit in his body the way other people’s did.

Luckily, they fit right in with you.

When the song comes to the end, you’re sniffling up a storm, but you still haven’t let go of him. When you’re only a few minutes away from your apartment, Yoongi parks a little bit far off from your doorstep, so you have to walk the rest of the way home. But you’re still unwilling to let go, not yet.

Gently, Yoongi pries your hand away from his sleeve and you’re about to protest, but the words die on your lips the moment they form when Yoongi rubs his hands along the side of his slacks before placing them in yours. His hands are still cold, but comforting all the same.

“Let me walk you home?” he whispers.

You nod. Of course, you want to say. But he knows what you mean, anyway.

When he goes to unpack your things from the trunk, you shake your head, stopping him from moving any further. “I… I don’t feel like sorting through those things right now. Is it fine with you if I just… Go home for now? Please?” Your brain feels like lead in your skull after all the bottled up tears had finally escaped from years of constant pressure, and you don’t think you’re quite ready to go through all those emotions again. You feel deflated, but better. He always makes you feel better.

Yoongi closes the trunk, locking his car before stretching out his hands for you. You stare at the proffered hand for a moment.

“Oh, right.” Yoongi goes to rub his hands to warm them, but you stop him once more in his ministrations. He looks at you, confused, as you grab his hand from him. You rub circles into his palm, staring at the ground in embarrassment.

“You’re always warming your hands for me… So this time, I’ll warm them for you, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in response to that. Instead, he tugs you along towards the sidewalk and keeps you close to him. As he walks with you, you notice the way he leans slightly to the left, like he’s drawn to you––like he can’t help be more than an inch further from you.

You keep glancing back down at your linked hands; he’s shaking, but then again, that could also be you.

You arrive at the gate of your apartment quicker than you would have liked. Neither of you move to separate; when you look back at Yoongi, you see that his eyes are trained on you. He doesn’t even flinch away like he used to. His lips are pursed, like he wants to say something but he’s still too afraid to.

So you say it for him instead.

“Do you have… somewhere to be?” Unlike you, he still has a job. He still has commitments. He still has a life outside of you. You’re hit with fear, once again, at the sudden change in your circumstances.

You might never get to see him again. Is this where your paths cross, never to intersect again? Your stomach drops at the thought, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“No, I don’t. I could…” Yoongi trails off, glancing at your apartment with soft hesitance. “If… If you want me to…”

Yes. Please. I’d love it. I love yo–– ”Yes. Stay with me?” you mumble.

“Always,” he promises.

The pair of you trudge up to your apartment, passing by the prying eyes of housewives with your heads bowed in embarrassment. They don’t miss your pinkies linked behind your backs, nor the subtle blushes on the apples of your cheeks. Thankfully, they don’t comment when Yoongi enters your apartment after you, but they do giggle when his coat gets caught on the door handle in his rush.

When the two of you are finally alone, the air isn’t as awkward as you had feared. You work like two cogs in a machine; he readies your TV and scrolls through your Netflix for a movie, while you go to your kitchen and have a small mental breakdown (while also microwaving some popcorn). Soon, the two of you are snuggled into your small couch, elbows barely brushing against each other.

You’re only half paying attention to the generic action movie that Yoongi had put on; you were still deep in your thoughts. You’re picking away at your hangnail, worrying your lip as you try to enjoy what might be the last time you’ll ever get to hang out with Yoongi again. You’re so deep in your musings that you don’t immediately feel when Yoongi wraps his arms around your shoulder, nestling your head into his chest.

“W… What?” You crane your head and stare at Yoongi in shock, but he’s already returned his attention back to the movie. His cheeks are burning.

You’re still stiff with tension despite his comforting caresses against your hair, so he changes tactics and brings your hand up to his.

You think he’s just going to hold your hand, but he keeps bringing your hand up until it gently caresses his face. Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s doing, he curls your fingers until only your pointer is left unfurled, and casually uses it to poke himself in the cheek.

He leaves it there for a second or two, and when you finally turn to face him, he’s smiling so sweetly at you that you almost feel compelled to cry again. His eyes and nose are all scrunched up, rose petal gums on full display. Your finger is still pressed gently into his soft cheeks.

“You said you liked to dream about poking my bread cheeks. Well, here’s your chance,” he says, like it’s nothing at all. As if what he has done was as simple as breathing.

Yoongi’s smile brightens when he feels your form relax against him, giggling softly when you go to pinch his cheek for good measure.

“Bread cheekies,” you say, like you’re in a trance.

Yoongi nods. “Bread cheekies,” he repeats. “And it’s all yours.”

There’s a promise in there, you know. Somehow, he had sensed your worry and had thought of the perfect way to calm you. Like always, he never has to say it. He’s never needed words, anyway.

The two of you stay like that for hours. The sun sets as surely as the moon rises, and Min Yoongi stays with you through the night. When your mind drifts off and only your steady breathing fills the room, Min Yoongi brushes a small kiss against your forehead.

“Dream of happiness, my love,” he whispers into your skin, just when he thinks you’re asleep, “I’ll dream of you, too.”

It’s a promise that he keeps.

There is a boy you know who never learned how to say he loves you, but it never mattered all that much to you––not when he’s willing to show you over and over again. It goes something like this––

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moonbeamwritings · 3 years

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“i’ve never seen you in a sweatshirt before”

Summary: Bruno is the epitome of elegance and grace. Always dressed to the nines, hair always perfectly styled. One night, while you’re thinking about just how bad you have it for him, you see him in a sweatshirt for the very first time.

Author’s Note: This is entirely self-indulgent! I just think it’s cute to think about Bruno and company in comfy clothes for once. Enjoy!

Bruno Bucciarati was a man of elegance, grace, and calculated intelligence. You often envied his capacity for compassion, well, as much as one could offer as a mafioso. He was sweet, criminal activity be damned.

You were drawn to him as soon as you first met him. Kind, understanding, and welcoming all when you needed it the most. You were down on your luck back then, coaxed into a criminal lifestyle with the promise of a famiglia, of something to call your own.

It was strange, really, to reflect on your experiences with your friends. You’d complied with Polpo’s orders, betrayed the boss, and fell into stride with Giorno’s new leadership in an eight day whirlwind of anxiety and enemies. Months later, it seemed that everything had slipped into some semblance of normalcy.

You were resting in bed, your window thrown open to allow the cool, Italian breeze to drift through your curtains. You felt like you hadn’t seen Bruno in weeks, him being so wrapped up in working alongside Giorno that you’d barely been able to even speak to him. The thought made you frown. Against your better judgment, you harbored much more than friendship in your heart for the black-haired mafioso, all the while knowing that he’d never view you in the same way. You shifted your gaze to the ceiling, falling back against your bed as your book laid forgotten in your lap.

He was just so handsome, not to mention calming to be around. Could you really be blamed for missing him? For developing feelings for him? You thought not.

Groaning, you tried to get your mind away from him, to put your brain to use for something other than picturing his laugh or the way he smiled.

“It’s hopeless,” you spoke aloud, “I’m doomed.”

Losing yourself in your thoughts as you traced invisible patterns on your ceiling, you started to drift to sleep.

CRASH!

You shot awake, shifting over to glance at your clock.

For the love of God.

3:00 AM.

With a groan, you opted to at least go down and take a look. If it was one of the guys, then no harm done and you could go back to sleep. If it was someone else… Well, you’d cross that bridge when you got there.

On your way down, another noise sounded from the kitchen followed by frantic shushing, emphasized by the silence that the night brought to the house.

Rounding the corner, you rolled your eyes as they landed on Mista, hunched in front of the fridge like a little rat. To make the situation all the more ridiculous, you caught Narancia scurrying over to fling the pantry door open as well.

“Uhhh, hey guys,” you greeted, leaning against the doorway.

The pair looked over at you as if you’d just caught a couple of raccoons in your garbage can.

“I told you we’d wake someone up, you dipshit,” Narancia hissed at him, reaching over to try and smack at Mista’s shoulder.

Mista reacted almost immediately, scowl highlighted by the soft light of the fridge, “Shut up! You were the one dropping shit.”

“What are you doing up anyway?” You asked, moving to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“Playing video games.”

The reply was brief and in unison as the boys dug around for the food they wanted.

You let out a noise of vague approval, nodding your head despite knowing neither of them were looking at you. The room fell into relative silence, marked by the sounds of bags and containers being moved around. Before long, another set of soft footsteps came from the hallway.

“No,” Narancia whined, “if that’s Fugo, I’m dead.”

“What’s with all the noise?”

The light was flicked on.

It was most certainly not Fugo.

Bruno loomed in the doorway, face slightly rosy and decorated with faint lines. From his pillow, you thought. His usually immaculately styled hair was ruffled, gold clips nowhere to be seen. What struck you, though, was his sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt was light grey, a little too big to the point that the sleeves hung loosely over his hands, and it looked soft to boot. Wow, you thought, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

In the entire time that you’d known him, you’d never seen Bruno in anything other than his favorite white suit. A combination of him having a habit of working late most nights and you disappearing into your room to unwind before bed. Now, to see him with that sleepy look on his face in one of the comfiest sweatshirts you’d ever laid eyes on? God help you. You fell deeper in love, if that was even possible.

“Mista and I were hungry,” Narancia spoke up first.

“They woke me up.”

You were surprised you could even speak. Your face suddenly felt far too hot and you had to force yourself to peel your eyes away from Bruno’s form.

His eyes shifted away from Mista and Narancia to smile softly at you, “Ah, I see. Well, please keep it down. You two are lucky it was just us.”

He let out a chuckle as he gestured between you and himself, clearly thinking about how much worse the situation would have been had Abbacchio or Fugo stormed down the stairs and started raging in the kitchen.

Mista let out a loud breath, “You’re telling us. Sorry, Bucciarati.”

With a shake of his head, Bruno held up a hand, waving off the situation altogether, “No need, just try to be quiet.”

His eyes moved over to you, “Heading back upstairs?”

You had to blink a few times before you could muster a quiet, “Oh uh yeah,” in response.

He waited for you to push the chair back in and make your way over to him before turning to climb the stairs, bidding the two rats in the kitchen a quiet goodnight. You said the same as you followed behind him.

Your words got caught in your throat as you stopped in front of your own bedroom door, eyes following Bruno as he continued down the hallway.

He looked back at you, shooting you a look of utter displeasure, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To bed?”

“Come sit up with me, if you’re not too tired,” he offered, holding an arm out with a flourish as he opened his bedroom door.

How could you say no to that?

You padded down the hall, entering Bruno’s bedroom and standing to one side as he followed you in.

“You can sit, you know. I don’t bite.”

You reluctantly plopped yourself down, teetering dangerously close to the side of his bed to make sure you kept your distance.

“Come here. What did I just say?”

His voice was all teasing, words marked by a low chuckle as he furiously patted the spot right next to him. You end up sitting shoulder to shoulder against the headboard, so close that all you could focus on was him.

You had it bad.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while. I’m sorry I’ve been busy,” He started, leaning his head back against the wall.

You found yourself smiling before you could stop it, easily slipping into conversation with him despite your nerves, “It’s alright. I get it.”

“Mm, but still.”

There’s something he’s not saying, a dual meaning hanging in the air. For fear of getting your hopes up, you desperately tried to explain it away as you played with your fingers.

“Don’t apologize.”

He began to ask about what you’d been up to in his absence, eager to listen to you regardless of the sleep he’d lose in doing so. You indulged him, as you always did, telling him about the new book you’d been reading and the day out you’d had with Trish a few days earlier.

“I missed you, though.” You offered in conclusion, wrapping up your little report with a small smile.

“Really?” He asked, looking over at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Heh, yeah. I know, it’s kinda dumb.”

“No no,” he was quick to say, “I missed you too.”

You nodded as the room fell into a weird silence. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was nowhere near comfortable either.

“I’ve never seen you in a sweatshirt before.” You decided to say, eager to dispel the strange energy in the room.

“Really?” Came his immediate, incredulous answer.

“Yeah,” you stressed, letting out a playful giggle at his tone of voice, “Never.”

“Huh. I’ve never thought of it before, but I guess you’re right. Do you like it?”

The words came out before you could stop them, “It’s kinda strange honestly… Not in a bad way! It’s cute, don’t get me wrong! I’m just not used to it!”

You snapped your mouth shut as you realized you’d really just called him cute, and to his face no less.

“Cute?” you could practically hear the smile in his voice, “I like the sound of that.”

“I didn’t mean-” You frantically attempted to save face.

Bruno’s laugh interrupted you, effectively shutting you up, “Hey, it’s alright. Thank you.”

You glanced over at him to find him already looking at you, a stupid smile on his face.

“Don’t-” you sighed, embarrassment heating up your face, “Don’t look at me like that.”

His smile only seemed to widen, making your heart thump erratically in your chest, “And you’re calling me cute? You really are something else.”

“What are you-”

He reached up, taking your face in his hands, the softest look you’d ever seen gracing his features, “I think you know what I mean tesoro, you must.”

He sounded desperate, eyes glistening in the moonlight.

You would willingly drown in his eyes from this distance, feeling like a sailor adrift at sea falling prey to an alluring siren song, gripping your very soul to pull you in closer.

He kissed you before your mind could even catch up, completely hypnotizing you with the softness of his lips, the warmth of his hands. You lifted a hand to his chest, fisting at his sweatshirt to drag him even further toward you.

You both pulled away, breathless and warm, refusing to let go of one another. He nuzzled his nose against yours, so close that you could feel his smile, “I love you.”

You’re still breathless, your hand on his sweatshirt and his breath on your face the only things keeping you grounded, “I love you too, Bruno.”

He kissed you again, short and sweet. A simple peck before pulling away to rest his forehead against yours, face still gently held in his hands.

#bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno buccellati imagine #bruno bucciarati imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years

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If Glee did a Taylor Swift Tribute Episode...

Just my opinions, feel free to add on to them. I know I have some fellow gleek swifties following me. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Obviously they have to do some of the hits but I think some people would have some out of the box picks.

*This post assumes all Taylor songs are available to choose from as of May 14th 2021 but focuses on Taylor’s first 6 albums (if you want more glee and Taylor I have fics with that; LOVER and FOLKLORE) and takes liberties with where this episode’s placement is in terms of canon. But since it’s all made up anyway who cares (but Blaine’s involved so I guess season 3 idk).*

Okay, trying to do a full plot here (completely inspired by @kurtdeservesbetter head canon posts. I hope this lives up to her fabulous posts). This will be my version of glee so everyone gets solos and Rachel can’t hog the spotlight. Also, this is about to be super long (both post wise and episode wise).

Let’s open the first episode with

...Ready For It because the New Directions are in their reputation era. Santana does the opening cough centerstage. Everyone in black and/or camo green outfits (can you just see Kurt in a dark green bedazzled snake jacket, Santana in a black leather dress, and Tina digging out some goth clothes for people to borrow?), snakes everywhere, but probably no Karyn (she just wouldn’t fit on the auditorium stage). Santana takes the first verse but we have Blaine step up for verse 2. (I just love their friendship in the Michael tribute, cute little badasses are BACK. Also him singing “Burton to this Taylor” is such a Klaine thing to do).

Everyone is still dressed in their rep outfits but we’re in the choir room now. Mr. Schue is talking about why Taylor had to disappear and clap back with rep, how rough the industry is for women and tries to uplift the ladies in the room and encourage them to not silence their voices (cue snarky comment from Santana about Rachel needing to be silent).

Then, Mr. Schue goes on about how you can only understand how Taylor got to her rep era by studying her earlier music. So we have a performance of Tim McGraw. Simple, front of the choir room performance, maybe Puck does guitar, and sitting on stools.

Everyone is surprised to find out how pumped Sam is for this assignment but he is all over it. “It's about time we did some country in this room.” Cue Sam and Quinn at her locker talking about their ‘date’ last night, Sam’s all cute and teasing and Quinn is not into it. She tells him it was fun but she was wrong, they shouldn’t do this again. In turn, he does a wonderful performance of Bye Bye Baby. He thought it was more but clearly he’s “a part of her past.”

Then, we’re in the empty choir room. Tina and Mike are there. (I love their cutesy duets) They sing Everything Has Changed and it’s utterly adorable. Can’t you hear Mike asking Tina if she’s “good to go” like Ed does? And while we’re on the subject of cute duets and RED, we flash to the courtyard to see Santana and Brittany. They turn Stay Stay Stay into a duet. “I’ve been loving you for quite some time,” “before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all their problems out on me,” “no one else is gonna love me when I’m mad, mad, mad,” and “it’s occurring to me that I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life” it’s perfect for them. Adorable ladies kisses are had.

Let’s toss in some boy drama for fun. Idk shit about football but somehow Puck is praised by their coach over Finn, which gets him all pissy, and Puck’s upset and jealous because Finn is back with Quinn now (this is why Quinn shut Sam now earlier, she changed her mind). Can we say duet of Bad Blood? “So if you’re coming my way...just don’t.”

After their dramatics, we have a Brittany solo in the choir room. It’s after school at this point (or whenever glee club is). Brittany does You’ll Always Find You Way Back Home.

When she finishes Mr. Schue tries to explain that it’s a Hannah Montana song. Britt injects that it’s confusing how she’s really Miley Cryus “like how can you be two people at once?”. Before Mr. Schue can continue, Kurt pipes up “you never specified that the songs had to be sung by Taylor Swift, just that they were her songs.” Mercedes adds, “yeah, Mr. Schue, Taylor wrote that song.” Mr. Schue concedes that he has once again been outwitted by Kurtcedes. The friends do their little hand shake thing.

With a sigh, Mr. Schue asks Mike if he’s ready to go and Mike asks to take things to the auditorium for some dancing room. Everyone’s on stage with him and it’s kind of a group number but Mike is the focus. It’s Shake It Off. All inspired by the music video. He’s tried to fit in elsewhere (i.e. football, with the smart kids, etc..) but he’s really himself in glee when he’s dancing.

Part 2 of Taylor Tribute Episodes

We begin with an ALL GIRL NUMBER of A Place In This World. Just because.

Glee is dismissed and we zoom in on Artie. He’s watching Tina with Mike and Brittany with Santana. Both Tina and Britt have broken his heart by this point. So, he’s rolling down the halls singing A Perfectly Good Heart. While Artie’s soloing, we cut to Rachel watching Finn and Quinn chatting. Artie’s song playing over this scene. Rachel is feeling similar to him at the moment.

She’s pretty sure Finn dumped her to be with Quinn again even though Kurt and Blaine told her they saw Quinn and Sam at the movies last night together making out in the back row. Fine, if that’s how he’s going to be, she doesn’t need him anyway. Cue Mr. Perfectly Fine. Uber dramatic solo performance walking around McKinley’s halls watching Finn and Quinn together ending in the auditorium alone. (see what I did there, both broken hearted peeps singing a song with Perfectly in it (this was not at all planned, actually, happy accident))

After some good old heartbreak, we have Kurt and Blaine on screen. Blaine walks into the auditorium to see Kurt sitting on the edge of the stage. “What’s all the fuss?” he asks from the door. Kurt had texted him “EMERGENCY.” The band starts to play and Kurt just starts singing, Enchanted. It’s time to profess their love for each other, just like they sing Perfect together in the car, this duet needs no audience. Blaine catches up and sings while walking towards his boyfriend. It’s very reminiscent of past New Directions competitions where they come in from the back and make their way to the stage. “Wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you?” Kurt and Blaine both know the answer to that question now but just a few months ago they were both wondering that exact thing.

They kiss before we cut to Kurt and Blaine walking hand in hand into the choir room where everyone else is already. Mr. Schue is praising the performances thus far and of course asks Rachel if she’s ready to solo (some practice for her completion solo). This causes an uproar from Mercedes and Santana. Another classic argument of how she gets too many solos. Mr. Schue tries to shut them both down but Santana tells Rachel to watch her back, and we get three very different reactions to this.

All three girls storm out.

First, we visit Mercedes alone in the courtyard. This solo is all about being hurt over this great thing in her life (glee) and her being denied happiness within that club. Thus, Cold As You. (mostly to indulge myself because she’d blow us away with this song).

Next, Rachel in the auditorium. A huge bridge on stage (very Speak Now Tour of her), belting out Better Than Revenge. Santana’s dropped the last straw (the humiliation, name calling, Finn at one point and now solos,) it’s too much this time.

And finally, Santana walking around McKinley, showing us flashes of Rachel ‘outshining’ her and the rest of glee and Mr. Schue being unfair, while singing Look What You Made Me Do.

Tina walks out at the same time as Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana but no one seems to put two and two together. She feels just as underutilized as the latter two do. She ends up in an empty classroom and sings The Outside. “Nobody ever lets me in” and “on the outside looking in.”

Once the 3, err 4, divas have left the room, Finn sticks up for Rachel. Quinn, of course, has something to say about this along the lines of “you always defend her.” Finn, intimated by her ‘scary Quinn’ fumbles and blurts “because she’s my girlfriend” WHICH IS NOT TRUE AT THIS POINT. Quinn dumps him on the spot, cuts quickly to Blaine and Kurt sharing some ‘oh my god, can you believe this’ expressions, and vanishes from the room.

By this point, Rachel is long gone from the auditorium but the bridge is still there.

Here’s where we go way off script but imagine, Quinn has decided to just quit boys. They’ve all failed her anyway, she’s better off being alone. She walks up the bridge and thinks to herself “god Rachel’s so dramatic, where did this thing even come from” before it hits her “fuck, I’m as bad as Finn. I want her.” Then, she starts singing Clean to herself in the auditorium, likely tearing up throughout and ending with a good cry. (Because Dianna would DELIVER with Clean.)

While Quinn is having a sexuality crisis, the rest of glee is still happening. They’re discussing upcoming competition and debating solos and songs.

Kurt’s all: “Mr. Schue, if I may” and performs a lovely rendition of Call It What You Want. Those opening lines are too good. “My castle (ie McKinley) crumbled overnight, brought a knife to a gun fight (ie couldn’t fight off Dave Karofsky), “I’m doing better than I ever was ‘cause my baby’s fit like a daydream,” and “at least I did one thing right.” When he’s done, Blaine’s a mess in the back of the choir room, and Mr. Schue says: “not really what we’re looking for but very nice, Kurt” however, Kurt’s too busy sitting beside Blaine teasing him about blushing.

Then, the missing girls return to the room having sung out their emotions. Quinn, having realized her feelings for Rachel, ends up soloing You Belong With Me to the New Directions in the choir room. Odd looks all around, no one knows what’s up with her and why does she keep glancing at Rachel? (Faberry just fit so well I had to add it, don’t know if I’m a shipper or not but it’s here now) (also thanks to @spicygemini for pointing out the obvious “Quinn would have ate YBWY”).

Mr. Schue wants to move the group to the audition to perform their final number of the Taylor Swift tribute well but Tina asks to sing first. He’s surprised but allows it, taking a seat with the rest of the New Directions.

Tina sings Beautiful Ghosts. “Watch from the dark, wait for my life to start” because New Directions is refusing to use her talents AGAIN. She’s singing this to Rachel and the girls who were in the Treble Tones. Because she absolutely SMASHES this number, the glee kids agree she gets solo for their next competition (and they deliver on that promise).

To conclude Part 2 of the Taylor tribute episode, we have a group performance of Long Live. “One day we will be remembered”, “all the years we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now”, “for a moment a band of thrives in ripped up jeans got to rule the world” ie wining completions, “when they look at the pictures please tell them my name...”

#this took so long please enjoy it #Taylor tribute glee episode #glee head canon #gleek swifie #glee #taylor swift

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

Die For You | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ tom’s got a secret: you want to know what it is, he’s desperate to keep you in the dark. unfortunately for him, secrets have the habit of coming to light eventually - sometimes in the worst way possible. word count ↠ 7.6k warnings ↠ a slightly steamy kiss, mob themes including: kidnapping, knife violence, depictions of injury (nothing horrendous tho -- I am a wimp), blood, cursing. a/n ↠ do not fear, no one actually dies in this! title is for dramatic effect. if I’m being honest, this entire fic was just...so unbelievably self-indulgent I can’t believe I allowed myself to write it. I shoved all my favourite parts of the mob au into it and loved every single second. it’s crazy and intense but I hope that you like it! I’m aware I promised smut and I’ve not really been delivering, but I’m intending to make up for that by making the next few mob fics smutshots... you’ve been warned. ***this is part of my mob!Tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense. if you have any concepts or ideas for mob!Tom that you’d like me to write about in the future, please let me know! :)

[masterlist]

Tom’s lips are soft and chapped, and they move against yours like your mouths were designed to be together.

He’s got a hand in your hair, the other perched on your hip, and you feel him everywhere as he presses his mouth to yours, over and over. Your fingers fist at his warm, brown curls as you urge him closer, moaning softly into his mouth as his teeth drag across your lower lip, keeping you nice and open for him. The scent of his rich, musky cologne sets your mind spinning, and all you can really bare to think about is him. Tom with his hands pulling perfectly at your hair, Tom with his fingers wandering up and down your sides, Tom with his bulge pressing against your crotch. Everything about him is utterly overwhelming in just the right way, and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck, m’love, you’re so pretty like this.” His voice is low and husky as he speaks against your lips. “So perfect, making all those lovely noises.” His fingers shift over your side, tentatively beginning to skim lower and lower. When he reaches your core, he slips his hand between your leg and cups your heat with his firm touch. You whine softly and buck your hips down to feel him. “Mm, pretty girl, I think-”

Ring. Ring.

You jump at the sudden sound of Tom’s ringtone as it breaks across the room, shaking you from the moment. It feels like you’ve just been hit in the face with a bucket of icy water as Tom’s hand disappears from between your legs and finds his back pocket instead. You watch as his eyebrows furrow into an expression of irritation and he declines the call immediately.

“Sorry, love,” Tom says, a little sheepish. His thin pink lips curve back into a smirk as he moves to straddle you again, only for you to press a hand to his chest, halting him.

“Who was that?” You ask, your mind now clear of the lust that had been hanging over it like fog.

Tom grimaces. “No one,” he says, voice a little clipped. He bites at his lower lip. “Now, why don’t we-”

His phone rings again, and you sigh loudly as you shift on the bed. This always happens.

In the two months you’ve known Tom, something always seems to disrupt the mood: like the time you’d spent all evening cooking for him, just for him to walk out after a measly twenty minutes due to a ‘work commitment’, or a time just like this when things had been getting heated on your sofa up until the moment Tom’s phone had buzzed and he’d practically sprinted from your flat. To say it’s annoying would be an understatement: it’s utterly infuriating.

“Do you need to go?” You ask him flatly. You can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into your words as you stare up at your bedroom ceiling, a pout curling across your disgruntled lips.

Tom takes a few moments to reply, his eyes still flitting across the screen of his phone. “No,” he says absently. “Just an issue with some, uh, contracts. It’s fine.” He reaches down to take your hand, but you pull your fingers away from him and cross your arms over your chest instead. “Love?”

You continue to stare at the ceiling. “Why won’t you tell me what your job is?” You ask, voice echoing the words you’ve been asking him for weeks.

Tom’s groan is full of frustration, and the tone makes you bristle. “Darling, we’ve talked about this before-”

“No, we haven’t.” You sit up to face him, pulling your knees to your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. The bed creaks as Tom turns to meet your gaze, and you feel yourself soften as you look at the face of the man you’ve grown so fond of. “Your idea of ‘talking’ seems to be one-sided, and involves you withholding all information. That’s not usually how a discussion works, Tom.” You sigh sadly, resting your chin on your knees as you stare at him helplessly. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you don’t trust me.”

The irritation in his eyes softens down, and Tom reaches out to settle a hand on your cheek. He tugs at his lower lip with his teeth as he looks at you, gentle fingertips padding over your cheekbone. “I trust you, love,” he assures you slowly. “There are just some things that you’re better off not knowing.”

“But why do you get to be the judge of that?” You shift and his hand falls away from your face. “It’s getting difficult to keep doing this with you, Tom,” you find yourself muttering.

“What do you mean?”

You decide to stand up. Pacing is the only way to alleviate some of the nervous energy rattling against your ribcage. “My friends ask me what you look like, and I’ve got no photos to show them. You don’t have social media, you don’t let me take photos of you… Shit, Tom, I don’t even know your last name!” Your voice picks up and you turn to look at him to see he’s also standing up now, his face a shade darker. “Why the fuck won’t you tell me your last name?”

“I’ve already told you, Y/N, I can’t tell you.” Tom’s brown eyes glint as his mouth curves around your name disdainfully. “Why can’t you just accept that?”

You fall to a stop in front of him. Swallowing nervously as you meet his eyes, you find that the stare you share is so different to how it usually is. Gone is the affection he normally looks at you with, replaced by something a lot more bitter. It makes you feel cold.

“It’s not easy to date a ghost, Tom,” you say. “Am I so wrong for wanting to know who I’m getting into bed with?” He opens his mouth to speak, but you grab his hands and continue to talk. “I know that you have a gun. I’ve seen it. And I don’t care. I can handle the truth, just tell me what it is. Tell me who you are.”

It’s all the dodged questions, and the shady behaviour. The rolls of cash he has stuffed in his pocket and the collection of knuckledusters that lie in his briefcase. His reluctance to share himself with you has finally worn you down, because you’ve told him everything there is to know about you, yet he hasn’t even shared his surname. It’s unbalanced and unfair, and it seems it’s all about to come crashing down.

When Tom stays quiet, you let his hands fall away from yours again. Your fingers clench into fists as you stare at his face, his beautiful features tainted with guilt.

“Is this… Is this relationship even real?” You ask, speaking the thoughts you’ve been trying to dissuade for weeks. “Do you actually even care about me? Am I- Am I just a side piece?” Your mouth falls open as a horrifying image fills your mind. “Are you married? Is that why you won’t tell me anything-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, shut up!” He snaps. Tom runs his hands through his hair, the face of his watch catching the light as he stares at you so angrily it makes your chest heave. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A horrible silence falls between you. Neither of you dare to speak, and you find your nails digging painfully into the palms of your hands as you try to keep your cool. You don’t know if you want to yell or cry, but you do know that you’ve never seen him quite like this: nostrils flared, eyes narrowed and focused, mouth twisted into a deep, guttural frown. He looks so different to Tom - soft, charming, caring, Tom - that it makes your stomach turn.

“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?” You ask finally, your voice quiet. You let your hands drop to your side as you finally meet his eyes. The way his gaze shifts away guiltily tells you all you need to know. “Then you should leave.”

“Y/N, love, I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not.” You sigh. “If you were sorry, you’d tell me the truth. But we both know you never will, so we’re only kidding ourselves. What’s the point in having the same conversation over and over again? This isn’t fair.” You give him a pained smile. “I think you should leave.”

Tom looks like he wants to argue with you. His mouth keeps opening and closing, the veins in his neck standing out angrily against his skin. A hot flush lines his cheeks, and you think he’s going to continue to yell at you, but he just turns, picks up his phone, and then backs away towards the door. Your heart falls in your chest, and you find yourself wishing he’d fight back.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I really am sorry.” He pauses by the doorframe, his eyes pained and his posture drawn in. “Will I ever see you again?”

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, mind spinning blearily. He looks like himself again, his brown hair soft and messy over his forehead, and his eyes watching you with adoration spread across his brown irises. You want nothing more than to give in and run into his embrace, but you know you can’t. So instead, you cross your arms over your chest and say bravely, “Only if you decide to tell me the truth.”

Tom’s sad smile makes your heart splinter.

“Bye, love.”

And then he slips from your room, and you’re left standing, frozen, until you hear the front door slam shut. The loud, clattering bang makes you gasp, and with an inhalation of air, you feel your mind catch up. Tears prick at your eyes as you fall back onto your bed, burying your face in a pillow that smells a little too much like him, and you hold it close as if it's the only thing keeping you afloat.

[-----]

It’s hard to accept that it’s over, even as the truth glares obviously at you.

You spend the evening curled up in bed, trying not to cry as your mind tortures you with a highlight reel of your relationship with Tom - if you could even call it a relationship. Things between you were never official, yet another reason you’d had to doubt him. Every time you’d suggested that you could take things a step further, he’d always changed the subject, or muttered something about labels being obsolete. He was always doing that - qualming your concerns with short words, or kisses. It seemed Tom would rather ignore problems than acknowledge their existence, and that was infuriating.

But fuck. For all the bad parts, there’d been a thousand good. You stayed awake thinking about the time he’d turned up unannounced with a bouquet of roses and a lazy smile on his face, and another time, a few weeks ago, when he’d procured a new set of acrylic paints for you to mess around with and you’d spent a peaceful morning together as you captured him on canvas. His jokes and sarcastic remarks spin around your brain like a laugh track, following you into your dreams when you finally manage to sleep.

It’s hard. You call off sick to work for the week, and it’s only after a few days that you feel strong enough to properly get up. You’ve had breakups before, but nothing’s hurt like this. Nothing drives the dagger into your heart and slowly slits away at your valves like knowing Tom doesn’t trust you.

After four days of moping, you force yourself out of bed. Your shower spits scalding water all along your body, but it washes away all traces of him, and you feel better as you pull on your messy painting dungarees. You wrap your painting apron around your front and walk out into your living room, your eyes falling to the canvas that sits in between your sofa and the tv. It’s the rough outline you’d made of Tom, and the sight drives a hard wedge into your chest, so you decide to make a few alterations to it.

With a loose grin on your face, you pick up your paints and your palette and begin to mix together a few of the shades. You work until you get a deep, rich red, and dab your paintbrush through it, coating the tip. You bring your hand in the air, but you waver as you go to draw some devil horns above his head.

Before you can decide if your heartbreak is poignant enough to warrant destroying your canvas, you hear a loud knock at your door. With a sigh, you put your palette down and slip your palette knife into the side pocket of your dirty overalls, not really caring that you smear paint all along them.

Not thinking to check the peephole, you wrench your front door open with a frown, fully expecting to see one of your friends there.

Shock shoots through you as you make eye contact with a man wearing a balaclava, and it twists into paralysing fear as you feel someone pin your arms to your back. Before you can scream, the man in front of you presses a wet cloth to your mouth. You try to fight it, but you gasp for air, and as you inhale the strong chemicals, your eyes droop shut and your mind turns black.

[-----]

Your head throbs, and the pain is so pronounced that it makes you groan, only for the sound to come out muffled. Confused, you slowly blink your eyes open, only to find yourself squinting as the room blearily comes into focus. You feel lost for a few moments, completely relaxed until you remember with horror the events from before. You try to jump up from the chair you’re in, but you feel your arms and legs bound down tightly, and the struggle makes the coarse ropes burn against your skin.

Fuck.

“Ahh, sleeping beauty wakes.” You snap your head around, eyes falling to a few figures who stand together by the door. The room you’re in seems to be a bedroom. The curtains are shut so you’ve no idea what time it is, but the rumbling in your stomach suggests you’ve been out for at least a few hours, and that thought is terrifying. You find yourself shaking as a man walks to you, his green eyes cruel and piercing. He’s in a crisp whit shirt, golden dice cufflinks hanging off the cuffs. “We’re going to have a bit of a discussion with you, Y/N.”

You gulp, your throat dry and aching. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

As you wait on an answer, you become very aware of the pounding in your head. Specifically, a throbbing on the left side of your head, near your temple. Your skin feels cooler and heavier, and you wonder if it hurts so much because you’ve been hit by something sharp.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the man says. He drags a chair in front of you and sits in it backwards, his arms curling around the back of it as he stares at you. His teeth are chipped and grimy, and he’s got his hair buzzed back. The scariest part of him has to be the way he’s eyeing you like he hates you. “Answer my questions and nothing bad will happen to you. If not, I’ll make you talk. Wouldn’t want another punch to the face, would you, pet?”

Your lips curl into a disgusted frown as you stare at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You squirm in the chair, pulling helplessly at your bonds. “Let me go, dickhead.”

He just laughs at you, and the sound makes you feel enraged, but you try to stay calm. You count another four men standing off in the side of the room, and you know you’re helpless at the moment. What is it they say..? Cooperate with your captors until you earn their trust? You’re not sure, but you know you can’t fight back properly. Not yet.

“We’ve spotted you with one of our associates,” the man tells you. “Tom Holland.”

Tom Holland. You almost want to laugh. Of course this is how you learn Tom’s surname.

“I… Know him,” you say, seeing no point in lying.

“Where is he keeping his latest shipment?”

Your eyebrows pull together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, love. You know something.” The man reaches out and presses his hand over the wound on the side of your head, and you gasp as pain prickles across your forehead. “Tell me.”

“I promise you, I don’t know anything about a shipment,” you stammer out, blinking quickly. “I don’t even know what he does!”

The man looks back and exchanges a stare with one of his goonies. “What’s the nature of your relationship with him?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat and take a deep breath. “We, uh, we just slept together,” you lie. “I was only with him for a night.” You hope with every part of you that they’ve only spotted you together once. “I don’t know anything about him, I swear.”

The man laughs coldly. “Bad choice of one night stand, girl,” he tells you. He stands from the chair and paces in front of you, cracking his knuckles. “Would you say that he’s fond of you?”

You gape, mind spinning as you try to think up an angle. “Uh, n-no,” you say, “He probably doesn’t even remember who I am. So… So, you should just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone what’s happened. I swear.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not letting you go,” he says, the words like a punch to your gut. “We’ve seen him leave your place on several occasions. If you aren’t in business with him, you’re shagging him, which means you’re important to him. So…” He runs a finger over your face, and you try to bite him, but he dodges and chuckles. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to be a very useful asset.”

“What are you even talking about?”

The man procures a knife, and the sight of the glinting blade makes you feel nauseous. You remain absolutely still as the runs the sharp edge over the side of your cheek, nicking a shallow line across your skin. A tight gasp escapes you as you feel drops of blood drip down your face, and your eyes settle on the way the deep hued drops soak into the front of your painting apron.

“Tom’s a proud man. If he sees us roughing you up, he’ll give us what we want.” The man puts the knife away and brings up his phone. You barely register what he’s doing until the flash goes off and he’s chuckling away to himself, his expression alight with a devilish menace. “Stay here. Don’t try anything,” he warns you. “If you try to run, that will only make this a lot harder for you, love.”

You don’t say a word as he walks out of the room, taking the other men with him. The door swings shut, and you’re left alone, tied up and helpless.

You’re determined not to cry. It won’t serve you any use, and you need your eyes and mind clear if you’re going to figure out what you’re doing. Even if the plan is to somehow lure Tom to this place, how can you rely on that? What if he doesn’t turn up, and the man returns to beat you up? The thought makes you shiver.

Biting at your lower lip, you crane your neck around and try to look for anything that could aid your escape. You seem to be sitting in the centre of a bedroom, but unhelpfully, most of the surfaces are bare. The bed is stripped and some of the drawers of the dresser lay open and empty. You sit back and try to pull at your bound hands, twisting and moving desperately, but they’re stuck. As you slump forward, ready to give up, your hand brushes over the top pocket of your overalls and you gasp.

Your palette knife.

With a determined grimace on your face, you wriggle your hands down and manage to get a few fingers into your deep pocket. A triumphant smirk finds your mouth as you feel the knife and carefully manoeuvre it into your hands. The blunt blade glints as you see it, and you quickly begin to saw away at your ropes.

It’s a long, torturous process. The knife is designed for painting, not cutting, and so you have to chisel away at the bounds and gradually unwind the rope strands. As you work, you let your mind wander, thoughts drifting back to him:

Tom.

You hate that you understand now, why he hadn’t wanted you to become involved with his life. He must’ve known that being involved with him might lead to a situation such as this. But you’re furious, because you’re still here, being held hostage, regardless of his decision to walk away. The situation is almost laughable - of course it’s just your luck that the guy you’ve been dating is involved in some shady stuff - shipments? You presume the man was referring to drugs. Is Tom some kind of drug lord? You have no idea, but you’re damned sure you’re going to find out.

“Bingo,” you mutter to yourself. You feel the rope that holds your hands together behind your back slip away. Swiftly, you tend to the rest of the ropes that keep you down, a sigh of relief passing through you as you’re able to stand up and stretch out your muscles. A sense of disconcerting dizziness passes over you and your fingers drift up to your head, your touch tender as you feel a bloody bump around your temple. As you wince, you drag your eyes around the room.

There’s a vase sitting over by the bed, and it immediately catches your attention. In terms of things that can be used in your defence, it appears to be your best bet, so you pick it up and creep towards the door. Luckily for you, there’s a peephole embedded in the wood, so you lean up and glance through it. Beyond your room, there’s a wide corridor. Several other doors frame against the dark walls, and you decide you must be on the second storey of this house, and that the other rooms are bedrooms. There’s one man standing outside your room, his gaze fixed firmly on his phone, but beyond that, there’s no one.

A brutal debate takes place inside your head. You know it might be brash to leave your room, with no real plan of what you’ll do, but you’re a little delirious. Your head hurts and your stomach aches and your skin prickles from where you’d been cut. So you find your hand stretching out and twisting open the door before you can really fathom it, and then you’re faced with a surprised guard.

You act on adrenaline. Summoning all your strength, you smash the vase down across his head. It’s so sudden that he has no time to protect himself, and there’s a sickening crunch as he goes down. Thankfully there’s a carpet lining the floor, and it muffles the pottery and the sound of his large body falling down.

You stare at his unconscious body for a moment, heart racing. “Shit,” you mutter. You hadn’t thought this through.

Glancing down the corridor, you decide you need to hide him. If anyone comes to check on you, the sight of an unconscious body is going to be a dead give away. So you grab him by his ankles and pull him back into your room, wincing as you take in his bloody face. He’s still breathing, but he’s out cold, and you’d feel bad, if he hadn’t clearly been involved in your kidnapping plot.

You shove some of the bits of pottery into the bedroom and then return to the corridor, eyes widening gleefully as you see his phone laying there, waiting for you, still unlocked. With trembling fingers, you find the messages app and start to look for anything useful.

Rob: keep her in there. they’re coming.

You exit the messages as your heart races. Tom is on his way? You don’t know how to feel other than relieved, but then you feel annoyed that you find comfort in him, because you’re still so fucking angry about everything.

Releasing a steadying breath, you open up google maps and try to figure out where you are. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think, but you study your pinned location and see you’re in the outskirts of London, tucked away in a residential neighbourhood about an hour from where you live. Maybe if you manage to break out of the house, you’ll be able to find some neighbours who can take you in.

A new message flashes up at the top of the screen as you’re inspecting the map.

Rob: change of plans, boss wants her moving for future use. coming back up to get her.

You startle, fumbling with the phone immediately. Heavy footsteps drift down the corridor, coming from the staircase at the end.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter.

Change of plans: avoid getting recaptured and stay put until Tom can get you out…

You take off down the corridor and run through a large, heavy door. Much to your relief, you find a set of wide steps beyond it and you tiptoe downstairs, coming out into a kitchen. The room is vast and dark and, most importantly, it’s empty, and you dart around the counter to pick up a big knife.

You feel more secure now you’ve got a weapon, though your stomach twists at the thought of having to use it. You’ve had a bit of self defence training, courtesy of your job back in the sketchy casino in Soho, but nothing that could compare to a bunch of angry, henchmen.

And fuck, they’re angry. You can hear them yelling and shouting already, the hard sounds echoing through the house. It doesn’t just come from above you. You can hear movement nearby, and it’s enough to have you running again. Your search for a hiding place takes you through a few more doors and into what seems to be a study. You don’t think — you see a large cupboard and you jump into it, pulling the doors shut behind you.

It’s like a little sanctuary, inside the large cupboard. There are a few suit jackets and a collection of shoes covering the bottom, but there’s enough room for you to stand there comfortably, vibrating from nerves. Your hands are clammy and you stifle a yelp as the knife threatens to slip through your fingers, but you manage to catch it and hold it close to your chest.

You don’t know how long you’re in there, but it’s long enough to have you feeling really unwell. It’s hot and stuffy, and the fact you haven’t eaten is really starting to catch up with the injury on your head. You begin to wonder how much longer you can take it when the sound of someone entering the room disrupts your thoughts. You freeze immediately.

You’re completely in the dark, but you listen intently as the person storms around the room. You hear them flip the desk, and kick around the chair, and then the footsteps come towards your cupboard. In a fit of blinding nerves, you drop the knife. It clatters on the floor and as you scramble to snatch it up, you know that you’re fucked.

The cupboard doors are wrenched open, and it’s someone you don’t recognise. Like everyone else you’ve encountered, the man is dressed in all black. His deep eyes flood with relief as he sees you.

“Thank fuck, boss was losing his mind,” he announces, reaching out towards you. But you point the knife at his chest with shaking hands and he pauses, eyes widening as he chuckles. “I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N. I’m here to rescue you.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to believe that?!” You exclaim incredulously, waggling the knife at him. The man raises his palms, his expression shifting into surprise, but then he backs up slowly, the tip of your knife drifting to his chest.

“I’m Tuwaine,” he tells you, his eyes skittering across your face carefully. “I work for Tom. I’m not going to hurt you, but we need to go now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

You know he’s getting irritated, but that just serves to fuel your suspicions. You don’t know if you’re capable of overpowering him, but you know you like your chances a lot more with your knife pressed into him than you do leaving the room with him, undefended.

“Y/N, I’m telling you, we don’t have much time-“

“I don’t care!” You’re breathing through your nostrils now, your vision a little blurry and your throat dry and uncomfortable. “Listen, Tuwaine, I have no fucking idea who the hell you are, but if you think I’m about to let you-“

“What the fuck is going on in here?!”

A third voice joins the mix, and you spin around to see a familiar figure in the doorway: Harrison, one of Tom’s friends. You’ve met him a few times — you trust him. The cold light held in his piercing blue eyes fades as he looks between you, Tuwaine, and the knife you have pointed at his chest. As he runs a hand through his curls, sweaty and matted, his expression shifts into one of understanding.

Tuwaine speaks up, voice quieter. “She won’t let me take her out. Thinks I’m gonna kill her, or something.”

Harrison clicks his tongue. “We’re here to help you, Y/N,” he says. He makes strides across the room and plucks the knife from your hand before you can process it. “Are you good to go?”

You nod quickly. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?” You say, a little calmer now that you know you’re no longer alone.

“Later.” Harrison reaches down for your hand, linking your fingers with his. “Be alert. It’s still dangerous out here, even with us here to help protect you.”

The lump in your throat is still there, stubborn even when you swallow. “Okay,” you say.

Tuwaine covers your front as Harrison lingers behind you, the two men moving around you as they take you back through the house. You feel helpless as you watch the scenes of fighting around you, men fighting one another, bodies on the floor. Harrison continues to hold you hand, even when you’re scared, even when he’s fighting, his grip firm and unwavering.

Eventually you reach outside, and as the stuffy air of the mansion is exchanged with the fresh breeze of the garden, you find yourself unsteady on your feet.

“Where’s Tom?” You manage, voice thick. Your head aches, and as Harrison drops your hand, you start to feel sick. Now that you’re safe, the full weight of your experience catches up to you.

"Y/N, Y/N-- are you good?” Harrison moves closer again, his face disappearing as black and white dots begin to fuzz across your vision. You hear the sound of a scuffle, coming from the front of the mansion, but the noises fade too, absorbed into your delirium.

Harrison’s arms find your waist and he holds you up as you try to slow your breathing. You can feel the concern in their gazes, but you think you’ll be able to push through, until…

“Oh my god, Y/N, darling.” Your dizzy gaze dips up and settles onto Tom. His fists are bloody and his hair’s a mess and he’s got bruises forming on his face, but he’s looking at you like you’re the injured one, and that’s enough to push you over the edge.

It all catches up to you. The dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, and trauma. For the second time, your eyes fall shut and you pass out, the world slipping away into a deep, black blur.

[-----]

You drift in and out of consciousness for several hours. Each time you wake, it’s just for a brief moment, and then you’re pulled under again.

Through your restless slumber, you pick up on a few things. You’re fairly sure that there was a drip fixed to the back of your hand for a few hours, but it vanishes once you’ve had a bandage wrapped around your skull. You become aware of the presence of someone else, their touch tingling over your skin every once in a while. Their hands are gentle as they tangle with your fingers, and you find yourself relaxing in your sleep as you feel the light fluttering of lips passing over your forehead. You can smell the deep cedarwood scent, and you know it’s Tom, and you’re grateful for it - his presence like a soft, warm reminder that you aren’t alone.

When you finally wake up, you’re back in your bedroom. The curtains are closed, but a small gap allows a stream of bright light to drift into your room, causing you to screw up your gaze as you slowly sit up, looking around. Your fingers find your head, touching tenderly over your bandaged forehead and your face. You wince as you feel a line of stitches on your cheek.

Before you can get too caught up in your musings, your eyes catch sight of Tom, spread across your floor. He’s half naked, his chest bare and rising gently as he snores quietly, his lower half in a pair of grey joggers. His position looks awkward and uncomfortable, but the sight of him so gentle and unassuming brings a soft smile to your face.

“Tom?” You call out, wincing as you hear the scratchiness in your voice. He stirs immediately, brown eyes snapping open and finding yours as he scrambles to his feet. He’s hesitant to approach you, but you hold out a hand and breathe out a sigh of relief as he takes it.

“How do you feel?” Tom asks you, eyes darting all over your face. His expression is full of pain, as if it causes him agony to see you like this.

“Sore,” you admit. “Head hurts.” You pause, taking a moment to assess yourself. “I’m hungry.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Toast.” Tom brings your hand to his lips and kisses over your knuckles gently, meeting your gaze with his soft, guilty eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tom returns five minutes later with a tray laden with goods. He fluffs your pillows and helps you get comfortable as you start to eat the toast and drink some tea, but he’s awkwardly lingering by the door, and his expression is so tortured that you can’t quite take it.

“You can come and sit with me, you know,” you say, looking down at your toast.

“Are you sure?”

You look up to him, eyes assessing the deep bruises he’s got spread over one cheek. Your teeth find your lower lip and you pat the open spot beside you. “I’m not the only one who got hurt.” Something like a flinch passes across Tom’s face, but when your lips curl into an encouraging smile, he tenderly crosses the room. His body is warm as he slips beneath the duvet and sits beside you, his bare arm pressing against yours. It’s nice, to be so close again, but you can’t allow yourself to lean into it. Not yet. “You may as well start talking,” you say, your words soft. “You owe me an explanation.”

“How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

As you work your way through your pot of tea, Tom speaks. His voice is soft and soothing, but it clips around the edges as he gradually becomes more and more emotional. He tells you that he’s the leader of the London mob, and he’s fully immersed in that life. You listen as he recounts the night he became the leader - the night he watched his father die - and you watch as he chokes up and talks about how family is everything, and says he’d go to the ends of the earth to protect the people he loves. His eyes grow guilty as they trace across your face, and he tells you that the only reason you’d been accosted was because of him, and a disagreement between his mob and his rivals.

“-And they were right,” Tom finishes, “I’d have given them anything- anything to get you back safely, love.” One of his hands moves up as if to touch your bruised face, but he hesitates, eyes clouding with guilt. “I’m sorry we took so long to find you.”

As he reaches the end of it, you look at him, your gaze hard. His eyes are red and teary, and his grip on your hand is so strong that it hurts a little.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?”

Tom’s chuckle is watery, but it sounds like heaven opening up. “Is that really all you have to say?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I have a lot I want to say to you.” You pause, turning your head to the side, and you press a small, soft kiss to his shoulder, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “At least I understand, now. Why you were always so sketchy.”

“Yeah.” Tom’s hand goes back to your uninjured cheek, and he finally lets his fingers slowly trail across your cheekbone. “I was not having an affair, things were just…”

“Complicated,” you supply. Your lips twitch into a smile as his thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch intoxicating. “I’m still angry,” you tell him.

“I know.” Tom’s thumb pauses its movements, resting on your lip as his eyes search yours deeply. “You shouldn’t have ever been dragged into this. I tried to keep you out of it, love, but I couldn’t stop myself coming back.” He hesitates, voice catching. His fingers lightly brush over your stitches and he winces. “I was selfish with my affection. It wasn’t fair to you, and I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

“I… think I understand,” you say, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You raise an eyebrow, staring at the man who continues to surprise you. “I’m in it now, though, Tom. They know who I am. They- they know that we’re involved.” Your eyes shift down, and Tom’s hand moves away from your face, leaving you feeling cold and alone. “How do I know this won’t happen again?”

His teeth find his lower lip thoughtfully. “If we move you, they shouldn’t be able to find you. I’ll- I’ll buy you a new flat, wherever you want, love. When they stop seeing us together, they’ll get the hint.” His eyes shift, downcast as he becomes extremely intrigued by the duvet. “I can get a security detail put on you. It might take a while, but hopefully you’ll be able to feel safe again.” His fingers fist at the sheets and you watch as the blood drains from his tense knuckles. “I will make sure you feel safe again.”

You bring a hand to his shoulder, your touch releasing some of the pressure he’s holding in his muscles. “Why will they stop seeing us together?”

“I guess I, uh, expect you to hate me,” Tom says quietly, picking out his words carefully. His eyes finally dip up to meet yours, his brown orbs floating with an appreciation that leaves you breathless. “Even now you know the truth, if you don’t want to see me again, I get it. Fuck, love, I don’t deserve to have you around. Not after everything I’ve put you through.”

You’re quiet for a few moments. Your hand moves from his shoulder and around to the back of his head, and you find comfort twirling your fingers through his soft strands. You admire his side profile, drinking in the familiar lines of the man who has brought more action into your life than anyone else, and your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I like you, Tom. I really like you.” Your mouth falls to his shoulder and you press a few gentle kisses over his skin. You peer up at him. “Will you be honest with me, from now on?”

He allows a small smile to stretch across his lips. “Of course.” He wraps an arm around you, trying to bring you closer. You move up, your aching muscles burning as you swing a leg over him and settle in his lap comfortably, hands both toying with his hair. You face him straight on, his gaze shifting over you, drinking you in, eyes wide and curious. “Are you sure?” He asks.

You shrug slightly. “You drive me crazy, Tom. I can’t think straight when I’m around you. But I know that- that I really like you, and I want to have you in my life, if you want that too.”

His mouth peppers a series of light, delicate kisses around your face, his hands soothing over your waist. You sigh into him, realising how badly you’d missed him - his touch, and his voice, and his heart.

“I feel things for you that I’ve never felt for anyone before, love. I’m not going to let that go. I’m not going to let you go. I would give you the world, if you asked.”

You grasp his cheeks, bringing him close so your nose presses to his. His eyes go a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh, the sound mixing with his chuckle beautifully. “I don’t need the world,” you tell him softly. “I just need you.”

His lips find yours, and it’s gentle, but intensely emotional. His mouth feels perfect to yours, even though his lips are chapped and he’s trembling, and you use your hands in his hair to keep him near. Tom’s hands dip down, settling into the curves of your hips like he’s done a thousand times before, and for a moment, nothing else really matters.

“Be mine,” he whispers against you, the words drifting into the air as he continues to kiss you, lips warm and soft. “Be my girlfriend.”

You smile against his lips. “I’d love to,” you mumble, “Tom Holland, my boyfriend. Sounds nice.”

He pulls you closer until you’re flush against him, your chests touching. His lips trail around your face, brushing over all the places that ache and replacing the pain with his love. His eyes reflect nothing but a soft warmth, and it makes you feel so safe, and protected, and peaceful that you decide it doesn’t matter what’s happened, or how things transpired, because now you’re here, holed up in his arms, and you know he’ll never let something like that happen again.

“My girlfriend,” he whispers, kissing at your ear. The words bring goosebumps to your skin as his mouth closes around your earlobe. “My,” kiss, “girlfriend,” kiss. Tom finds your lips, kissing you strongly, and you enjoy it. “Prettiest girl in the world, love.” His eyes sparkle like diamonds, and you feel a joyous heat tickle at your cheeks.

“To say you’re a mob boss, you’re very tender, Tom,” you say, a light lilt to your voice. You kiss his nose softly. “Love it, though.”

“Only with you,” he admits. When he kisses you, his teeth drag along your lower lip, and you whine softly into his mouth. “Can only be myself around you, darling.”

“Good job I’ll be sticking around for a while then, hm?”

“A very good job,” he agrees. Tom’s hands squeeze around your waist and he pulls you close, your heart beating happily in your chest as your head goes to rest against him. He hugs you near, grip firm and unmoving, and you let your eyes fall shut as you bask in his warmth. “Do you need anything else, angel?”

You bring your mouth up and press a line of kisses along Tom’s jaw. “Hold me?” He shuffles further down the mattress and welcomes you in as you wrap yourself around him, clinging to his familiar figure. His hands wander over your back, tracing small patterns to your body and tangling in your hair, and it feels like coming home.

“Sleep, pretty girl,” he instructs, pulling you closer. “I’ll be here.”

And you know he will. You know Tom will be here for as long as you need him, and you know that might mean he stays with you forever. The thought terrifies you, because it’s no easy feat to open yourself up so wholly like that, but it’s Tom, and you know you can take the risk, because it’s him, and he’s holding you so delicately that you know you have nothing to fear, anymore. You know that he’s truthful as he whispers sweet nothings into your hair, promising you the world, promising you everything he has, promising you his love.

“Night, Tom,” you mumble to his chest.

His lips pass over your forehead for a final, soothing time. “Night, m’love.”

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Title: Cold As Ice.

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairing: Fae!Yandere!Todoroki/Reader

Synopsis: Todoroki, the King of the Fae, seems to have lost his vulnerable, helpless, idiotic little mortal. He's as displeased as you'd expect, and he does plan to make his anger known.

TW: Graphic Violence, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Animal Death, and Imprisonment.

One of Shoto’s greatest pleasures was recalling the spring you’d first met.

Parts of it were true. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could omit, and he never failed to find a new detail to leave out whenever he recalled the months he’d spent in the mortal world. He told his court of the weeks you’d spent attending to his wounds and soothing his pain, or the charming cottage you shared and how quaint human civilization had become, since his last visit. With a small smile, he would speak of the livestock you’d tasked him to feed and the herbs you’d mixed into your tea, creating a concoction his fleet of servants could never seem to replicate. His favorite memory was the kiss you’d shared when he was finally healed, before he departed to return to his mysterious ‘homeland’. He loved you, and you loved him in return. It was something out of a fairytale, for him.

He didn’t tell them of the translucent blood that stained your hands for days after you freed him from the thawing ice, or the strange symbols he drew in the snow until it dissolved under the warmth of the spring sun. He never saw fit to mention the mare he beheaded, whose organs he carved out and jarred and kept in your pantry, if only to remind you of your companion’s slaughter. He wanted to make you seem like a willing partner. A sweet mortal who didn’t know better than to love a fae, a soulmate born into the wrong world. But, soulmates didn’t have to be held down to be kissed. They didn’t have to be threatened into returning their admirer’s affections. They didn’t have to be dragged into a land they did not know and thrown at the feet of a man they did not love. They should not hate their lover, not as you hate Shoto.

They should not run as soon as they’re given the chance to.

Shoto thought you preferred him to death. That was his mistake, his underestimation. He thought, if you were given the option of throwing yourself from the window of your tall, lonely tower, you’d be more scared of the inevitable injury that would entail than spending another day in your captor’s company. Now, with a hand clasped to the numb, throbbing shoulder that’d broken your fall and the bare soles of your feet beating harshly against the frozen ground, you thanked whichever gods were listening for his assumption. The forest, with all its winding roots and outstretched branches, was your safe-haven, the brisk air filling you with a sense of freedom, of strength. You weren’t sure how to get back to the human plane, not without magic, but a damp, dark cave would be a sanctuary compared to Shoto and all his fineries. You would be content with misery, as long as you were the one to choose it.

But, it was a hopeful dream. Already, you could hear the crack of hooves against soil, the soft footfalls of those agile enough to chase after you without a mount. This was just another hunt, to them, and you were an animal to be tracked and captured, to be skinned for your fur and declawed and thrown back into the wild because they thought that was better than putting you out of your suffering. Your revenge came in the form of boredom, in how easy you were to catch, in the refusal to indulge their desire for clever prey. Rather, you ran blindly, searching for a hole to hide inside of, a frozen lake their horses wouldn’t be able to follow you across. Simple methods, but fool-proof ones. Strategies even you wouldn’t be able to blunder.

A woman called out, a bird of prey screeched, and you spotted a knock in a barren cliffside, a deep hollow in an overlap of rock. It would be a tight fit, but if you held your breath and worked quickly, you might be able to find your way inside. You’d almost overlooked it in your panic. Surely, if you were quiet enough--

You never got a chance to finish that thought. Without warning, a gust of ice-cold wind washed over you, and something sharp and burning embedded itself in the back of your calf, your knees buckling as soon as the arrow found its mark. You collapsed, catching yourself with your injured arm out of instinct and screaming as a bright, primal burst of pain etched itself into your bones, your flesh, your being. But, that didn’t stop the hilt of your aggressor’s sword from colliding with the nape of your neck, cutting the sound short and sending you back to the ground. You didn’t try to catch yourself, this time.

With some effort, you roll yourself onto your side, gritting your teeth and tilting your head back to state up at the two faeries who surround you. Your found the woman first, a knight with a sword at her hip and a small, tight-lipped scowl. Yaoyorozu, the leader of the hunt, her hair darker than the night sky and her skin pale enough to put the falling snow to shame. A beauty, like all her kin, almost human if you looked beyond her swirling eyes and the pointed tips of her ears and nails. You had to remind yourself that she was one of the reasons for your current vulnerability.

Beside her was Shoto, a bow slung over his shoulder and an arrow missing from his impeccable quiver. His expression did little to betray him, all regal neutrality and flawless perfection, but his anger was present in his wings, outstretched and taunt behind him, in his white-knuckled grip on his chosen weapon. You met his eyes, and in a moment, his hand was around the shaft of another arrow, ready to send it through your chest with little more than a flick of his wrist. When he realized what he was doing, he dropped it, a fleeting look of self-scrutiny and pity passing across his expression. You could try to convince yourself that it’d been a reflex, that he didn’t truly want to be more destructive than he had to be, but you’d be lying if you tried to say there wasn’t the slightest hint of hesitation. Just another sign that his generosity wasn’t the reason for his delicacy.

He simply didn’t want to break his newest toy so quickly.

Yaoyorozu spoke first, addressing her ruler rather than her prisoner. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been treated as more than an extension of your captor. “I can call the others,” She said, her gaze flickering vaguely over the blood pooling underneath you. “We’ll need a healer if you want your pet to walk without a limp. I didn’t think to bring one, but the castle isn’t far.”

“I’ll handle it,” He replied, kneeling beside you. So close, you could make out the thin lines running through his translucent wings, flowers of ice and glass that deserved a better place to bloom. The corner of his left-most wing was scarred over, burnt to a leathery crisp, not unlike the matching scar over his nearest eye. In the back of your mind, you fantasized about what it would be like to rip them from his back, to crush thin skin and impossible formations in the palm of your hand and render him as flightless as yourself. Shoto chose to pretend he didn’t know what you were thinking about. “This is my responsibility. Gather your pack and have a medic waiting for when I return.” He paused, letting his temper flare with a narrow-eyed glance in your direction. “You shouldn’t have to rush, I intend to take my time.”

Yaoyorozu bit the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t protest. Rather, she nodded, bowing her head as she turned, following her footprints back into the tangled woods. As soon as she’d disappeared into the darkness, Shoto took the time to sigh, to glare properly the next time he bothered to face you. His bow fell to the ground, abandoned and forgotten. You weren’t particularly concerned. He had a dozen more waiting to be used on something helpless and disobedient.

“You humiliated me,” He started, his hand drifting to your injury, freeing his arrow before a gloved thumb drove itself into the open wound, his touch as agonizing as a hot iron rod against unprotected skin. You had to fight not to lash out, to condemn yourself to a fate worse than momentary discomfort. There was still a knife sheathed at his belt, and you could only be thankful he hadn’t thought to use it. “I trusted you to go without restraints, to go without guards, and the first thing you think to do is prove to my subjects that my lover would rather risk death than be with me. Tell me, does that sound like behavior I should reward?”

You didn’t answer. Your arm was going numb, equal parts due to the fracture and the chill, and you couldn’t tell him anything he wanted to hear. That’s what it came down to, in the end. How you could make Shoto happy, even if he claimed to be willing to return the favor.

He shook his head, pulling away from your wound and taking up your chin. His hold wasn’t tight, nor did he make an effort to force you into a submission more demeaning than your current surrender, but those small shows of grace were nullified by the feeling of your own warm blood beginning to stain your skin. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

You didn’t have to think. You barely had to open your mouth. As soon as your lips parted, the words were already falling from your tongue, a blunt, shallow river of things you knew you’d regret. Things Shoto would make you regret. “Eat shit and die. You can impale yourself on your own crown, for all I care.”

His frown barely wavered. There was a beat of silence, an idle evaluation of your current state, but his disdain was never vocalized. He didn’t bother to. He didn’t have to.

You didn’t see his hand move, not before the grip of his knife was making contact with the back of your head, your vision going black before pain had a chance to follow.

Your contempt for the Winter Court was the only thing that rivaled your loathing for Shoto.

It was a place of joyless, merciless conduct, of cruel smiles and stone painted with gore, although the colorless blood of fae rendered the violence a sightless affair. Two guards were flanked at your sides, but neither dared to look at you, staring straight ahead as they opened the massive oak doors of Shoto’s throne room. The quiet was heavy, tense, but you didn’t attempt to make conversation, not as the panels of wood slid away and a narrow carpet came into view, a rich navy to guide all newcomers to the elevated stage on the otherwise of the room. He could’ve easily come to you, sent a servant to alert him when you awoke or been waiting there himself, but he wanted a show. He wanted you to grovel at his feet, and he wanted his subjects to see you do it.

Oftentimes, you wished you’d been taken by a member of the Summer Court. You wished you’d never been taken at all, of course, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would like to exist in a land without ice and sleet and stares that are only barely concealed. You’d visited their valley once or twice with Shoto, and although they weren’t any less wicked than their cold-blooded counterparts, they hid their malicious intent under charms and spells and tricks, traps that kept their victims rooted out of delusion rather than fear. It’d be a deceptive fate, but compared to the reality of the Winter Court, it couldn’t be unpleasant. If Shoto could simply invoke your name when he craved control, you wouldn’t be favoring your right leg over your left as you dragged yourself down the well-tread pathway.

There were sneers from the stands as you passed by, harsh whispers of rumors and tales that were just untrue enough to burn at their tongues as they spoke. You tried not to pay them any mind, but it was difficult. Your latest ‘betrayal’, as Shoto had put it, would only fuel their distaste for their ruler’s mortal partner. Perhaps if you were something else, they’d be entranced. If you were an abnormality or a beast or something dangerous, you’d be able to do more than run and make noise and disobey rules they hadn’t thought not to follow. But, you were human, so you were boring. A feral mutt whose tricks had long-since grown old.

You came to a stop in front of Shoto’s throne, a massive structure of silver and velvet and ornate carvings of every woodland animal you could imagine. You didn’t attempt to meet his eyes, only dropping to one knee, assuming the position he’d force you into, if you didn’t fall into on your own. You didn’t speak, though, letting Shoto greet you with a tone so stoic, you had to wonder whether this was a punishment or an execution. “How are your injuries?”

“I’ll live, unfortunately,” You replied, under your breath, rolling your shoulder back, making an effort not to wince. You didn’t want to show weakness, not when he was already so far above you. “The healers say I’ll need a few days to recover fully. That won’t interfere with…” You trailed off, your eyes flickering around the courtroom. Searching for any sign of a looming threat. “That won’t interfere with what you have planned, will it?”

He huffed, a small pout pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he accepted the announcement without further argument, leaning back and letting his chin come to rest on a closed fist. With his free hand, he gestured for you to come closer, an indolent wave barely worth the energy it took to execute. Slowly, you pushed yourself to your feet, only pausing when Shoto tapped his thigh. Disappointment washed over you, but any shock was minimal. If he couldn’t have his revenge, then your shame would serve as a consolation prize.

You clung to your last scraps of dignity, keeping your expression stern and your posture rigid, but Shoto freed you of that with an arm around your waist, dragging you into his lap, your side soon flush against his chest and your back pressed against his armrest, your legs left to tangle with his. He was quick to deflate, to melt into you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, the affection intimate and sickeningly underserved. The tips of sharpened teeth brushed against your skin, but thankfully, abstained from taking root. The last thing you wanted was another wound to fret over. “Can’t you bring me the smallest relief?” He asked, chilled breath washing over your skin, earning a shudder. “An apology, words of remorse, a purpose, anything. I don’t want to be bitter with you, beloved. Any sign that you care for me is a sign I’ll take to heart.”

He sounded exhausted, exasperated. You attempted not to let his disposition faze you, keeping your gaze fixed on the furthest stone wall. “My words would bring you no comfort,” You muttered, more to reassure yourself than to convince him. “There’s nothing I can say to quell your anger. You saw what I did, and you know why I did it. An excuse would only frustrate you.”

You felt him grit his teeth, his hold around you tightening. His wings flickered before resuming their trained motionlessness. “You have no reason to despise me--”

“I have every reason.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, nor did you have any interest in letting him. This was a dance you’d practiced many times, a song you could identify from a single note. You would sing along, but you wouldn’t let Shoto act as if you’d never done so before. He didn’t deserve your patience. “I’m a prisoner here, Todoroki, I’m your prisoner. You provide for me, and I understand that you think you’re being kind, but no amount of luxury can make this place my home. I don’t belong here, I’m…” You were different. You were alien. You were lesser. “I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be with you.”

Early on in your captivity, you’d convinced one of Shoto’s servants to smuggle an iron knife into your chambers, the weapon forged in the human world and stolen from a fae noble with questionable intentions. When Shoto next visited you, letting his guard down in favor of rambling on about his day and the ongoings of his court, you’d driven the dagger blindly into his chest over and over and over again, only stopping when one of his knights dragged you off of his limp body. You didn’t have to say it’d been useless. Cold Iron was effective on most creatures, but you’d need something much stronger to kill a fae as powerful as Shoto, whose veins took the shape of snowflakes and whose wrath bunt with the heat of glowing embers. The servant was killed by sunset and your knife was melted down into two nails, both of which were then driven into your heels as retribution. You hadn’t been able to walk for a month, but Shoto told you time and time again that he was being lenient, that was being merciful. You’d believed him. The fire in his eyes had nearly been enough to melt his frozen heart.

Compared to his current rage, his fury back then seemed like child’s play.

“A prisoner, you see yourself as a prisoner,” He spat, pointed talons biting into your hip, cutting through fabric and skin and drawing blood before he thought to stop. “I’ve never asked anything of you. I gave you a castle, beautiful clothes, a life befitting divinity, and you say you feel like a prisoner just because I urge you to tolerate me in return.” He paused, scoffing, letting out a breathy, humorless laugh before he went on. “If you’re a prisoner, you’re a rather coddled one. That’s my fault, isn’t it? How can I expect you to learn your place when I treat you like a lapdog?”

“That’s not what I meant,” You responded, hastily, avoiding his question. “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m only trying to--”

“You’re trying to earn your discipline, apparently,” He warned, nearly snarling against your shoulder. His fingers found their way to your hair, taking you by the scalp and jerking you backward, just far enough to allow him to glare, to bare his teeth and growl. “I’ve kept you safe. I’ve let you live in leisure because I wanted to believe your pathetic human mind would let you be motivated by gratitude, rather than fear. I can see that allowing you to love me on your own terms isn’t an option, anymore.” He wretched you upward, forcing you to straighten your back, a pitiful whimper escaping from your lips before you could suppress it. “If you think you’re a prisoner, then I’d be more than happy to treat you like a prisoner. It’d be a shame not to give you what you’ve been begging for, wouldn’t it?”

You moved to argue, to apologize, to do whatever would sway Shoto’s resolve, but by the time you opened your mouth, he was already calling over his guards, metal gauntlets soon clamped around your forearm and your shoulder, ready to dispose of you at the slightest omen of their King’s will. Shoto only leaned back, watching as you lost your composure, as you panicked. He didn’t yell, nor did he lecture you further, but as always, his rage found a way to make itself known, if only in the grin that ghosted across his lips. Satisfied and decided. The smile of a man pushed to the edge and far too prepared to push back.

The smile a monster, finally ready to devour its prey.

“This might be a change for the better.” His tone was one of sterile contentment, a serenity that ran deeper than his voice could ever portray. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him, again, not so easily.

You had a feeling he wouldn’t give you the chance to, again.

“You might finally come to see how loving I’ve been, when you’re stripped of my favor.”

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cl-01-kestis · 3 years

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Mistress - Cal Kestis x Inquisitor!Reader! | nsfw

Summary: Cal Kestis hides a huge secret from everyone he knows, a secret that could risk his alliance and loyalty to the rebellion; you.

Warnings: bdsm, slight degrading, choking, lots of face riding, hair pulling, fluffy aftercare, oh boy-

The air in your room was thick, hot, stuffy. You found it easy to breathe but the man beneath you thought otherwise. Sounds of struggling we’re heard, as well as small sucks of breath and whimpers and whines.

You were straddling Cal, a Jedi and also your sworn enemy. But here he was, sweating and panting, begging you to hurt and pleasure him as his hands were tied above his head and his eyes were covered with a black blindfold. Your hands were wrapped tightly around his neck, choking him until he was barely able to talk. Of course you made sure not to choke him too hard, but if you loosened your grip, he’d complain once more and make another reason for you to practically strangle him.

You were a powerful person, it was obvious. On the battlefield and around others, especially in the bedroom. You’d been seeing the Jedi like this for quite some time, over a few months, and it was completely thrilling. It made you feel like you were really in control, it gave you that sense of responsibility of also looking after Cal since you two were also fairly good friends outside of being within a bdsm relationship. You two weren’t really together, it would be too dangerous, so you were only in this for the pleasure and thrill.

“Whore, If you make one more pathetic little noise, I’ll stop” You hissed, grinding against his hard cock which was hidden under his underwear, practically killing him as he felt your wet slick through your panties and the material of his underwear. Cal tried to keep quiet, he really did, but you were treating him so good. He loved it when you hurt him, he knew what you were capable of, and he wanted to push that to the limits.

Cal felt himself grin, he knew he caught your attention since you had gone quiet and your grip loosened on his neck.

“What are you smiling at?” You growled, a quiet yet dangerously demanding tone in your voice as your nail dug into his neck and made him gasp.

“What if I don’t want to be quiet, mistress?” Cal teased, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins as he challenged you and felt your grip tighten around his neck once more. He’d accomplished pissing you off, but you on the other hand, weren’t impressed.

“Then I’ll stop, because naughty boys don’t get what they want” You said in a low voice, getting up off Cal and removing your hands from his neck, leaving him utterly hopeless and limp on your bed, whines of despair and desperation echoing around your room as he twisted in your sheets and tried sitting up, only to be restricted by his hand restraints. You smirked in amusement, walking over beside Cal’s head and leaning down to press a soft kiss on his lips, earning yourself a soft whimper from the young Jedi.

“As a punishment, I’m going to sit on that pretty face of yours and I’m going to cum as much as I please, do you understand?” You whispered lowly into Cal’s ear, making him gasp and nod his head frantically, followed by nervous yet overly excited words.

“Y-Yes mistress...” He breathed out, trying to contain his anticipation as you took your panties off and straddled his chest, knees either side of his head as you watched him struggle once more against his restraints, eager to touch you and pleasure you. You chuckled to yourself, shimmying up his body until your slick heat was inches away from his face. You shivered in excitement, weakness of submission showing as your hands grabbed his and intertwined with them whilst thei struggled against the restraints. He dug his nails into your hands as you carefully lowered yourself on his hot mouth, plump lips meeting your clit and sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

Cal moaned at the sudden contact and didn’t waste a moment, going to work the moment his lips touched your sensitive skin. You bit your lip, looking down and seeing Cal lick long stripes up your dripping heat, savouring the taste like it was the most divine he had tasted. It was shocking how quickly Cal could turn the tables with his tongue, it was now you who was trying not to crumble beneath his own actions as he started suckling on your clit and hummed in satisfaction, sending soft vibrations which made your head spin. You did your absolute best to suppress the moans and whines daring to spill out, but you done a good job and stayed completely silent, starting to slowly thrust your hips against Cal’s tongue which made him moan in surprise.

“Keep going- ah... you’re doing so well, baby boy” You praised, your attitude different compared to the stone cold one you were giving off minutes ago. It made Cal aware that he was giving it to you good, you’d only get sweet when he was doing it right.

Cal had many moments within the relationship where he was in control, even though he was always beneath you. With his tongue, his fingers, his cock, hell, even his thighs got you off. And there was the occasional moment when you’d let him say whatever he wanted, because you were feeling that good. Cal was never a dominant man, but when he realised the first time that he made you cum and you got all shy and quiet, he had to see you like that again, and again... and again.

“More...” You whispered, gripping onto his auburn locks and biting your lip as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt yourself grow weak at the amount of thrusting you were doing, and you knew if you didn’t it wouldn’t feel as good. Cal continued pleasuring you with his mouth, dipping his tongue into your entrance and thrusting it in and out slowly, moving it around inside you which made you almost see stars. You could feel your first orgasm approaching, you were afraid you were going to cum too soon, but fuck it felt so good, too good.

“Cal-“ You moaned, losing your dignity and all self control as you slipped onto noisy moans and begs for him to go faster and harder. You hated getting so weak, but the way Cal was devouring you so greatly, the way his tongue slipped in to your heat and made your head cloud with lust. No one else had ever made you feel this way before, you were so close.

As you slowed down your thrusts on Cal’s face out of exhaustion, your hands let go of Cal’s and you used the force to unlock his restraints. Cal, knowing of the situation, got a lovely surprise when he heard the clicking of his restraints followed by the tightness on his wrists disappearing.

“Be grateful I done that... brat- oh kriff” You tried sounding intimidating but Cal wasted no time as his muscular arms wrapped behind your thighs and gripped your waist tightly, guiding you and helping you thrust against his mouth. You untied his blindfold and threw it behind you, hands gripping the headboard above you as your body began to tremble with overwhelming pleasure.

“I’m so close” You panted, throwing your head back and creating a lovely view for Cal who moaned deeply at the sight of you on top him, trying not to fall apart as you rode his face. This pushed Cal to try harder, he was determined to make you cum as quickly as he could, he was so desperate to taste your cum it was driving him mad. He’d tasted it many times, but it was a taste he never grew bored of, not even remotely even though he’s tasted it possibly hundreds of times. There were times when you’d go down on him, and just as much as he loved that, he loved this more. He loved destroying you.

You were seconds away from blissful release, Cal continued to suck on your swollen clit and use one of his now-freed hands to shift underneath you and slowly push two long fingers into you, curling them up repeatedly. Just as you were about to protest, your orgasm hit you violently and you let out a series of high pitched squeals. Cal groaned into your heat, tasting your release as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, lapping up every last drop whilst helping you ride out your orgasm. Your body spasmed and you were trembling intensely, your eyes hazy and practically seeing stars as you rocked your hips against Cal’s tongue.

He loved every moment of this, opening his eyes to see how exhausted and vulnerable you were, it made him shiver with delight. Cal reluctantly removed his mouth from your worn out heat and leaned his head back, staring up at you with soft eyes and an open mouth. His chin and around his mouth were glistening with your release, he licked around his lips and the places he could reach until he used his fingers to wipe the remaining parts.

You stared down at Cal, chest heaving up and down as you slowly got off him, wincing in pain as your hips and thighs ached with how much you were moving them back and forth. Your face was bright red, you looked away from Cal and slowly stood up, only to fall straight to the floor after your legs gave in and trembled. You caught yourself before your face could hit the floor, chuckling to yourself in disbelief at how destroyed you were by that one singular orgasm. It made you a bit bewildered, but you’d experienced pleasure like this many times before with Cal, also pleasure much more intense than what you were feeling right now. But even so, you still felt like your shit got wrecked even though it was only Cal’s skilled tongue and fingers.

You tried to hide your embarrassment towards the fact you were so easily undone, but you wanted Cal to feel proud of his achievement, you knew he loved it when he made you cum every time. As a bottom, he took pride in anything he done right, which was literally everything at this point. Cal had become so much more experienced since you met him and the first time you two indulged in such affairs. He was so clueless the first time he went down on you, fingered your, or even fucked you. You were both virgins when you met, so it was a conjoined experience, and deep down it made you happy you got to be that person Cal experienced those things with.

Your scene with Cal was well over finished as you grabbed a nearby towel, sat down and started cleaning yourself with it, whimpering quietly at the sensitivity of your heat. A warm hand pressed on your shoulder and Cal was sitting down next to you, wearing nothing but a silver ring collar which you gave him a while ago, signifying your relationship with him. He carefully took the towel from you and smiled.

“Allow me” Cal spoke softly, shuffling in front of you and gently spreading your legs apart as he started cleaning you with tenderness and care. He was so gentle with you after a scene, aftercare mattered so much to you both and if anything it really strengthened your bond.

You watched with a small smile as Cal finished cleaning you up and used another part of the towel to wipe around his chin and mouth, smirking to himself as he done so. You rolled your eyes and bumped him with your knee, only for him to press a soft kiss against it and stand up to get his boxers on.

“You haven’t cum yet” You said in realisation, feeling guilty as he turned around and chuckled to himself as if you cracked a joke.

“Please, you’ve done worse things to me before, I’m sure I can handle it” Cal said as-a-matter-of-fact, slipping his feet through the holes of his boxers and hiking them up his muscular body. You laughed at his statement, silently agreeing with him and remembering other ways you’d tortured him in the past. You pushed those thoughts to the back of your head and sat on your bedroom floor casually as if you weren’t completely nude right now. You didn’t feel the need to get dressed after a night with Cal, he knew your body well enough.

The Jedi grabbed his shirt but he didn’t put it on, instead he chucked it at you softly and pulled out another one from his bag, a cleaner one. You took the shirt and inhaled his scent, calming your nerves immediately. You looked at the shirt, it was navy blue and a loose fit, you shrugged your shoulders before placing the top over your head and shimmying into it. Cal watched with a smile as your head popped through the top and your hair was messy and all over the place, he didn’t want to admit it to your face but he found it undeniably adorable, it completely reflected the person you were and who the galaxy knew you as.

“You should probably get going... your crew will be worried about you” You sighed, turning around in your spot and looking up at the Jedi who was now fully dressed and getting his shoes on. Cal nodded and sighed sadly, running a hand through his messy auburn hair and looking at you to see you were getting up from your spot and waddling over to him. Still almost numb from your orgasm, you slowly approached Cal and leaned forward so he could catch you before your legs gave in once more. He stood up and scooped you in his arms, your face buried in his neck as he set you down on your bed where he lay moments before. Your mattress was still warm from his body and you cuddled into it instinctively, closing your eyes as his scent surrounded you. Cal stroked the top of your head and pressed a kiss onto it, you opened your eyes again and looked to Cal with a happy expression. You raised your hand, cupping his cheek and stroking it softly. He leaned into your touch and didn’t look away from you as you yawned and let out a bland sigh, clearly not impressed he had to leave.

“Get some rest, (Y/N)” Cal whispered, kissing your hand and taking it off his cheek to put it back on your chest with the other. You nodded and turned onto your side, his shirt covering your torso but not your lower body. Cal didn’t seem to mind as he saw your bare thighs and the top of your womanhood show in the lamp light. As a result, he turned off the light and leaned down to kiss you on your lips softly.

Surprised, you kissed Cal back and cupped the back of his neck. The kiss was short lived when a purge trooper was heard outside of your door, clearly there to see how you were holding up. Cal crept away from your bed and right above the open ventilation on your ceiling, giving you a small wave before jumping up and into your ceiling, the ventilation cover now placed back into its original place.

What a night.

#i need therapy #star wars #x reader #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #jedi fallen order #star wars smut

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mypunkpansexualtwin · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

I am, again, untagged but undeterred! Who wants more Wingman? No? Too bad, that’s what you’re getting!

I... haven’t slept yet. Consider yourself tagged if you want to do this and please please tag me in your WIPs, I really love seeing what my friends, mutuals, and followers are all working on. Part of this is under a cut, mostly for the sanity of Future Me.

About halfway down the block, they realized at about the same time that they had nothing to talk about.

“So…”

“So...”

So. Akira didn’t remember how to have a normal damn conversation. He wasn’t going to blame that on the fact that the only people who’d spoken to him on a regular basis in the past five months were all eccentric to say the least, but it definitely hadn’t helped. One of the top five current sanest people in his life was the drag queen proprietor of a bar in the red light district, for crying out loud. Not to mention he’d always been more of a listener to begin with because it was less stressful. So long as the person talking wasn’t a harried reporter who could only ever be found at the aforementioned drag bar. Or his homeroom teacher being blackmailed into dubious side work by a late student’s family. Or an ex member of the goddamn yakuza. Being “robbed of one’s place to belong” apparently also did a number on one’s sanity.

Akira was pulled from his thoughts by Ono awkwardly clearing his throat.

“I, uh, heard that one of the Japanese schools staying here is Shujin. That you?” Jason hazarded.

“Yup.”

“Phantom Thieves Shujin?”

“That’s the only one I’m aware of.” Akira responded blandly. Not the best topic for small talk considering the apparent state of his brain-to-mouth filter, but better than walking along and twiddling their thumbs until one of them decided to leave. Probably.

Jason cracked a smile and jokingly asked, “Do you know them?” Even half-expecting it, the question still caught him a little off guard. Although not as much as it would have a few months prior, considering he’d gotten it just as jokingly from several of Leblanc’s regulars since May. Meaning he’d had time to practice his answer.

“Oh yeah,” Akira responded, pouring every ounce of sarcasm he had into a completely truthful statement, “I found them on accident and they made me their leader.” Then he rolled his eyes for good measure. Who needed to be a good liar when you could just tell the truth in a way nobody would believe?

“Pff, why would they do that?” Jason snorted, indulging the “joke.” Akira shrugged in response.

“No idea,” he answered, again, completely honestly. “My unparalleled charisma? My superior adaptability?” He paused for his date to stop laughing before he continued, “My cool glasses?” That earned him a scoff.

“Clark Kent you ain’t, buddy.” Ono retorted dryly, but the effect was ruined by the smile trying to break out across his face. Topic successfully deflected.

“Definitely no Superman, either.” Akira stretched and laughed softly.“Too gangly.” He was finally starting to actually relax a little when an arm snaked around his waist and tugged him close, effectively shooting his progress in the face.

“I dunno if I’d say gangly. Lean, maybe?” Ono’s voice was close to his ear again and his hand was ridiculously warm where it rested on his hip. “Whatever you wanna call it, it definitely suits you.”

“Uh. Th-thanks.” A few moments passed, allowing Akira to attempt to scrape together something resembling a brain cell.

“Y’know, if you’re here to make memories, maybe we should get on that.”

Attempt failed, try again later. Something about the guy’s voice, especially with the way it ghosted across an apparently very sensitive spot just behind his ear, seemed to have a vendetta against Akira trying to think. Purely on impulse, with no input from his higher functions that had all abandoned him at that point, Akira turned his head and hummed his assent against the corner of Ono’s jaw. He felt a shiver run through the taller boy and a decidedly Arsene-shaped sense of smug satisfaction in the back of his mind. Akira wasn’t sure if he should offer his inner self thanks or wonder where the hell this kind of helpful nudge was earlier that afternoon with Ryuji. Or at literally any point with Ryuji. Maybe it was for the better, he really didn’t have the nerve to follow up on a move like that. And if he couldn’t with the guy who’d arranged the damn date, there was no way he’d have been able to after probably ambushing his unsuspecting best friend. There was no point in dwelling on that, though. Instead, he met the hooded gaze Jason levelled at him with a smirk meant to cover his rising nerves.

Anyone who knew Joker, Infamous Leader of the Phantom Thieves would have recognized that particular smirk as the prelude to him being a little shit, but Ono did not. He had no idea what to expect when Akira replied lowly, “I think you might be onto something there.” The blond leaned in a little, eyes fluttering shut as Akira reached up to settle one hand on the back of Jason’s neck--

--and shattered the moment with a quiet click from his phone’s camera. Ono blinked a few times, looking up to where Akira was holding his phone up for the selfie he’d just snapped, and back to Akira’s face. Double take. Triple take. And then he fixed him with the most unimpressed face Akira had ever seen in his life, which had to be some kind of world record.

“Uhhh, say ‘cheese?’” He cracked a smile and tried hard not to laugh as that look somehow turned even more unimpressed.

“Ha freaking ha.” Ono pouted up at the camera. “Seriously. I’m gonna crack a rib laughin’ here. You’re hilarious.”

“Are you saying you don’t want a picture of yourself when you look this good?” Akira replied innocently and lowered his arm a little. Maybe it was unfair to push the buttons of a guy so obviously and aggressively walking the fine line between confident and vain, but the way his pout deepened before twisting into a smile was too cute.

“Fine, twist my arm why don’t you?” Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly and settled against Akira before looking up into the camera. Halfway through the burst of pictures Akira took, Jason exacted his revenge and pressed a kiss to that sensitive spot he’d ghosted his breath over a moment ago. Thankfully the camera didn’t pick up the deeply embarrassing yelp that particular move elicited from Akira, but there was no hiding the way the phone suddenly jerked in his hand halfway through the dozen or so pictures, or the way his face had gone completely scarlet in all of them from that point onward. It was his turn to pout as he swiped through his camera roll and deleted the blurriest ones. “Ooh, definitely send me that one. And those two.” Ono instructed with his chin hooked over Akira’s shoulder. Naturally the guy wanted the pictures with the worst of Akira’s tomato face, but at least the rest he requested were nice. Maybe Akira wouldn’t be spending the rest of the night too mortified.

The incoming text notification that dropped from the top of his screen said otherwise. Goddammit.

“Oh man, the timing on that’s almost spooky. Hell of a coincidence.” Jason laughed as the preview of Futaba’s ‘who the heck is that guy???’ disappeared into the notifications bar. Akira groaned.

“Not a coincidence.”

#my writing #persona 5 #misguided wingman #any and all bits of the persona peanut gallery in akira's head is less a separate entities thing #and more like 'romantic impulsivity and maxed courage stat is stored in the arsene'#I'm working on the final chapter of this and am really hype #like. REALLY hype.#like planning at least 2 spinoff fics that resolve the nonsense #plus possibly a third that's literally just a chatfic of the other thieves betting on pegoryu becoming canon #I've been doing this for how many weeks and only just thought to start putting it under a cut

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homeformyheart · 3 years

Text

the antidote - m!raleigh carrera x mc (plat)

author’s note: follow-up to “hopeless.” i hope you enjoy!

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. songs and lyrics owned by their respective creators. series/pairing: platinum – m!raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian) rating/warnings: 18+; swearing and smut; ns*w parts between the 🔥⚡ and ❄💧 icons word count: 2.9k based on/prompt: “love in the dark” by adele / “golden” by harry styles summary: cadence realizes raleigh stopped by her apartment late at night and decides to patch things up.

the antidote

raleigh lifted his head from his hands and winced at the pain in his neck. he slowly started massaging the side of his neck and glanced at his phone. it was almost midnight and he was almost positive that cadence wouldn’t still be out. maybe she went to matt’s instead. was she living with him? shit, he didn’t even stop to consider that she might not even live in this apartment anymore. maybe it really was hopeless. he rubbed his eyes and stood up to leave.

by the time he got back to his apartment, it was almost 1am. stupid late night construction on the bridge turned a 20 minute car ride into 40 and even though he really should just go to bed, he was going to polish off that bottle of mezcal he started and indulge (although some would call it torture) himself. he set his phone to cast to his tv and hit play on cadence’s video album. just for a moment, he wanted to pretend she was singing for him.

he made himself comfortable on the couch with his half-finished bottle of mezcal as his surround-sound speakers reverberated softly with cadence’s soulful voice; it was as though his home speaker set-up was tuned just for her. he poured himself a glass only to quickly drain it, so he poured himself another.

i can’t love you in the dark it feels like we’re oceans apart

ironically, or maybe not so ironically, raleigh was sitting in the dark, looking up at cadence’s beautiful, crying face on his enormous tv. god, she even somehow made crying look beautiful. for some reason, this song in particular hit closest to home for him. in a way, cadence was finally acknowledging that he was always dragging her down into his dark, self-destructive headspace and she needed more, she needed to be in the light so she could live the life she was meant for.

at the end of the song, raleigh switched off the tv and pulled up his recording app. he had been working on a song for months and had the track laid out but couldn’t seem to get the lyrics right. he grabbed his guitar from the other end of the couch and played a few warm-up chords. he really shouldn’t try to sing or record anything while drunk, but he’d deal with the mess in the morning.

as the opening track played in the background, he closed his eyes and recalled his favorite memory. they were sleeping in, with cadence using his arm as a pillow. the sun was starting to rise and beam through his penthouse windows, and raleigh shifted carefully onto his side so he could use cadence’s head to block out the sunlight hitting him directly in the face. as he was closing his eyes to sleep a little more, he noticed that the sun was leaving a golden hue around her head and body, making it seem like she was glowing.

cadence sighed and looked at her phone. it was almost midnight. he was probably out clubbing and hooking up with a model or something and cadence knew if she stayed here all night she would regret it. maybe she read him wrong. maybe he only wanted to know if she loved matt because he was angry she didn’t give him a heads up and not because he still had feelings for her. she requested a dryve before putting her shoes back on and heading back downstairs.

she raised her head tiredly when the driver stopped at her apartment and dragged her aching feet to the elevator and down the hallway to her unit. she stopped in front of her door, puzzled at the crumpled piece of clothing on the floor before picking it up. she held it up in front of her and recognized it as the maroon suit jacket raleigh was wearing earlier that evening. cadence smiled to herself as she changed out of her gown and let her hair down. maybe it wasn’t hopeless after all.

* * * * * raleigh groaned at the pinging noise from his phone indicating he was getting text messages. why didn’t he put his phone on silent? he reached over and was confused when his hand landed on pure air instead of his mattress or nightstand. he cracked an eye open and realized he fell asleep on the couch, which he was going to pay for later. raleigh sat up and stretched before grabbing his phone off the floor and opening his messages.

whatever hungover state he was in disappeared when he realized they were all from cadence.

cadence: [i assume this was a gift for me, but it doesn’t quite go with my dress]

she sent him a selfie of her wearing his jacket over her gold dress from last night. which meant she eventually did make it home. and that he left his jacket at her apartment like an idiot.

cadence: [actually, i think it looks better like this, but it’s a bit big don’t you think?]

his eyes widened when he saw the last message she sent, which was just a selfie of her wearing the jacket without a shirt underneath. she blocked out her face and the picture only showed the top half of her body, but it was enough to send blood rushing south and raleigh groaned again, rubbing his hands over his tired face. he was not sober enough to process this.

a knock on the door made his stomach suddenly drop with anxiety. he stood up and dragged his feet to the door, not bothering to check who it might be before opening it, only to have his jaw drop in surprise to see cadence. and of course, she looked absolutely perfect in a yellow romper, her long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with wisps of hair framing her nervous face.

“hi,” she said, licking her lips nervously.

“hey,” was all raleigh could get out as he blinked rapidly to wake himself up.

“can i come in?” he nodded and stepped away from the door.

cadence followed and set her bag down before handing him an iced coffee and the breakfast burrito she grabbed on her way over. he looked at her quizzically but didn’t hesitate to start scarfing down the food.

“i figured you might be hungover and we didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation last night,” cadence said, shrugging nonchalantly to hide how nervous she was.

raleigh took a long sip of his coffee before answering, “how did you figure that?”

“because i know you, raleigh. even if you like to act like i don’t. also, clearly you came by my apartment last night given you left this there,” she said, taking out his jacket from her bag and folding it neatly on the kitchen table.

raleigh looked away and finished off his breakfast. “a crazy fan could’ve taken it from me while i was out last night and left it at your place,” he said, shrugging. he looked over at cadence with a smirk and chuckled at the same time she giggled at how ridiculous he sounded.

“so you were at my apartment while i was at yours,” cadence said. she waited a beat for it to click for raleigh; once she noticed the shift in his eyes and brow, she continued, “so, let’s talk.”

“you’re the one who didn’t answer my question,” raleigh pouted. he was not going to make this easy for her, hungover state or not.

cadence folded her hands in her lap. “okay… let’s talk about the real reason you didn’t want our relationship to be public.”

raleigh stopped drinking his coffee mid-sip. “you know the reason. i was trying to protect you – your reputation, your career – from being associated with me.”

“okay, let’s agree that is one reason, but i know there are other, more significant ones, raleigh,” cadence said, a little bit annoyed. “i have a whole team whose job it is to worry about my career and reputation; i didn’t need you to worry about that too, and you know it. so be honest with me for once.”

raleigh looked away from cadence and out at his living room, which illustrated how much of a mess he was last night, with his guitar sitting on the coffee table next to the empty bottle of mezcal and his clothes from last night strewn all over the floor.

“okay, i guess i’ll just tell you what i think until you’re ready to talk. i think you were afraid of getting hurt,” cadence started hesitantly. raleigh turned back to look at her and looked as though he was genuinely considering her words, giving her the courage to continue. “for some reason, you think you don’t deserve me, and instead of working to prove to me that you do, you decided, by yourself without consulting me, that some day i might realize i deserve better than you. and the thought of losing me scared you, so instead you protected yourself by hiding our relationship.”

“that doesn’t sound like me,” raleigh said, with a sharp edge to his voice. how dare she try to psycho-analyze him? but he knew, deep down, that she was right. he felt vulnerable and terrified and unprepared for the damage she could do to him if he let himself fall for her. so he kept her at a distance.

“i wouldn’t be so sure,” cadence said slyly, pulling out her phone and pressing play.

a familiar track started playing and raleigh’s eyes widened in panic.

“cadence, i miss you so much, baby,” raleigh heard his drunken self croon out and cringed. when and why the fuck had he sent this to cadence?

i know you were way too bright for me i'm hopeless, broken

raleigh buried his face in his hands. if it was possible to die of embarrassment, this would be his moment. he had finished the song drunkenly last night and thought he was merely recording it for himself, but he must’ve sent her a voice recording instead.

he didn’t think it was possible for cadence to get even cuter, but there she was, perched on his kitchen counter singing along with a grin so wide that his own face hurt from looking at her.

“when it ends, don’t wanna let you know,” cadence sang softly, “i don’t wanna be alone.” she leaned over and nudged raleigh’s elbow off the counter and gave him an adoring look.

he sighed before clearing his throat to sing along. “i can feel you take control of who i am and all i’ve ever known,” he crooned, “loving you’s the antidote.”

the brilliant smile on her face almost made his humiliation worth it. almost. cadence put her phone back on silent and her eyes softened as she looked at him.

“raleigh – is that how you really felt?” raleigh could only nod sheepishly. “you do know i feel the same way?”

“what?”

cadence rolled her eyes. “come on, you’re raleigh carrera. thousands, if not tens of thousands, of fans would love to be with you and everyone always wonders why you’re with me, the boring, goody-two-shoes, pop star. i know what all the tabloids and your fans say, they all feel like you can do better.” cadence looked down at her lap, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “and they’re probably right.”

raleigh looked at her dumbfounded. surely, she wasn’t serious? did she really have no clue that she was the one who brings light to his life? and without it, he’d just drown in his own drunken stupor. he stood up abruptly, startling cadence slightly with the sound of the scraping chair as he walked around the kitchen table to her side of the kitchen counter.

“you have no idea what you do to me, do you cadence dorian?” he murmured, tilting his face upward so cadence could stare into his gorgeous eyes. “you are everything that is good, and light, and real in my life and i don’t deserve you.”

“well, maybe we deserve each other,” she retorted, amused.

raleigh smirked. “does that mean you don’t love matt?”

cadence rolled her eyes and wiggled her left hand in front of his face. “it was all publicity, baby. and maybe a little payback to get your attention.”

his eyes narrowed. “are you fucking kidding me?”

“you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with me, raleigh. it was actually matt’s idea and it worked, didn’t it? you were finally honest with me,” cadence said, pointedly. “you should be flattered, really.”

raleigh couldn’t help but fail at holding his smirk and broke out into a grin. “i love you.”

cadence felt her eyes get misty. “i love you too, raleigh. so much,” she leaned in and he met her halfway in a searing kiss full of longing, desire, and love.

🔥⚡🔥⚡

he stepped closer, nudging cadence’s knees apart so he could pull her flush against him. his hands ran up and down her back, settling on her thighs as he kissed her relentlessly, swallowing any sighs, gasps, or breaths she tried to take as he bit her lip, kissed her neck, sucked on her collarbone, and moved back up to her lips again.

“raleigh, please, i need more,” cadence gasped as his hands squeezed her butt. she tried to ground herself on his broad shoulders but his bare skin beneath her fingers felt as hot as she did at her core. raleigh let out a low growl and pulled back just far enough away so he could balance before he lifted her up off the counter.

he continued kissing her collarbone as he walked over to his bedroom, laying her gently down on the comforter. he massaged her breasts with one hand while searching for a zipper or way to take off her romper with the other.

“what the fuck is with this dress?” he said between kisses. “it is not giving me access to you.”

cadence laughed, that sweet, ringing laugh he missed so much. “it’s a romper, raleigh. you take it off all at once,” she said, doing her best to look seductively at him while untying the halter strap and lowering the zipper so he could pull the romper off her and throw it on the floor, followed by his sweatpants.

“don’t wear that stupid thing again,” he growled as he buried his head between her legs. cadence gasped at the sudden feel of raleigh’s tongue on her clit and fingers against her core, stoking the fire she felt before.

“i won’t, god, raleigh, that feels so good—i need you, now,” she whimpered, reaching down to grab his face and pull him up to her.

raleigh groaned and lined himself up at her entrance. he leaned down to kiss her deeply and watch with satisfaction at her face as he pinched her nipples and reached down to grab her ass. cadence impatiently locked her legs behind his and pulled him toward her, sighing with satisfaction once he was fully inside her.

“you feel so good, cadence,” raleigh growled, nipping at her bottom lip as he started thrusting slowly.

cadence lightly scratched his back up and down before settling her hands on his ass and grabbing them firmly. “faster, raleigh. please,” she didn’t care that she was begging, only that she wanted more of him.

raleigh started moving at an almost punishing pace, but cadence matched him thrust for thrust until she couldn’t take it anymore. she didn’t know where she ended and raleigh began. he filled all her senses - his touch, his kisses, until she couldn’t think of anything but him. she cried out his name as the pressure became almost unbearable and raleigh watched with awe at how radiant she looked coming apart in his arms. it didn’t take long before he followed suit, grunting her name and collapsing on top of her.

❄💧❄💧

“i love you,” cadence whispered, as raleigh slid off her and pulled her in to his side.

raleigh leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “i love you, too. i don’t know about you but i really need a nap. i stayed out really late last night waiting at my girlfriend’s apartment but she was a no-show.”

cadence let herself quietly internalize his words. “are you sure you’re ready? we’re going to do this together?”

he nodded. “i don’t want to be without you anymore. i can’t be without you, cadence.”

cadence hummed and curled her body into him even closer. “good. i’ll be your antidote.”

“you’re never going to let that go, are you?” he said, but without any real snark in his tone.

“nope, you’re stuck with me, raleigh carrera,” cadence murmured sleepily as raleigh pulled up the comforter to cover her shoulders.

he would take however long she was wiling to stick with him, because there was no doubt in his mind, he was head over heels in love with her. he looked down at cadence’s sleeping form, and for the first time in a long while, felt completely relaxed and content. as he felt his body slip into sleep, his last thought was about how much he was looking forward to waking up with light.

* * * * * mentions: @dulceghernandez; @thegreentwin; @kat-tia801; @the-unconquered-queen; @otherworldlypresents; @brycesgirl; @robintora;

#choices platinum #reposting for new blog #raleigh carrera #raleigh x mc #raleigh carrera x mc #raleigh carrera x cadence dorian #cadence dorian #not twc #my writing #choices fanfic #choices fanfics #playchoices fanfiction #choices #pb choices #playchoices #long fic #ns*w #my choices fics

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 3 years

Text

2020 IN WRITING

tagged by: @indestinatus

tagging: no one, because I am unable to think straight. But whoever is interested in doing this: I’m interested in reading it. <3

Wow, okay, I’m getting real in this little questionnaire... read at your own risk, friends.

1. List of works published this year:

I genuinely can’t write them all out here... there are too many of them! (I’ve done so little besides writing this year!) But I keep a running list of all my projects here. I’m sorry for cheating on this one, haha.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

This question comes up a lot on these things, and I always put the same answer: That We May Forgive. It’s has emotional moments, silly moments, heartfelt moments where the warmth made me cry as I wrote. It was written in one sitting, and it’s the story where I felt most connected to the characters I love so much. It sums up the joy I feel knowing that these (fictional) friends of mine have finally reached peace after too many years of trauma and hardship. I began the story with a single line in mind, after which the characters took over and told the story for me:

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

You Stumble, You Soar, which was written for one of my dearest friends in the world, @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee. I wanted to do so much better by her, but as I ran out of time to complete the story by the end of her birthday, I rushed the writing and I think the story suffered for it. It made her happy, though, and that’s the most important thing. She deserves all the happiness, all the time—but especially on her birthday.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I can’t think of a favorite excerpt of my writing, because I’ve written so much that I can’t think back!

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

“Wow. Let me just tell you that I am absolutely in love with this story. I wake up everyday and, as I log into fanfiction, my only hope is that you've uploaded a new chapter because DAMN. The characters are so well written, the story is beautifully constructed and this last chapter just broke my heart into tiny little pieces. What a remarkable job you've done. Please, don't ever stop writing NCIS/Tiva fanfiction- specially this one story: it's one of my all time favorites. Thank you :)”

An incredibly kind and inspiring comment by a reader named Alexandra on my longest (WIP) fic, We Are an Ocean.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I’ve had two periods of NCIS hiatus this year—and actually, I’m still in the midst of the second one right now. These have periods of turmoil in my own life. When I’m upset, feeling sick, feeling sorry for myself and I’m depressed and aching... that’s when I write the best, because writing is my safety blanket. When I’m feeling numb, though, or lost... the characters are lost to me, too, and so are the words I use to wrap them (and myself) in comfort.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I’m going to deviate here from NCIS, which is—I’m well aware—why most of my followers have chosen to follow me. But in the last month, I’ve written a single fic for Criminal Minds—it’s called In Possibility, it’s unpublished, and it’s now over 100,00 words. It’s centered on Spencer Reid, who was intimidating to me when I started writing the fic. He’s far more intelligent than I am, requiring me to do a lot of research to give him realistic lines, he’s a deep and complicated character with complicated motivations and a tangled, traumatic past. He also has a sweet, really good heart that’s been scarred by years of difficult work and an emotionally taxing personal life.

I thought he’d be difficult to write; to my surprise, he comes as naturally to me as any of my other favorite characters ever have. He gave me my first nanowrimo win! To be frank, he’s gotten me through a lot of shit this year. That was the best surprise.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

To be honest, I wasn’t much of a writer before this year. I enjoyed writing, especially in a roleplay setting with fandom friends... but I deeply struggled with trying to write alone. I didn’t do much of it.

Then, this year, well... the concept of writing exploded into the most important distraction, escape, and joy I could imagine.

I didn’t grow as a writer this year. I became a writer this year.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

My most recent project—the one that, as I’ve said, is (and will remain) unpublished—has given me a new perspective. It’s written for an audience of me and only me... so I’ve given myself permission to engage in the most ridiculously self-indulgent writing I’ve ever embraced and thrown myself into.

And it has been the greatest joy I could imagine in a time of great pain.*

Next year, I want to throw myself into every project I work on with as much reckless abandon as I’ve done in this last project. I want to stop worrying so much about what people will think and pursue the words that are bursting out of the fingers on my laptop keyboard. I want to have confidence in my ability to draw out emotions—if from no one else, at least from myself.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” —Emily Dickinson

And it’s alright if that one heart is mine.

That’s what I want to accomplish in my writing next year, and what a growth that would be!

* I’ve mentioned this in my last post, but I’m recovering from brain surgery, I also have the COVID-19 virus, and I’m working on passing a kidney stone that may be too big to pass. I’m writing 10,000 words a day to get through it—and it’s working. Distraction is everything to me right now.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Like Sof, I have to tag three people here, because I really couldn’t choose just one. My three best friends in the world all influenced my writing in their own ways! <3 (Sorry for deviating a little from the writing thing in some of the following lines, oops. I just have emotions that are all over the place this week!)

@indestinatus — One of a few best friends who has had my back every day for so long now. She listens when I need to talk things out—whether or not I’m talking about writing. She really gets me when I need to be silly, or I need to be serious, or I just really, really need a friend. Also, she inspired me to start learning Portuguese this year, and I’m actually practicing by writing a fic in Portuguese, lol. It’s slow going... but Sof encourages me (and corrects me, haha) whenever I work on it, just as she does with absolutely anything else I work on. Truly, I’ve had few friends in my life that are so special to me, and I love her. I really do.

@why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee — Is there a better cheerleader on this earth? Is there a better friend? Doubtful on both counts. She thinks I’m a disaster—and, by the way, she’s absolutely right—and she sometimes has to remind me to eat and sleep, but she’s totally cool with being my internet mom. Doesn’t matter that she’s nearly a decade younger than I am, lol. All of these things have bolstered me when the writer inside of me has faltered, and she has carried my burdens as I wrote them out. Anyway, she reads everything I write, and she has requested to gain access to all of my unfinished chapters and unpublished works in the event that I die—I completely trust her with that nonsense. I’ve written it into my will. Really. Like with Sof, I genuinely love Tiz, and I’d do anything for her.

@honeybadgerdocare — Best friend of 20 years. She doesn’t watch the same shows that I do, and my endless ranting makes very little sense to her... but she listens. She’s my sounding board for everything I write, everything I read, everything I watch, and everything that gives me big feelings. I genuinely can’t describe how much she has helped me with my writing every single day, so I’ll leave it at this: I could not do it without her. I’d drown in my own struggles and I’d stop creating the art that sustains me. She’s my soulmate—sorry to her fiancé. All of my love goes to her!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

HAHAHAHAHA it’s cute how you think my writing is anything other than a re-organized and fictionalized version of my life and my feelings. Real life shows up in my writing, and my writing shows up in my real life. It gets crazy and obsessive, but like... I had a trip to Israel booked this year (obviously canceled due to the pandemic, but still) because Ziva comes from Israel. (Also because of my Jewish adoration for the spiritual homeland, but the thought of going and the trip planning all started with Ziva.) I went to Baltimore so I could run down an alley yelling “YOU CAN’T OUTRUN ME, I’M WEARING TUBE SOCKS!” to encourage my inner Tony DiNozzo. I nearly froze to death in Washington, D.C. and called my mom every time I saw a little red mini coop that looked like Ziva’s, or came across a place that was featured in an NCIS scene.

And to answer the actual question here, because I obviously flipped it around like the moron I am... when the pandemic canceled things I was desperately looking forward to, I wrote a fic where Tali’s excitedly anticipated dance recital got canceled because of the pandemic. I lost my appendix (last year, but the fic was written this year — does that count?) and wrote a fic where Tali loses hers, too. (I swear, I don’t always write things that torture Tali, lol, these are just my best examples!) When I lost a couple of loved ones this year, I wrote a funeral scene where Tony and Tali remembered Ziva. Writing is definitely free therapy, y’all.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Write for yourself—write what you love, and you’ll love what you write. That’s all. That’s it. That’s my advice, something I’ve learned this year.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’ve been working on We Are an Ocean for roughly a year now, and 2021 needs to see it finished. I’ve got a number of lovely, dedicated readers who deserve to see the story play out as it’s intended to be played out.

Also, my greatest love right now, In Possibility, will probably write itself to an end in 2021. Or... who knows? Maybe it will worm its way into 2022, too. :-)

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

Since I already went into detail about my favorite fic of mine from this year (That We May Forgive), I’ll recommend a different one: The Stars Always Make Me Laugh. It has some of the darkest moments I’ve ever written, but it also has some of the lightest moments I’ve ever written. It was an answer to two different challenges, and if I can say this without sounding arrogant, I think I met the challenges beautifully. It gave me comfort, catharsis, and closure for a few things in my own life... and I hope it comforts my readers, too.

15. Year word count:

HOLY FUCKING SHIT (excuse my French). I just added up my AO3 word count + my current unpublished project, and... my word count is:

428,557.

FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN WORDS

I nearly just fell out of my chair. Goodbye, friends. I am deceased.

#wow wow wow #i'm so sorry for the aggressive feelings here #did not mean to get that effin detailed about my life #but i can't help that my emotions are wildly fluctuating as I fight so many health issues at once #anyway #still on hiatus but #this questionnaire thing soothed my soul #and i enjoyed doing it #thanks for the tag sof!#love you all #about cynthia #personal

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hellas-himself · 4 years

Text

More Than Enough

Remember that self indulgent crack ship holiday fic I was writing about Cassian and Feyre? And how I couldn’t seem to mix the past with the present?

It’s a fic now. Still in the same AU just like... the year before. Leading up to the cheesy ass nonsense it is now. Originally it was going to be angsty at first but I think we have enough of that in our real life. If you haven’t read the crackship holidays featuring these two dumbasses, start here or on AO3.

Also. I promise all my other fics are not being abandoned.

I’ve had a playlist to listen to when writing them but it is so incredibly inappropriate if you understand spanish. and i haven’t made it onto spotify yet. But this song reminded me of them and that’s where the title comes from. Which is funny because Alina is who i put beside Toni Mafud as Rhys and Feyre whenever fan casts come up. ANYWAY.

Let’s follow Feyre as she thirsts after her best friend.

I blame it on the music.

Cassian lost his shirt about half an hour ago and is doing pull ups. The garage door is open, letting in the cold winter air. My fingers are cold but I don’t like wearing gloves when sketching. I had been working on hands and eyes but once he tossed his shirt… It’s not like I’ve never seen Cassian without a shirt on before. Between him and his brothers, they seem to always find an excuse to not wear one. But the difference is I don’t find myself daydreaming about what it would be like to run my fingers down their backs.

It’s definitely the music.

Even if I didn’t understand the words, the beat itself is way too sensual to not be about anything else but sex. But the lyrics and Cassian’s sweaty, half naked body mixed with the fact that I haven’t had sex in months is probably the worst mix. I am not supposed to be imagining sleeping with my best friend.

I clear my throat, startling Valo who was falling asleep at my feet.

“Sorry, baby, I need a drink.”

I set my sketch book and pencil down on the crate beside my chair.

“Would you get me a drink, bunny?” Cas breathes out and my face flushes all the more. I didn’t need another detail to this stupid daydream.

“Yeah,” I squeak and head into the house. I already know his post workout drink recipe by heart. I drink ice cold water while the blender is going.

Cassian is suspended in the air, holding his entire body parallel to the floor with his hands. Goddamn him. He drops his head back so that he’s looking at me upside down and he smiles.

“I love you,” he says and I roll my eyes.

“I’ll love you more if you don’t bust your ass.”

He chuckles and just to drive the nail in the coffin that is my desire to be the reason he’s making noises like that, he slowly lowers his body and resumes his pull ups. I set his cup on the table where he has his tools and go back to sit down.

Cassian drops down and walks over to his mat to do his cool down stretches. A new song comes on and the words are so filthy that I find myself staring at him. His tattoos. My ex-boyfriend had always believed I was into Cassian- and I wasn’t. But I wasn’t blind and I’ve been at his house almost every single day since Thanksgiving- he is always without a shirt.

It’s just the music.

“Plan on drawing me?” Cassian asks and I blink. I look away from his tattooed chest and to his face. He is smirking. Shit.

“Uh. Yeah. What better way to do anatomy studies than with a living reference?”

“Anatomy, huh?”

He flashes me a grin before he walks over to the table for his drink.

“Hey, what do you want for dinner?”

His question distracts me from looking at his ass.

“Uh, whatever you want… I’m not really craving anything.” Except you. I sigh and cover my face with my hands and lean over. I need a cold shower.

“Hey… You alright?” he asks softly.

I nod and slowly sit upright.

“I’m just… I’m fine. I promise.”

He doesn’t believe me but he walks over to grab his speaker.

“I love this song,” he says and starts to sing along to it as he gratefully goes back into the house.

Cassian meets me in the living room now dressed in a white tee and grey sweatpants. He lifts both my legs up so that he can sit down. This is normal. I always use his lap to rest my legs.

“I ordered Greek, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I told you, I’m not craving anything except-”

Fuck my entire life. Cassian raises a brow and I toss him the remote.

“Why don’t we finish your show so then we can watch my movie?”

This pacifies him and thankfully, his stupid show is so violent and bloody that all thoughts of fucking my best friend fade from my mind.

Our annual Christmas party is tonight and I’ve found an outfit. It is the kind of outfit Tamlin would have told me not to wear. It’s blood red and insanely inappropriate for winter with its spaghetti straps and super low neckline. Mor says it’s the perfect thing to wear after a break up and just the thought of all the pictures we’ll take with me and Cassian together makes me believe it.

I hang the dress up in the closet of Cassian’s bedroom. The heels are set beside his dress shoes and I can’t help but think about his reaction. Of dancing with him all night and coming back here and-

“Bunny!”

“I’m in the closet!”

I hear him chuckle.

“Shut up,” I call out and walk into the bedroom to find him pulling off his shirt. I feel my face go hot.

“I’m going to shower… do you want me to use the other bathroom?”

“What? No, this is your house,” I say far more casually than I feel. “Besides, we’ve got time, we can share.”

I want to punch myself in the face. Cassian starts to grin.

“The shower might be a little too small for the both of us but I’m sure we could find a way to-”

Cassian laughs when I smack his arm.

“Not exactly where I like being spanked but I’ll take it.”

“Oh my god, Cassian.”

He laughs and disappears into the bathroom. I force myself to leave the room when I hear the water.

Cassian walks into the kitchen in nothing but a towel, his hair wet, water dripping down his chest. He walks over and takes the sandwich from my hands.

“Fuck, we’re out of beer,” he mutters as he opens the fridge. I grab the second sandwich I made, expecting him to steal from my plate and force my gaze up. On his stupidly gorgeous face.

“I can go get some,” I say but he shakes his head and walks over to take my cup of iced tea.

“Are you cool with us taking a cab tonight?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Cassian drinks from my cup and sets it down before pinching my cheek.

“It’ll just be you and me,” he says softly. “So don’t worry about it.”

I blush at this and Cassian kisses my forehead.

“I’m gonna go get dressed. Thanks for the snack,” he says with a wink and walks away.

I keep my makeup rather muted; lip gloss and the usual winged liner. Nude eyeshadow. Cassian picked out the highlight and I have to admit, he chose well. My hair isn’t going to get any better, so I leave it in loose waves rather than the curls I’d wanted. I’ll leave that to Mor. I feel nervous, this is the first time since the breakup that I’m going out with all of our friends but Cassian will be there, and that’s enough to ease my nerves. Almost.

“Our ride is here,” Cas says as he walks into his bedroom. He stops and just stares. I approach him and hold out my ID card and debit card, needing to ignore the way his attention has me feeling.

“I don’t have pockets.”

“What?” He blinks and looks down at my hand. He laughs and pulls his wallet out. “You only need your ID.”

“Maybe so,” I say and reach out to smooth down the collar of his shirt while he puts my cards away. I remember my lip gloss and put it in his back pocket, giving him a wink.

Cassian holds my hand when we go outside, helping me down the steps and the driveway. It’s a regular occurrence, but I blush when he opens the door for me. And when he slides an arm around my shoulders when he sits down beside me. We take a bunch of pictures and call Cassian’s parents to check on Val- as if we hadn’t seen him an hour ago.

When we get to the club, Cassian holds my hand as we walk inside. Cassian and the boys are all friends with the owner, so we get to skip the line.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Cassian leads us up to the VIP lounge.

“Meeting up with Rhys.”

“What’s he doing up here?”

Cassian chuckles. “You know Rhys never passes a chance to be extra as fuck.”

I can’t argue with that.

Upstairs, Cassian helps me out of my coat. His fingers brush my skin and my mind takes a swan dive into the gutter.

“What do you say to a few drinks before we go downstairs?” he asks as he takes my hand. The bouncer outside the lounge acknowledges us with a nod.

“Yeah, I could use it.”

Cassian flashes me a grin and then opens the door.

“SURPRISE!” Everyone shouts and I find all of our friends standing under a Happy Birthday banner.

I am at a loss for words and Cassian laughs, bringing me further into the room. I’d completely forgotten about my birthday, I hadn’t cared enough to even think that anyone else would. But Elain is here with Az. So is Rhys and Lucien, Amren, Varian. Viv and Kallias, too. I’m separated from Cassian as I’m hugged and kissed by everyone. I realize Tarquin and Cresseida are here as well. Rhys is the one who breaks open the first bottle and we all stand around the little table to take shots.

“There is a cake,” Elain says as she hands me another shot. “But that’s later.”

“Later?”

She winks at me and shouts for Azriel.

“That’s my favorite song!” she exclaims and her husband happily ditches his brothers to go out and dance with his wife.

Lucien and Rhys pull me in for another hug as the others begin to trail down to the dance floor.

“You look good enough to eat,” Lucien mumbles and I laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re already drunk, Luce.”

“We may have pregamed at the house,” Rhys admits. “But we took an uber! It’s okay.”

I roll my eyes.

“You both suck. I’m going to go find me two other cute boys to dance with. Boys who would have invited me to pregame with them and no amount of flirting is going to fix that.”

They begin to whine and I laugh, holding onto Rhysand’s forearms as they keep me caged between them.

“Alright! You win!” I say with a laugh and look over to find Cassian looking my way. He smiles.

I want to ask him to dance but Mor pulls him away before I can open my mouth.

We drink and dance and drink and dance and drink some more. I feel light headed and everything makes me laugh. But I haven’t danced with Cassian yet and that’s enough to dampen the mood. I push my way through the crowd until I find Cassian at the bar. I take the empty barstool beside him and sit down. I order myself a margarita before turning to face him.

“And where have you been all night?” I ask and Cassian smirks.

“Enjoying the night,” he says and takes a sip of his drink.

“Without me?”

I don’t understand the look in his eyes as he takes a sip of his drink. He sets the glass down and leans forward. I didn’t really understand just how short this dress was until he lays his hand on my thigh. If I turn my chair completely, if he moves his hand just an inch more…

“Yes,” he says and kisses me cheek. “But I think I’m about to enjoy it more now.”

“Why?” I manage to say. Cassian’s hand brushes my thigh as he sits upright.

“I’m about to go dance with my best friend.”

“Are you now?”

My drink is set before me and I grab it, chugging it down as Cassian slides off his chair. He turns mine so that I’m facing him completely and puts his hands on my hips.

“If she says yes, of course.”

I finish the last of my drink and set down the glass.

“When have I ever said no to you?”

Cassian grins.

I have danced with Cassian many times. At parties, at the beach, at clubs and bars and festivals. At his parents’ house. I should be used to the feeling of his body against mine, of his hands on me while we dance but not like this. I want nothing more than to take him back up to the lounge and push him down on the sofa or go find an empty bathroom stall.

But I don’t.

Birthday cake and alcohol isn’t the best mix, but I haven’t felt this alive in months. My face hurts from laughing, from smiling. My vision is spotty from all the pictures we’ve taken but I don’t care. Everything is right in the world.

“My feet hurt,” I complain and sit on Cassian’s lap.

“Want me to rub your feet?”

I shake my head and lean into him.

“No. Not until I’m showered.”

He laughs. “Okay.”

I sigh when he wraps his arms around me. He is so warm and smells so good, I want to stay this way forever.

“I think the birthday girl is done for the night,” Rhys says teasingly and I realize I was dozing off. I look up to see Rhys standing there with a stupid smirk on his face.

“Fuck you,” I say and curl up in Cassian’s arms. I feel his hand holding my dress down from showing everyone else my ass.

“Tempting,” Rhys says and then shoves his hands in his pockets. “But I think I’ll pass.”

I don’t think much of the look Rhys gives Cassian in favor of playing with his hair. I take way too much satisfaction in the knowledge that not everyone gets to do this, and that he enjoys it. Cassian seems to win whatever silent staring contest he and Rhys were having and Rhys rolls his eyes and goes after his boyfriend.

“You’re making me sleepy, bunny.”

“Good thing we’re going home together then,” I say before my mind catches up. But Cassian only chuckles and hugs me a little closer.

Cassian and I are a laughing mess as we stumble into the house. I lean on him to step out of my heels and he laughs as I shrug off my coat and toss it at him. We’re both trying to catch our breath, and I swat his hand away when he tries to tickle me again.

“I’m taking a shower,” I breathe out and walk off but he stops me.

“Wait,” he says and I turn to find him smiling.

“What?”

“Happy birthday,” he says softly and pulls me in for a hug. “I promise I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Hm… you really know the way to a girl’s heart, Cas.”

He pinches my side and I yelp.

“Go shower,” he says and kisses the top of my head.

“I won’t be long.”

My shower is clumsy and not at all relaxing. My feet hurt. So I put lotion on my body and grab the bottle of perfume that is on the dresser, except it’s not perfume but cologne. I shrug and put on Cassian’s Nirvana tee shirt and double check I actually have underwear on before I go looking for him.

“Cas?” The house is dark save for the light coming from his room. “My feet fucking hurt.”

He says something but I don’t understand it. His room is open and I step inside, finding him lying on his bed. He’s got basketball shorts on and his hair is loose.

“Bunny!” he says as if he hadn’t seen me all day. “I almost busted my ass in the shower.”

“Me, too.” I say with a laugh. “Maybe we should’ve showered together. It would’ve been safer that way.”

“I like the way you think, Archeron.”

He holds his hand out to me and when I’m close enough, he pulls me into bed with him. “You smell good.”

I snort. “I smell like you.”

“Exactly.”

I swat his arm but he ignores it, putting his arms around me.

“My feet hurt,” I complain, hoping he’ll make good on his promise.

“Just stay here,” he says simply.

My heart stops and starts too fast.

“Like… sleep here?” I ask too quietly.

“Mhm.” He goes quiet for a moment and then groans. “I forgot to turn the light off.”

“I can do it,” I say.

“No… Stay here.”

He goes quiet once more, and I let myself relax. We haven’t shared a bed since we were kids, playing video games until Adela would force us to go to bed. I smile at the thought and rest my head against his chest.

“Goodnight, Cas,” I say quietly, my eyes getting heavy.

“Goodnight, bunny,” he says and lets me go to stretch. Then he wraps his arms around me again and moves us so that we’re on our sides. He presses a kiss to my forehead and I close my eyes, letting the warmth of him lull me to sleep.

@mythicaitt @bookloveaffair @nalgenewhore @candid-confetti

#more than enough #cassian x feyre #crackship #and absolute self indulgence #him calling her bunny will be the end of me #i dont care what's canon #or that feyrhycien is everything to me

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years

Note

hi hi do you think we can see the other bit of the sternclay stripper au???

I should have it today in tomorrow! And there will even be a part three after that :)

Update: Here it is! It is, once again, Not Suitable For your Workplace.

Staff will also agree to an NDA, and will be assigned triple-encrypted communication devices for work business in order to ensure-

“Lucky, you’re up again in two minutes!”

Stern flips the training binder closed and heads towards the stage. It’s his second to last week at the club, and because it’s summer there’s been no end to flocks of traveling bros waiting to give him money when he does his routine.

As he starts going through the first part of it, he spots a familiar face in the crowd: Barclay.

They’ve been dating for a little over a month. At first Stern wasn’t sure he should refer to it as such, was more than willing to accept that he and Barclay were only a casual arrangement. But it rapidly became apparent that Barclay doesn’t just want Stern in his bed. They go out on dates, text everyday, have nights where all they do is curl up on the couch and watch old episodes of Monsterquest. It’s clear Barclay likes having someone to dote on and care for, and while Stern had thought it may have solely been some kind of kink, it seems like that’s just how he is. He’s a big guy with a lot of love to give, and right now he wants to give a large amount of it to Stern.

Barclay’s come to see him perform a few times. Some days it’s because he couldn’t figure out how to fill time between whatever he was doing and picking Stern up. Those nights, he comes across as shy. Other nights, he’s using his presence as a way to wind them both up for whatever he has planned.

Only one way to find out.

Stern begins working the crowd, collecting cash as he goes. Barclay catches his eye, holds up a bill. So it’s the second reason, then.

He makes his way over, is careful not to give Barclay anymore attention or contact than he would anyone else. As the bill slips into one of his few remaining pieces of clothing, Barclay whispers, “good boy.”

His shift can’t end soon enough.

By the time it does and he gets changed, Barclay is waiting for him in the parking lot as usual.

“Hello.” He smiles as he slides into the car.

“Hey there.” Barclay leans over and kisses him before starting the car and heading out towards his apartment.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He brings a hand to rest on Barclays knee

“Always do. Busy today?”

“Yeah, still carved out some time to read up and prepare for my internship.”

“So diligent. Guess it was good I timed it so that your favorite customer was late in the evening so you didn’t get distracted.” He teases.

“I don’t know what you mean, Barclay. Earlier there was guy who tipped me a fifty.”

“That so?” Barclay shoots him a smirk, brings a hand to rub at the knot in the back of Sterns neck.

“There was also a gentleman who was extremely flattering during my first dance.” He returns the smirk, voice playing at innocence.

“That how you want to do this, babe?” The hand stops massaging his neck, grips it instead.

“Yes.” Stern breathes out. Were Barclay actually jealous or possessive, actually thought that what Stern did for clients during his job was anything other than work, Stern would have already tucked and rolled out of that car. But as Barclay suddenly pulls off into a deserted county road, his heart is pounding for all the right reasons; he’s adores being good for Barclay, but there are times when being his diligent, rule following, hard working self loses it’s appeal and all he wants is to be difficult.

And he’s learned that those moments are just as enjoyable for the two of them as the times when he’s being good.

Barclay kills the engine as Stern undoes his seatbelt. Then the larger man grabs him and hauls him onto his stomach, his head resting in his lap, nose brushing the tent in his jeans. He nuzzles it, tries to mouth at it but Barclay tangles fingers in his hair and pulls his head out of range before pinning it down.

“Nope, that’s for when you’re behaving yourself.”

There’s a sharp slap against his ass and he yelps, causing two more to follow.

“That’s what you get when you’re being a pain in the ass.”

Stern moans, wiggles his ass to ask for more, gets what he wants in a flurry of impacts and soon he’s panting, pressing his lips against Barclays leg. Barclay stops, switches to soft rubs and caresses.

“A fifty got your attention, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll give you fifty. That was about twenty, so you got thirty more to go. Count.” He slaps down again and Stern moans.

“I said count.” He growls.

“One.” Stern pants.

“Much better.” Another slap.

“Two.”

By the time he reaches twenty the need to touch Barclay is overwhelming. And since the other man has one hand in his hair and the other punishing him…

He fumbles with Barclays fly, manages to get a hold of his cock and begins stroking him.

“That’s, fuck, real nice babe, but you’re not getting out of the rest of this.” Number twenty three comes harder to emphasize the point.

“I’m not trying to, I swear, I justAHtwentyfour, need to touch you.”

Barclay chuckles, nods so that Stern knows he can. It’s not graceful, the position awkward and the impacts causing him to jolt, but soon Barclay is groaning in pleasure.

“Thirty.” Stern whimpers, a noise that intensifies when Barclay pulls his head back, moves Sterns hands to his thigh and uses his own to stroke himself.

“Want me to come on you? Think you deserve it?”

“Yes, please, Barclay.”

“Well, ah fuck there we go, since you’re getting your manners back…” He yanks Stern further back just as he cums, drops hitting Sterns neck and upper chest. The grip on his head disappears and he collapses, head coming to rest on Barclays thigh. Strong fingers pet his hair even as Barclay comes down from his orgasm.

“I uh, I have some wet wipes in the glove box. Get ‘em for you in a sec.”

“Thank you.” Stern murmurs. He feels Barclay shift, hears a zipper, and then strong hands carefully guide his head fully into Barclays lap so that Stern is looking up at him.

“How you doing?”

“I believe I may need an ice pack for certain areas when we get to your place.”

“Think I can provide that.” He leans down, kisses Stern softly. There’s a few minutes of content silence as Barclay strokes his hair while they catch their breath.

“A fifty, huh? Don’t know how anyone carries that big a bill on them. I’d be constantly worried I’d lose it.”

They chat quietly for awhile, Barclay talking about his research and Stern about work, until Barclay is sure Stern doesn’t need more care or cuddles for the moment. Stern is still wildly turned on as they head for the apartment, but he has a feeling that won’t be a problem for long.

----------------------------------------------------

“Easy, tiger, easy.” Barclay laughs against Sterns mouth as he tugs him towards the bedroom, “thought you needed an ice pack.”

“Later, Barclay. Right now I need you.”

“Damn, that was pretty smooth mister future special agent.”

Just as they enter the bedroom, Barclay giggles.

“You got glitter on you.”

“What? Oh, damn it, I must have picked it up from Marshall when I hugged him.” Stern steps to the small mirror over the dresser. As he brushes the silver sparkles from his cheek, Barclay comes behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, presses him against the dresser while rolling his hips. Stern suddenly knows exactly what he wants from the night.

“I want you to fuck me.” He pushes back against his cock, feels it start responding as it rubs against his ass.

“Like this?” Barclay kisses the back of his neck, puts more weight against him.

“On the bed, but yes otherwise correct.”

Barclay growls, hugs him close, “Go get comfortable, I’ll get what we need.”

Stern undresses, folds his clothes and sets them on a chair, lays on his back and stretches his limbs, enjoying how safe and wanted he feels in this moment.

Barclay sets the condoms and lube on the bedside table, pulls his clothes off in a hurry and then climbs on top of Stern, peppering his cheeks and lips with kisses. It’s only when Stern is laughing and sighing with delight that Barclay relents, slips a condom onto his finger and coats it with lube.

Stern tenses when it first pushes inside him. Barclay runs his hands gently across his legs, waits until he relaxes before pushing further. He coos praise in Sterns ear, plants kisses along his shoulder until he’s able to add a second finger.

“Oh god.” Stern moans, tensing again.

“Been awhile?” Barclay kisses his nose.

“Uhhhhh.”

Barclay stops, looks at him with curiosity.

“Have you done this before?”

“Uhhh, well, by myself a few times but never, uh, never” he swallows, suddenly self-conscious, “never with someone else.”

“No fucking way.”

“Is that bad? I had assumed it wouldn’t be an issue but-” Barclay stops him with a kiss.

“Lucky, there’s nothing wrong with it at all. It’s just, wish I’d known before that it was your first time, woulda done like, rose petals and candles and shit. Made it special.” He’s mumbling, blushing a bit.

“First of all, virginity of any kind is a social construct-”

“I forget you took Dr.Wall’s sexuality course”

“-secondly, this is far from our ‘first time.’ It’s not even our first time this evening.”

Barclay smiles at him as he huffs out a laugh.

“....will you at least let me give you champagne when we’re done?”

Now it’s Stern’s turn to laugh, and he reaches up to brush Barclays cheek.

“I believe I can indulge you in that.” He pushes down on Barclays fingers, lets out a soft “oh.”

“Seems like we oughta indulge in something else first.” Two fingers continue working him open as Barclay bites at his ear and neck.

“More, please, moreOhohhh.” A third thick finger presses in.

“This’ll probably get you there. But one of these nights I wanna see you take the whole hand.”

“I’d like, oh shit, I’d like that immensely.”

“That’s my good boy, so curious and eager to try new things.”

Stern moans, works his hips in response to his words, smiles when Barclays cock brushes his thigh as his voice dips lower.

“Oh I am going to fucking rail you.” He pulls his hand out, tosses the condom into the trash before grabbing another and rolling it onto his cock. When he returns to his previous position Stern grabs his head and pulls him down for a kiss, desperate and grateful all at once.

“You gonna be good for me, babe? Gonna tell me what you need or if it’s too much?”

“Yes, yesyesyes, oh lord.” The head of Barclays cock presses in and Stern grabs the blanket beneath him. The man above him raises up slightly, grabs one of Sterns legs and hooks it over his shoulder.

“Been meaning to make use of how flexible you are.” He grins, thrusts shallowly.

“Make, make as much use of me as you please. Oh! Ohshit.” Barclay bottoms out and for a moment all Stern can focus on is the stretch, the feeling of having Barclay inside him. There’s a delicious tug and drag as Barclay slowing fucks him, occasionally turning his head to kiss the leg thrown over his shoulder. It’s magnificent, the view of him as he does that but it’s also a bit-

“Lonely.” That sounded more cogent in his head. He makes a “come down here” gesture to add to it. Barclay raises an eyebrow, doesn’t stop fucking him.

“As lovely as, ah!, as this is, I need you down here.”

Barclay tilts his head, expectantly, and he remembers his manners.

“Please.” He lets his leg drop back down to the mattress and Barclay shifts, lowers down so they’re face to face. They kiss lazily, Barclays tongue slipping between Sterns lips to find his own.

“Touch yourself for me baby, yeah, there we go.”

Stern purrs at the praising tone, works his hand over his cock. He tries to match Barclays rhythm, thrusts into his hand as Barclay thrusts into him. The angle of his hips shifts and Stern throws his head back as his movements press against his prostate. Barclay laughs against his neck, hits the same spot over and over until Stern is letting out garbled versions of curse words.

“You like having me inside you?” There’s that growl in his voice again and Stern knows just what to say to turn the large man into putty.

“Yes, it feels so good, you’re so big it feels fucking incredible, I, oh fuck, I want you to do this every night, want you to fuck me open, Barclay, pleaseplease.” His voice catches as he comes, spilling across his hand and Barclays stomach.

“Don’t don’t you dare stop, I want you to come in me.”

Barclay makes a sound Stern’s never heard before; he whimpers, moves Sterns legs and arms so that they’re wrapped around him.

“Hold tight, babe.”

“I already am-OHhhhhjesus” Barclay rams into him and Stern digs his fingers into his back, finds he has no other words left but “yes” and “please.” Barclay growls and whimpers against the pillow by Sterns head, hips snapping more erratically.

“That’s it Lucky, take me, take every fucking inch, fuck, you’re so good, so good baby, c’monnnoohshit.” There’s a final low moan as his hips stutter and then stop. Gingerly he pulls out, rolls onto his back. Stern nestles beside him, rests his head against his chest, traces his fingers through the dark hair covering it.

A finger comes under his chin, tilts it up and then Barclay is softly kissing him.

“Well, how was your first time?” He asks with a playful smile, laughs when Stern rolls his eyes at the term.

“It was excellent. Although I still need an ice pack and I fear I may not be able to sit down for the next few hours. Did I, was that, was it alright on your end given my...inexperience?”

“Better than alright. You’re incredible, Lucky, in and out of bed.” He pulls him close, one large hand running up and down his side.

“How about you go and get cleaned up? I’m gonna go grab you that ice pack.”

Stern nods, heads towards the shower as Barclay disappears into the kitchen. By the time he’s down rinsing off Barclay is waiting with a robe, bundles him up and leads him back to bed.

There’s a bottle and two glasses waiting on the bedside table, and a green candle flickers on the dresser.

“I thought you were joking about the champagne.”

“Nope. I keep a bottle around in case of unexpected celebrations.” He pours out a glass and hands it to him, pours another for himself that he drinks as he putters about the room, cleaning himself off and getting into his pajamas.

“I feel spoiled, I’ve never had champagne. Not generally in a college students budget.” He takes a sip, “ooh, it’s quite pleasant.”

Barclay settles on the bed beside him, kisses his cheek.

“I’ll spoil you as much as I please, babe. Or, uh, I guess as much as a professor's salary and your own comfort allows.” He looks down with a blush that makes Sterns heart flutter in his chest.

“I enjoy it, but know it is never an obligation. I’m yours, Barclay, and that’s all I need to be happy.”

As they lay in bed later, Barclay already asleep and Stern following close behind, he realizes those words may not just have been afterglow speaking.

In fact, he’s pretty sure he meant them.

#sternclay #prompt fill #agent stern/barclay #cw:stripping

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beanmaster-pika · 5 years

Text

I ended up getting encouraged to talk about my aus so thank you all for enabling my self-indulgence

Swan Prince AU

This one’s the first one? And it’s more of a royalty AU, actually. Licht vacations in the Servamp kingdom every summer but one day he gets cursed by an evil magician (Touma) to turn into a swan. Hyde, who’s the same age as him and therefore his designated playmate when they were kids, recognizes it’s him and freaks out because if the Jekylland kingdom finds out they let this happen then there could be a war and no one wants that thank you very much.

I’m actually more interested in worldbuilding than the plot so :/ For reasons I have not thought up, there’s the ‘older bunch’ of Servamps (Kuro to Freya) and the ‘younger bunch’ (Hyde to Lily) and there’s like a ten-year age gap between the olders and the youngers, and then there’s Tsubaki, who’s twelve and illegitimate. Kuro inherited the throne at 17 when their dad disappeared and by the time Tsubaki’s mother showed up a couple years after with a baby that had the last king’s eyes, the kingdom had stagnated. However, a baker named Mahiru starts showing up at the castle to petition the king, and he appears so frequently and his words are so sensible (”He’s got to have studied statecraft,” Hugh declared. “There’s no way he hasn’t.”) that Kuro’s siblings up and offer him a job as the king’s advisor. After many arguments and finally a heart-to-heart where Mahiru learns that the last king once allowed Kuro to make a decision that almost led the whole country to war, they start to work towards understanding each other and cooperating and it’s tough, but by the time the present story rolls around the kingdom is flourishing.

The older bunch all hold a place in court; Hugh is a minister of internal affairs, and he, Kuro, and Mahiru are at the heart of the kingdom’s laws; Jeje is the most knowledgeable about magic, especially curses, and works as both a consultant and investigator, though he’s sent to the Alicein kingdom along with Lily (16 at the time of the story, two years younger than Hyde) to serve as ambassadors and tutors to the king’s sons; and Freya’s the head of the army and the most terrifying person in the kingdom. The people love her. There’s a more even distribution of power than there was before Kuro inherited the throne - Mahiru’s influence and Kuro’s reluctance to be in charge of literally everything see to that - and provincial courts have juries put in place so that people are no longer solely at the mercy of sometimes corrupt judges.

On a different note, Hyde starts out as a sweet kid, but when his friend-and-maybe-crush Princess Ophelia two kingdoms over dies when he’s sixteen he goes wild in his grief and takes up with a group of bandits and starts hurting people. When confronted by his siblings, he declares that if the world is so cruel as to take Ophelia’s life, then his actions are just a drop in the bucket. Now, this is very much wrong and a problem, so Kuro manages to seal him temporarily into hedgehog form for a month (EDIT: yes he can normally transform into a hedgehog, no Licht doesn’t know at first, yes animal transformation is a common ability in their kingdom, and no the sealing is not a common or easy practice. It’s legitimate grounds for Kuro to self-prescribe absolute bed rest in order to recover from the drain on his energy, and he’s stronger than normal mages and had assistance to boot; a month is the very limit he can achieve with that) saying that if he’s lost his grasp on his humanity, then perhaps he’ll find it again in an inhuman form, and then they drop him off at the summer villa reserved for Prince Licht with Guildenstern as a caretaker. Now, unbeknownst to everyone, Licht arrived for vacation even though it’s midwinter, and he is absolutely taken with the hedgehog that’s wandering through the villa (”Oh Shit,” Guildenstern said. Hyde agreed. This was very much an Oh Shit situation.). It turns out that while he hadn’t known Princess Ophelia personally, he’d had mad respect for her for stepping up to enact a change in her kingdom’s politics even though it had ended in her assassination. He and Hyde end up having furious arguments over ideology (Licht still doesn’t know that Hyde’s there, and he doesn’t connect the voice with the hedgehog) and in the end, he helps Hyde regain his humanity - to be human is to desire, to desire is to dream, and to dream is to push your imagination past its very limits and work for it. That ends up breaking the seal prematurely, much to everyone but Licht’s relief. Licht’s pissed that the hedgehog turned out to be Hyde. And when Licht is cursed to be a swan, well, Hyde’s worried about it affecting relations with the Jekylland kingdom, yeah, but he also wants to do for Licht what Licht did for him: make him human again.

ANYWAY HERE’S THE DOODLES

Teacher AU

Because now they’re teachers.

This one has basically nothing in it yet aside from it being fun to consider what subjects they’d teach (Mahiru’s home ec; Kuro’s phys ed; Hugh’s history; Jeje’s art; Freya’s a counselor; Hyde’s literature; World End’s either a history or foreign language teacher; Lily’s a student teacher; Licht’s a piano instructor now; Otogiri’s the school’s doctor) and what everyone else would be (Tsurugi and squad are bodyguards; Iduna’s an engineer; Tsuyuki’s with the government; Sham’s with the government; Higan’s a wandering artist; Sakuya’s a psychologist; Ryuusei and Koyuki haven’t factored in at all oops; everyone else either has their canon profession or they’re college or high school students). One of the tidbits I actually spared thought to is that Kuro took a couple gap years and ended up in the same freshman Psych 101 class as Sakuya (who at present shares an apartment with Mahiru) and they somehow bonded and even after the class ended they became texting buddies (usually of memes) and hung out from time to time, but then Mahiru (after getting fired from his first school for some sort of reckless behavior) gets hired to the school all the Servamps are gathered at and starts out pretty argumentative with Kuro but eventually they gain a mutual understanding and maybe the beginnings of a relationship and Sakuya puts two and two together from conversations with Mahiru and texting with Kuro that the man he’s in love with might be in love with his texting buddy and he doesn’t know how to deal with that and so stops texting Kuro, and Kuro finds out about it from talking to Mahiru and then this happens

Kuro, throwing a chicken nugget at Sakuya’s window: why are u ghosting me Sakuya, opening the window: can u throw another

And they talk and all is well again. A poly ending is absolutely in the stars because Mahiru loves them both and they agree to it.

Also the other thing is this

Pokemon AU

This is the one I like the most right now! I actually have a couple of chapters written for it that I haven’t posted yet but basically the whole Servamp thing remains, but the pokemon that they transform into actually have their own personalities - rather than a transformation, it’s a shared body thing, and the human form is a manifestation of the vampire (formerly human) soul. I haven’t ironed out all the details of why this is happening, but I like the idea of them never being alone, though I haven’t figured out quite how this will change them. Hyde’s gonna be fun and also painful to figure out.

Fate AU

LET’S GET THIS HOLY GRAIL BREAD

Mahiru’s uncle was going to take part in the holy grail war but Mahiru accidentally summoned instead and what he summoned was Kuro, a Lancer. Add to that that Sakuya is still his best friend, was meant to be a pawn of Touma’s but ended up being Master-napped by the Saber he summoned (Tsubaki), and Tsubaki wants vengeance on Kuro, and we’ve got another round of heartbreaks on our hands because Fate is nothing but heartbreaks. The Alicein brothers are also there, summoning the same Servants (Caster and Archer) that their grandfather and Mikuni’s mom summoned, and they know that the Grail is tainted so they’re out to destroy it. Their backstory is a little tweaked with Mikuni just stealing his mom’s command seals to protect Misono instead of killing her, and he grabs Misono and absconds to the Church where they stay until Mikage ensures that Mikuni’s mom can never hurt Misono again after the War. Misono goes home, but Mikuni goes to study at the Clock Tower and comes back just in time for the next war. (There’s more under the pictures)

Tetsu summons Rider, but his sisters are the masterminds of the operation; they’re doing their best to restore their family in an age of declining mana, and Tetsu’s got the best Magic Circuits among them so he’s tasked with summoning, but they’re operating under the strict principle that if any of their lives are endangered, especially Tetsu’s, then they halt the project immediately and seek refuge with the Church. Hugh’s hyped about the whole ‘restoring the family’s magic’ thing.

Licht, on the other hand, comes from a family that’s at the very height of their magical power. He doesn’t believe in an omnipotent wish granter because he feels that it’s cheating, but to win the Grail is the goal of every mage out there so he’s in it for the glory. For a summoning catalyst he uses a bracelet that was supposed to belong to a martyr princess of old (”She gave her life for her goals,” Licht said in awe. “Yep, it’s very impressive. Please do not do the same,” Licht’s mother said.), but it turned out to belong to the other person connected to her legend, a man who was terrible and cruel, uncaring of others after he was driven mad in grief, and so Licht summons a demon of an assassin and Crantz (regular human) is left babysitting these goons while Licht’s parents hold down the fort in Austria.

Now, the Berserker team. I just want you all to know that the ones I was most excited about is the Berserker team. Tsurugi carried out the summoning here, Touma’s other pawn, and he added a madness enhancement, changing Freya’s class from Shielder to Berserker. Tsurugi, unlike Sakuya, is a highly trained operative and adult and one of the Church’s Executors, and he’s also completely under Touma’s thumb so he’s an ideal proxy even though Touma couldn’t snatch Sakuya’s command seals like he intended to. Unfortunately, Freya’s madness has just released her inhibitions and she’s this fucking close to pulling a Tsubaki and Master-napping Tsurugi. She does her best - in her limited capacity - to get Tsurugi away from Touma and it all culminates in Touma deciding she’s too much of a loose cannon and trying to take Tsurugi’s command seals away, but the seals instead go to Iduna somehow (haven’t figured that out yet) and Iduna and Freya spirit Tsurugi away to help him recover. Shortly after Iduna develops a magic item that’ll dampen the effect of the madness enhancement, more or less reverting Freya to her original class.

Now, this Grail War is an absolute clusterfuck by this point, mostly because all the summoned Servants are siblings, so a Ruler comes in - drum roll please - World End! Because who better to solve a sibling squabble than another sibling, even if he is the third youngest. This is mostly because I want World End to be included in stuff. World End’s in my Pokemon AU. I failed to elaborate on that but since that’s the AU I’m actually writing it’s all good. Anyway they’re all gathered in a sort of war council at a family restaurant to work out their intense family issues and then World barges in ‘WHAT’S UP THIS IS A PRETTY AWKWARD REUNION.’

This actually might be one of my favorites on account of being able to have them all be different physical ages but keeping their age hierarchy since Heroic Spirits can be summoned at whichever point of their lives was significant, and also this means that I can just make up lore for them. In ten, twenty years I’m probably going to look back on this and groan but for now I’m going to have fun with it.

For Kuro, he took down an entire army on his own at age eighteen and then retreated from the world. Hugh stopped a war when he was small (this threat of war surfaced again when he was older; this was when Kuro took down a whole army). Jeje became a famous outlaw. Freya overthrew a government in order to protect her soldiers. Hyde served a princess, but she gave her life for peace, and shortly afterwards his older brother killed their father; Hyde turned cold and cruel after that. World End inherited his sister’s kingdom after she died in battle and stood strong against threats from other kingdoms, displaying sharp wisdom despite his brash personality. Snow Lily used his illusions to carry out a large scale rescue operation on a child trafficking ring. And Tsubaki? Tsubaki was but a man who inherited a sword from his father, then vanished into the night when that same father was killed. He could have - should have - been summoned as an avenger, but for the sake of story convenience and keeping the war to the traditional seven classes, I chose saber for him.

#this took me All Day #pika's post #servamp #servamp au #im. not gonna tag everybody no #ah but gotta tag the ships just in case someone has em blocked #kuromahi #lawlicht #kuromahisaku #?

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