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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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your mission, should you choose to accept // blaise zabini

Summary: Gryffindor!reader wants to break Blaise Zabini. Good luck with that.

Request: nope

A/N: I think blaise zabini is an untapped resource that needs to be tapped ok also sorry I did the broom cupboard trope again but like I love it the close proximity sells - i really liked the start of this but then idk

Reader: female, Gryffindor

Warnings: bad relationship with parents?

Everyone knew who Blaise Zabini was. He was notorious among your year at Hogwarts; you couldn’t say for what, exactly, but you had to admit he was very good-looking. He was smart, too, by the looks of it. He was also undeniably a massive arsehole. Blaise Zabini chose every word he said with a certain amount of care. Each sentence was deliberate. Each sigh, each eye-roll, each expression was picked specifically from his extensive repertoire. He was calculated and unbreakable and never reacted to anything particularly. The Gryffindor in you hated his lack of impulsiveness and so, you’d made it your mission to get him flustered. You wanted to break his perfect façade and you’d die trying. Well, maybe not.

With this new-found goal, you bounded into the Great Hall, quickly finding Harry, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. You sat down, fully aware of their eyes on you. Somehow, they knew that you were planning something – Ron recognised a similar look in Fred and George. You didn’t wait for them to ask.

“I’m going to break Blaise Zabini.”

They stared at you for a beat in complete silence before all three of them erupted in protest. You laughed, expecting this, as you waved your hands about to calm them down.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. He’s practically a death-eater!” Ron yelled, earning a glare from McGonagall across the hall.

“He’s not a death-eater, you git.” You rolled your eyes.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, hands clutching a knife and fork.

“Because Slughorn doesn’t invite death-eaters to his little Christmas parties.”

“She has a point.” Hermione added, still unsure but less concerned for your overall wellbeing. All three of them knew they could never talk you out of anything, let alone something you had your mind so set on.

“Just because he’s not a death-eater doesn’t mean he’s not a prat.” Ron muttered. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“A prat that Y/N likes, apparently.” Harry frowned but finally began to carry on with his breakfast.

“No, no, no. I don’t like him.” you leant back, smirking. “I just want to break him.”

Ron scoffed, crumbs falling from his lips.

“Sounds healthy.”

“Shove off, Ron.” You flicked some bread crust from the table at him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Y/N?” Hermione asked. Her worried glance was almost enough for you to drop the whole thing. Almost.

“I’ll be fine, ‘Mione.” Your serious expression morphed into a grin. “It’s just a bit of fun, anyways.”

You looked across the hall to the Slytherin table. Zabini was sitting near Draco Malfoy. He was clearly unimpressed with the loud chatter coming from Crabbe and Goyle; the bored distaste on his face was delightful. You kissed your teeth.

“I’ll be back.” You said to your friends, ignoring their protests as your stalked towards the Slytherin table. You didn’t have a plan, really, but that was half of the fun. When Malfoy noticed your approach, a decidedly irritated look passed over his features.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as you got closer, Malfoy the only obstacle between you and Zabini. “Did Potter send you-“

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

Your raised voices attracted some attention with most of the Slytherin and now Ravenclaw table watching you. You couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Zabini was facing you, two random girls opposite him. Stopping behind them, aware that they had turned to face you, you locked eyes with Zabini. A smirk lifted your cheek. A bit of fun indeed.

“Alright, piss off.” You said to the girls, looking down at them.

“Excuse me?” One said, frowning. You blew a raspberry, raising your hands to illustrate your point.

“Move.”

When they just stared at you blankly, you rolled your eyes and pushed between them. They moved out of the way fast enough then and there you were, sat directly in front of Blaise Zabini. You leant forward, resting your elbows on the table with your hands sitting on top of each other between them. He just stared at you, bored.

“Zabini.” You said, smiling. He only blinked before looking down at his newspaper.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to be my partner in potions today.”

You could feel hundreds of eyes on you, people whispering to each other about why you were at the Slytherin table.

“Why would I want to do that?”

You tongued your cheek, happy he was actually looking at you now, even if his gaze was still devoid of emotion.

“Why not?”

Part of you desperately wanted him to decline dramatically, to get a rise out of him. The other part of you knew you’d have a lot more fun if he accepted your offer.

“Okay.” He said, completely indifferent. You didn’t try to hide the wide smile stretching across your face.

“Cool,” you nodded. “See you there.”

As you left the table, you walked past the girls you had ousted, ignoring their muttering. You could feel the majority of the Slytherin table watching you, now giggling and whispering between them, but you didn’t care. You were slightly disappointed you couldn’t get any reaction from him, but you liked a challenge. Walking back to the Gryffindor table, you looked back at him, unsurprised to see him reading his newspaper, unbothered.

“Y/N, are you feeling okay?” Fred asked you as you passed the twins on the way to the others. George didn’t let you answer.

“Because it seems like you’ve gone completely barmy.”

As you began to talk to them, teasing and laughing, you didn’t notice Zabini’s eyes on the back of your head.

“I never thought I’d see you so excited to get to Potions.” Ron said as you practically skipped beside him.

“You hate it more than any of us.” Harry added, confused. Your face dropped for a moment at the thought of your least favourite subject before an excited smile lifted your cheeks.

“Don’t you remember?” Hermione rolled her eyes as you meandered through older Slytherins leaving the dungeon. “Y/N is going to be partners with Blaise Zabini.”

The two boys groaned, earning a bout of laughter from your lips.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this.” Ron’s face was a picture of disgust.

“Little Ronniekins, this will be the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

As you raced off to get a seat by Zabini, not letting him get out of your arrangement that easily, Ron groaned again, something about spending too much time with Fred and George.

When you walked into Potions, you say the back of Zabini’s head in the second row from the front, on his own. With your smile stretching even wider, you strolled up to him, dropping your books unceremoniously onto the bench. You didn’t realise, actually, how tall he was. You shook the thought away. He didn’t even look at you when you smiled up at him; he just sat down and pulled out his quill and some parchment. You pursed your lips, slightly put out, before following suit.

“Hello,” you said, tapping your dry quill onto the desk, hoping it would annoy him. “How’re you today?”

“Fine.”

His voice lacked any warmth possible but it wasn’t annoyed either. Complete indifference. You cursed him mentally, throwing the quill down and drumming your fingers in unplanned frustration.

“For the next four lessons,” Slughorn said, strangely cheery as ever. “You will work with your partners to produce the Antidote to Uncommon Poisons. You will produce the potion as well as… three metres-“ Ron groaned from the back of the class. “-Of parchment on its production, uses and disposal. You may start immediately.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about how the stupid assignment was. You felt eyes on you but when you looked over at Zabini, he was writing.

“So, how do you wanna do this, partner?” you asked, turning towards him with your elbow on the desk. He didn’t look up until he had finished writing.

“I can write the instructions.”

You frowned.

“Surely the uses are the easiest part?”

Before he could reply, Slughorn appeared next to your bench with his hands clapped together and a smile on his face.

“I’m surprised you two are working together, I must say. I couldn’t have picked it better myself, actually, though. Two of my best students. I can’t wait to see your combined efforts on this assignment.”

When he left, you shot Zabini a deadpan look. When he didn’t reply, you raised your eyebrow. He just stared at you then, his face completely unreadable.

“Fine. We can do it together.”

“Wonderful.” You rested your chin on your hand. “Where should we start?”

The first lesson of being partners with Blaise Zabini tested your ability to be annoying, an ability that had never before been tested. At first, you spoke to him as much as possible, asked him dozens of questions about the stupidest things and to your disappointment, he was patient. Reluctant, albeit, but patient nonetheless. And so, the second half of the lesson required a different tactic. It appeared all of a sudden, you developed a clumsy streak. You dropped everything you came into contact with, without fail. The highlight for you personally was when he stood up to get a textbook. Helpful as ever, you shooed him away and told him you would get it for him. On the way back, you proceeded to drop it three times. It was obvious it was on purpose; not even Neville was that accident-prone and everyone looked at you each time it slammed to the floor. In the silence following each loud echo through the dungeon, sniggers could be heard from Ron and Harry’s table at the back of the class.

By the time you reached your bench again, Zabini held out an expectant hand, still writing notes.

“I got your textbook.” You said, smiling toothily as you handed it over. You relished the way he snatched it from you without a word, taking it as your first sign that Blaise Zabini was, in fact, breakable. Unfortunately, the lesson ended far too quickly; when you realised how little you’d done in that time, you found yourself grateful that you weren’t completely tragic at potions and resolved to finish your section in your own time. As Slughorn dismissed you, you looked up at Blaise, mouth twitching to fight a smile.

“Excellent working with you, partner. Until next time.”

And with that, you saluted him, bowed and left to catch up with Hermione, who was complaining about Neville’s scruffy penmanship.

The night before your next lesson, you’d not quite thought of what you would do to test Zabini this time; there were just too many options, you’d have to think more on it. Despite Harry and Ron’s pleas for you to do something fun, and probably against multiple Hogwarts rules, with them, you instead planned to spend your evening in the library. Whilst you had no moral qualm with messing with Zabini as a person, you drew the line at jeopardising his impeccable academic record. And so, you disappeared into the library, slightly distraught to see every table full. The worst part was that you didn’t recognise a single face to share a table with; that was until you saw a boy behind one of the shelves at the back at a desk made for two. You couldn’t help but smile as you approached, thankful for your luck.

“Can I sit here, please?” you asked, books and parchment clutched to your chest. He didn’t look up. He only pushed the chair out with his foot as an answer. Shocking the both of you, you didn’t try to annoy him when you sat down. As much as you enjoyed causing havoc and having fun, your grades were important to you and so, without intention, you absorbed yourself in your research. So much so, you barely heard him when he spoke.

“Is that the Potions assignment?” he asked, looking at you. You were surprised (pleasantly) that he had decided to initiate a conversation.

“Yes.” You noted that he still hadn’t looked away; progress. “Couldn’t get a lot done before: butterfingers, and all.”

He held your stare for a moment before turning back to his work, effectively ending the conversation but only spurring on your little mission. You had to give it to him, Blaise Zabini was smart, handsome and poised but you would never have had him pegged as interesting.

It must’ve only been an hour later when the twins appeared behind you, leaning over the shelves you were sat against. You didn’t see them to start with, but Blaise did. It was his quick glance upwards that caused you to turn around.

“Alright, Y/N?” they asked, strange grins on their faces.

“What have you done?”

“Us?”

“Nothing!”

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell, young one.”

“Is there anything you want to tell us?”

Fred’s eyes flicked to Zabini; you rolled your eyes.

“You have three seconds before I tell Madam Pince that it was you that set the dung-bombs off in here last year.”

“How do you know that?”

“We did no such thing!”

They huffed at each other.

“3…”

“We haven’t done anything!”

“2…”

“Fine. Fine.” Fred sighed, making placating motions with his hands. “We put exploding inkpots in the Slytherin common room.”

You barked a laugh before rubbing your eye with your finger.

“You two are the worst.”

“We know.”

“Okay, okay. Piss off; I won’t tell.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” They said in unison, identical smiles disappearing behind the bookshelf. With that, you turned back to Blaise who was, to your surprise, watching you.

“Are you gonna tell on them?” you asked, enjoying the eye contact.

“Tell on who?”

You couldn’t suppress your smile at his reply. He didn’t see it though; he was already looking at his parchment again.

You hadn’t forgotten your mission, so to speak, but the next time you had Potions was straight after breakfast the next day and your breakfast had not gone too well. Having your mum shout at you in the Great Hall about how stupid you were to be friends with Harry Potter, had not set you up well during the most important meal of the day. That’s why you ended up walking into Potions late with tears in your eyes and a complete lack of preparation on the Blaise Zabini front. Slughorn ignored your tardiness, thankfully, and just let you sit there, writing your notes for the essay. Blaise, however, didn’t seem so content to do so.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, giving you his full attention.

“I’m not crying.” You said, wiping your eye with the back of your hand. He shot you a dry look then, filled with more emotion than you’d ever seen him display – so much that you had to laugh at the sheer cynicism of it.

“My mum sent me a howler.”

He nodded at your words once before looking down and starting his work again.

“Families can be like that.”

Whilst not the most encouraging, comforting or sympathetic of responses, something about his words, maybe that it was him saying them, made you smile. You barely noticed it at the time but suddenly your reason for annoying Blaise became less for your own amusement and more for something else entirely.

Lesson three of Potions was one you had come fully prepared for: you had a well-stocked back pocket full of witty one liners, dreadful impressions and carefully timed jokes. Your aim was to annoy him and if you were lucky, perhaps crack a smile. With sixteen minutes left, you had failed on both counts. As unphased as ever, even your joke about Snape’s patronus being Margaret Thatcher didn’t get to him. Out of ideas and disappointed with his reaction to your performance, you decided to take your textbook back to the cupboard with a grumble. You hadn’t expected Malfoy to be behind you with armfuls of parchment, quills and inkpots because really, who just carries around the school’s stationery cupboard? Before you knew it, you had tripped over his feet, flying to the ground. Malfoy’s parchment floated in the air, quills spinning in circles as they hit the ground. He’d managed to keep hold of most of the inkpots but one fell on your head, exploding as it made contact. You closed your eyes and cursed Fred and George.

The silence that followed was deafening; even Slughorn had nothing to contribute. What you did hear, though, was a loud snort from your bench. Was Blaise Zabini laughing at you? Was making a twat of yourself the only thing you had to do?

“What did you do that for?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy!”

“You walked into me, you filthy-!”

“Why are you walking around with that stuff?”

“Not that it’s your business, but Professor Snape asked me-“

“Alright, alright,” Slughorn interrupted your squabbling, uttering a spell to clean up the damage. “I think we better dismiss class early after this little incident.”

You muttered under your breath, going to stand up when you noticed a dark hand offered towards you. Looking up at Blaise, you took it rather warily. He pulled you up, eyes moving from your face to your hair as you were righted. Your hands followed his eyes and you grimaced as you pulled back your hand to see your palm coated in blue ink. Fred and George were so dead. You looked at Blaise to see him smirking, a feat that made your heart leap slightly in your chest; you cursed yourself for getting so involved in this stupid mission. He packed up his things and moved to walk past you, stopped when he was right beside you. He leant closer, only slightly, and whispered in your ear.

“That would be karma, I suppose.”

Shaken by his words, you turned to face him, only able to watch him disappear out the door. Blaise Zabini was sure a hard nut to crack and you decided, biting your lip to contain your grin, that this game had gotten a lot more fun. Speaking of fun, though, you first had to get your own back on Fred and George.

A perfect plan, you’d thought, as you ran away from the Gryffindor Quidditch changing rooms with two towels in hand: wait until Fred and George went to shower, shrink their clothes and steal their towels. Perfect. Or at least it would’ve been, had they not caught you shrinking their clothes. Before you could finish, they had made after you and so there you were, running down the corridor with a wet Fred and George behind you in varying degrees of undress. When you ran into Blaise, you weren’t sure whether your heart was beating too fast because of him or the adrenaline from your prank. Either way, you needed his help.

“Blaise, help me. I played a prank on Fred and George after the ink incident – you know the one- and now they’re chasing me and...” You were breathing fairly heavily.

He looked over your shoulder at the twins running towards you, clearly unsure of which direction you had run off in and- were they not wearing shoes? He frowned, looking down at you with your pleading eyes and pretty face. He wasn’t sure why he said yes. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your lips. With a small smirk, he grabbed your arm and tapped his wand to the wall. Before your eyes, a small door appeared and he pushed you inside, following behind you and locking the door. You frowned at him, still not completely aware of how close you two were.

“If you lock the door, the cupboard disappears.”

You nodded

“How did you find out about this? Quite suspicious if you ask me...”

You trailed off when you noticed him staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Why did you want to be my partner?”

You felt your face heat up as you clambered to find an explanation. You already regretted the jumble of words you had yet to say.

“Well,” you said lamely, gulping. “You’re good at Potions.”

He shot you the same dry look.

“Uhh... well, I wanted to break you, actually. You’re sort of indifferent to, well, everybody, and, well, I suppose I just, well, I wanted to see if-“

“If I was indifferent to you?” he asked, a perfect eyebrow raised; a well-practised expression, no doubt. You opened your mouth before looking down and frowning.

“Well, I suppose so. It was more so I wanted to see you react to something, anything actually, because you’re very impassive all the time and, well, for somebody like me who’s quite impulsive (Gryffindor, right) it’s very strange, really-“

You cut yourself off as he opened his mouth, tongue pressing against the back of his pearly white teeth. The corners of his mouth rode up and for a moment, you saw an expression you’d never seen before on his face.

“Do you ever shut up?”

You paused, finding humour in his eyes for the first time and enjoying it, despite yourself.

“Well, in my defence, I have been purposefully trying to annoy you for the past week and also, well, I’m not usually this nervous - I don’t know why I’m so nervous, actually; I’m just in a broom cupboard... very close to uh, to you and I think Fred and George must be gone by now and what are you-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. It only lasted for a moment but it definitely served its purpose. You completely stopped talking, and thinking, and breathing. When he pulled away you blinked for a moment before nodding. Then you cleared your throat. And then you looked up at him. The slight nervousness you saw dancing in his eyes gave you a measure of comfort and confidence; you allowed it to form a smile. Your mouth twitched a little bit in amusement.

“So, did I break you then?”

He rolled his eyes; an expression you had not before seen but definitely wanted to see again.

#Blaise zabini #Blaise Zabini imagine #Blaise Zabini x reader #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #writing

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

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A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-24)

Word count: 3.5K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, angst, the usual

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Thank you for all the love, guys <3

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. I love you <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

You stumbled on to the sofa in a bit of a daze, drawing the rug over you to keep the chill at bay. Your mind was screaming out in a dissonance of voices, all telling you different things at the same time, pushing you to go back to him, to ask him why didn’t he rid himself of a relationship that must have brought him nothing but hurt and pain? Why had he dragged this marriage all by himself for so long?

It was clear as day now- there was no other girl in Sam’s life. Only you. For all your incessant speculation, it had only ever been you.

“Y/N, you okay?”

Meg was next to you, her hand on your arm. “What happened?”

“I’m still married to him,” you whispered. “I’m still married to Sam. Meg-” you turned to her- “I thought he would’ve annulled the marriage. He had no reason to be bound to it. I left him high and dry. It’s the first thing he should’ve done- free himself… but… I saw his wedding ring. I can’t believe…”

Meg got up and walked to the fridge. You watched as she pulled out two beer bottles, opened them with her teeth and handed you one. She took a seat next to you, swinging her arm around your shoulder.

Slowly, you brought the bottle to your lips and took a swig. The cold bitterness of the beer was strangely comforting next to the warmth of your friend’s body. Meg didn’t utter a word. She drank from her own bottle, not easing the grip on your shoulder.

It was going to be a whole new challenge to face Sam now. Up until today you were simply happy that in Sam’s friendship, you were getting back crumbs of what you used to have. To know that he was still very much yours and yet not yours at all was very very painful. Wouldn’t you want to fling yourself at him the next time you saw him?

You wanted to ask Sam why he hadn’t severed the ties legally, but you didn’t think you had it in you. What would you say? So hey, Sam… remember when you loved me so much, but I left you anyway? Yeah, so why are we still married?

He’d kept his every promise, been faithful to you all along. You realised with a shock that you and Sam had been looking at the whole situation from two completely different angles. When you’d seen him in the lecture hall, a part of your past- one which you’d tried to bury very deep had resurfaced again. For him, he’d stepped into a generic lecture and found his wife staring down at him. It explained so much- Why he’d never been as lost to himself as you had been to yourself. You had resented his ability to smile, to be himself while you’d been a wreck all these years. Only now did you understand that the reason he had held on to himself was because he had never let go of you.

Silent tears rolled down cheeks as anger and disgust for yourself weighed you down.

“It’ll be alright,” Meg said in a low voice.

You took another swig, wondering if Sam will ever stop surprising you and knowing once again that you never deserved him.

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

“Bad night?” Madison was sympathetic.

You answered honestly, “It was my doing, I had it coming.”

“We’re almost to the end. You can sleep the exhaustion off.”

The two of you were sitting in the front row, waiting to be called up on the stage for the vote of thanks. It was relieving that the Induction fair had come to an end without any incidence- everything had gone as smoothly as you had planned and a lot of the alumni had come up to you to congratulate you for planning and managing it so well. You even had a couple of contact cards tucked in the pocket of your jacket, asking you to give them a call for the summer internship.

Madison was really impressed that you had offers. Summer internships were rare for first years, especially so without recommendations. She was sad for herself that Acton Griswold never broke the first year rule. You encouraged her to use her dad’s influence if it helped. It wasn’t like she would be taking someone else's place. She would only be creating one for herself. To be a good lawyer, one had to be pragmatic, you understood that very well and didn’t judge Madison for wanting to use all the resources at her disposal.

When it was time for the vote of thanks, you made it a point to thank all the speakers and hosts and then your team- each of the members individually for having your back. There had been some wonderful lectures and discussions. You might have been biased, but Sam’s had been the best- it was hopeful and inspiring. He’d looked great on the stage.

Afterwards, the committee had arranged a small lunch for the alumni still left, in one of the campus eateries. There was expensive alcohol and enticing music. A lot of people made their way to the center of the room and began dancing again, trying to revive the mood from last night. On your part, you were simply trying to avoid Sam. You could sense that he was trying to catch your eyes- probably to ask you why you had left so suddenly last evening. Luckily, he was a popular target and people kept going up to him to strike conversations.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, then another at your waist, making you jump back a step.

“Hey, it’s me!” Brad said with his usual arrogant grin.

“What’re you doing?”

“You promised me a dance, remember?”

You wanted to slap yourself for agreeing to it. “I didn’t promise anything.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he smirked. “You said one dance. Yesterday your guy didn’t leave you for a second and then you disappeared. At least, let me have one dance now?”

You knew from experience that he wouldn’t budge, so as annoying as it was, you put your hand on his shoulder- not to draw yourself closer to him, but to maintain a firm distance. If you were going to dance, it would be at your terms.

“Gee, I’m feeling very lucky today!”

“I can’t even dance.”

“That’s fine.” There it was again, the overconfidence. “Hey, listen. Me and the guys and some people from class are having a pool party this weekend. I’ll see you there, right?”

“I can’t. I’ll be working this weekend.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know you aren’t working. I checked the schedule at the library. So don’t even try to wiggle out of this one.”

“I don’t know why you won’t give up, Brad,” you sighed as you moved from side to side.

“Because I know one day you’ll say yes. No one’s ever said no to me… except you.”

“So this is about your ego?”

He snorted. “It’s because I really like you. At least, give it a shot. What’s stopping you?”

The fact that I don’t like you. At all. And oh, apparently, I’m married.

“I’m not interested in dating anyone,” you told him flatly.

Something in his eyes changed, they became darker, his jaw tensed. “Let me change your mind.” His hand pressed against the small of your back, bunching up in the fabric of your dress. The fingers resting against your shoulders dug into the skin. He leaned in quickly- before you could react- far too quickly.

Just as you braced yourself to push him away, another hand landed on your shoulder, right above Brad’s, yanking his fingers away none too gently.

“Y/N!” A cheerful voice exclaimed, pulling you right from Brad’s arms into his own.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” said Chase Lincoln, with the sort of jovial outrage that comes only after years and years of friendship. “How dare you evade me like this, you frivolous wench!”

You were absolutely baffled; next to you, so was Brad.

Chase turned to give him a dismissive look. “I’m sorry, mate,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I have some business to settle with this girl, here. If you’ll excuse us.”

Without waiting for Brad to react, Chase whirled you away, single handedly managing to keep the both of you upright.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” you stuttered, as he spun you. His hands were light on your waist and in your hand- very respectable.

“Don’t say sorry,” he grinned. “I thought you were in a bit of a tight spot over there.”

“I was,” you breathed, still trying to keep up with his pace of dancing. You wanted to thank him for saving you from that, at the same time you didn't want to utter the words because you barely knew the man.

“Look-”

“Don’t thank me,” he cut you off. “It was the decent thing to do. Besides, my friend over there would have snapped a tendon or two, if I hadn’t.”

Chase jerked his head in the direction and you followed with your gaze to see Sam standing ramrod straight, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. Even from this far away you could see he was coiled like a tight wire about to snap.

“He couldn’t intercede,” Chase said in a low voice. “And I couldn’t help but. Then there’s also the matter that I’ve been dying to get in a word with the lovely Mrs. Winchester. It’s not like Sam can come break us up either.”

Mrs. Winchester. The name resonated in your ears. If you hadn’t had all of the last miserable night to accept that fact, your legs might have just given out now.”

Chase laughed all of a sudden, the sound apologetic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. You can ask me to get the hell lost and that would be that.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

At least, Chase wasn’t hurling abuses at her for ditching Sam.

“It’s nothing to do with Sam, actually,” he said. You noticed for the first time just how sharp his green eyes were. They gave you the feeling of being Xrayed. Not many people must be able to lie to him. “I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“Yep. How would you like to come and work at Acton Griswold? It’s a great place to work in.”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“I know Acton Gris doesn’t take first year interns.” Not even with recommendations.

Chase grinned. “Who’s talking about internships? Hell, no. You’ll be left with photo-copying and standing in café lines all day. I’m talking about actual work. I had the chance to go through your CV for the committee selection. Come work there as a part-time paralegal.”

“I wouldn’t fit in,” you mumbled. Chase’s words did not make any sense. You had no backing, neither were you naïve. You knew jobs like that had hundreds and hundreds of applications every week.

His eyes twinkled. “Trust me, you would. I could recommend you. I’m sure after more than two years of working there, I have enough pull.”

“Please, don’t.” Despite having asked Madison to use all the pull, you couldn’t bear the idea of someone doing it for you.

“Look, Sam told me that you helped him out with James’s case. I feel terrible about being swamped that day and not being there for him. Even his assistant, Stacey was on a leave. You saved that poor kid from jail.”

You hadn’t really done anything, and you told Chase that. His answering smile looked peaceful, like you had cleared some unknown test.

“Will you, at least, apply? I swear I won’t do anything to further your application. If you get in, it’ll be all you.” He hesitated before adding. “I won’t tell Sam if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, no… it’s nothing like that. I don’t want to keep anything from him.” Not anymore.

Chase smiled. “Don’t worry, he’s too high up to be involved with the paralegals anyway. Word around the block is, they’re considering him for senior partner. He’d be the youngest in their history.”

You dropped your hands from around his shoulder, clapping them. “My God, that’s wonderful!” The grin spreading on your lips threatened to split your face. “I can’t think of anyone who would deserve it more.”

“That makes two of us.” Chase let go of you completely. “I’m glad he has someone who would be happy about his successes.”

That wiped the grin off of your face completely.

“He’s not the sort of guy who leaves people behind. When he left Johnson’s, he didn’t ditch Stacey, he brought her along… and me. I don’t think he has the ability to move on.”

The words felt heavy in the air between the two of you, and with Chase’s eyes boring into yours it was impossible to look away. He was imploring you to believe him.

He gave you his patented grin, one that said he was up to no good. “And unlike your college here, Acton Gris has no policy against fraternizing. I’ll see you around, Y/N!” Chase nodded and backed away, leaving you standing there wondering what the hell had just happened.

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

Sam hurriedly cleared his desk, in an effort to get out soon. Sundays were strictly reserved for Max… It’s a rule he didn’t break, Induction fairs notwithstanding. Those were mandatory for him as a faculty member.

So much for him dreading the Induction fair because it would be boring. Sam should have known nothing with Y/N could be even remotely disinteresting. In the past weekend, he’d oscillated from the nervousness of a teenager to a piercing hope. Today, he’d almost had a coronary.

Sam knew it was wrong. God, he knew it was wrong to want to punch a guy- especially a student! But he’d been touching Y/N… when she didn’t want to be touched. Sam could have sworn, that guy had leaned in with the intention of kissing her. He was almost sure. God bless Chase’s soul for jumping in when he did.

Chase had drawn her in his arms gently, and then turned to throw Sam a wink. Chase was the best wingman when he wanted to be one.

Then there was the new anxiety of having Chase with her. Y/N- she wasn’t like other people. She felt things too deeply and Chase didn’t know that. What if he said anything that unconsciously hurt her… or accidentally mentioned Max or something from Sam’s past? As it is the way she’d left yesterday had Sam on edge.

Abruptly Y/N grinned and Chased bowed just a bit. Sam’s whole body relaxed.

He turned around and headed back to his office in the Law building. Standing there, watching Y/N was only drawing him thin. There were still a few papers he needed to grade and then get back to Max as soon as possible.

Not for the first time, Sam was grateful for Max. In all this mess, his kid kept him tethered. Sam would have gone off the orbit and done something stupid regarding Y/N. But one thought of Max and he was grounded back to reality. Max was his first priority… not that the kid was making it any easy for him lately.

Sam had seen him looking at Y/N’s photo again last night. The picture, one of her standing by the balcony, was taken a few days after her first acceptance. She was smiling down at Dean who was mowing the lawn and Sam had clicked the moment unbeknownst to her. She looked gorgeous. Sam couldn’t bear to see it everyday, so the picture had remained in the first drawer of his bedside table. In his moments of weakness, he could hold on to it and remind himself, something that pure had been his once.

A flimsy material caught Sam’s attention as he shut his desk drawer. Y/N’s scarf from last night. He hadn’t taken it home with him, choosing to leave it.

Maybe he could drop it at her place on his way home. That would be an innocent reason, right? He could ask her what was up with her yesterday. Y/N had been miffed at Sam for not seeing her in the library often. That meant not meeting him must be a bad thing for her. Sam was more excited about the prospect of returning her scarf than he was about most things in his life.

The door to Sam’s office sprang open, making him look up in surprise.

Y/N’s roommate, Meg, was standing at the door, her face a mask of contempt.

“Meg,” he said, surprised.

“Didn’t expect me, did you?”

Her hostile sneer would have tipped him off, had Sam not been riding the high if getting to see Y/N.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”

“Cut out your bullshit, Winchester,” she spat, coming up to him. “What do you think you’re doing making Y/N’s life miserable like that?”

Sam couldn’t understand. “What… what do you mean?”

“Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know anything. Every time she meets you, Y/N’s a wreck. When she found out you were the one who got her home that night… she was besides herself. I’ve never seen her so terrified or more out of her element. And I don’t know what the fuck you did to her last night, but she couldn’t stop crying.”

Meg took another step forward. “You think it’s so cool dragging her along with you like this? Why don’t you set her free? Or are you that much of a sadist to see her suffer day in and day out?”

“Suffer?” He repeated dully.

“When I first saw her, Y/N looked dead,” Meg said, fury in each word. “Her eyes were sunken and her cheeks were hollowed. When she laughed for the first time, it sounded hysterical, like she’d forgotten how to do it. Hell, her skin stretched over her bones even when she smiled. I’ve seen her struggle day after day trying to get a hold on herself, learn how to be happy again… and if you mess that up, Winchester, I swear I’ll smash your face in.”

Sam knew he should say something back, anything, but the picture that Meg had painted was too painful… a hollow Y/N, the one that had left him in the hospital. If she’d been the same when she moved in with Meg, how many years had she suffered at the stake of such mind numbing agony? And yet, he had seen life behind her eyes… he’d seen her happy, smiling…

“I don’t know what you did to her all those years ago,” she continued, her voice like ice. “Y/N wouldn’t say, but I know it was enough to kill a part of her. And I know somehow it was your fault.”

“Did she say that? Did Y/N say it was because of me?”

“No!” She spat, frustrated. “I don’t know why she can’t see what you’re doing to her. I can. You’re a slow seeping poison. Just leave her alone. Y/N was happy before you decided to come back and wreck her life again. Set her free.”

Something was choking Sam’s breath, words just wouldn’t come out. Was he keeping her from happiness? Was that why she had fled last night?

Meg jabbed a finger in his direction. “Remember.”

She turned on her heel and was almost out of the door when Sam managed to croak, “Meg-”

Meg looked over her shoulder.

With numb legs Sam made his way to her. “Take this with you,” he said, handing her the scarf with shaking hands. “It’s Y/N’s. She gave it to me yesterday. It would be best if you give it back to her.”

Meg snatched the scarf from him and then with one last look of derision, stormed out.

All Sam could do was fall in his chair, hands raking through his hair. What had he been thinking? What had been playing at? As if there was any chance in the world that he wouldn’t remind Y/N of what she had lost. Of course she was hurting and it was his damn fault, because he thought they could be friends again, because he hoped it could ever lead to anything more.

And there was always Max to think of. Right in front of his eyes the flimsy dream he had brought to life collapsed in a heap of shattered glass. Maybe in a parallel reality somewhere, Y/N would be in his life, Max would be their son and everything would be perfect. This was not that world. Here, Sam was sentenced to live out his life by himself and he’d be damned if let Y/N get hurt because of him again.

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

A/N 2: Okay... I’m sorry? *hides face* At least the reader has a playdate with Max!

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emilycollins00 · 4 years

Note

I LOVE LOVE your headcanons and scenarios so much I can't help but make a request!! How do you think Itaru would react if a colleague (reader) from work found out that he was a gamer, the complete opposite from his work persona and what becomes of their relationship after? THANK YOU SO MUCHH!!

YOU ARE SO VERY WELCOME, DEAR!! 💕 I feel so grateful to receive comments like these, ugh. Hope you like it!

Pairing: Itaru Chigasaki x Reader

Title: Forceful revelation

Itaru would never say he liked his job per se. It was more like he had had to get used to it if he wanted to buy his precious games plus a place to play them. Even after all this time working in the same department, he hadn’t tried to get promoted or cared about developing relationships with his colleagues.

Never felt like he needed those things.

He was content doing his expected hours and then going back home at the end of the day. Especially if next day was his day off, like that night.

Waiting for some final copies to be made, he noticed a few colleagues passing by, their jobs already done.

“Good work today, Chigasaki-kun”

Flashing an already practiced working smile, the blond wondered if he would ever remember their names just as much as they liked to remind him of his own “Good work you too”

Just as he predicted, he could hear the faint laugh of his co-workers entering the elevator. Itaru looked at the clock- Only a little more before he could leave. The blond sighed tiredly as he sat again on his desk.

Everyone at the dorm made fun of him, but there really was no heavier burden to carry than the pressure of having to uphold your image and reputation. It wasn’t as easy as he made it look.

“Chigasaki-san!”

You were a clear example of it.

Itaru didn’t have to lift his head to recognize your steps, but did it anyway. You were practically running and he felt even more tired just by watching you “Y/N-san” he greeted, not moving from his seat as he watched you regain your breath.

It had been a bit more than five months since you had transferred to his department at the company and he still didn’t know how to deal with your personality and your seemingly attachment to his working persona.

“Thank goodness I made it!” you smiled brightly as you regained your lost breath.

At first glance, you and Itaru weren’t that different. You both were usually congratulated for doing a good job at work and had overall good relationships with everyone.

However, Itaru knew better.

You had achieved much more than he had in all his years in such a short time. He even heard rumors that you would probably get promoted to manager by the end of the semester.

Which wasn’t surprising to him though, seeing you didn’t stop moving for a second from one project to another. What had your parent given you as a kid?

“...and so I was wondering if you knew the password for the projector they have in room 201? You know, the one with red chairs and a big plant on the corner”

Itaru hummed, looking around his desk to give you a copy of the passwords “Here you go, you can keep them”

“As expected of Chigasaki-san!” you accepted them happily.

The spring member’s smile faltered.

Honestly, it was annoying to be put by such high standards.

He had tried to not get close to you, hoping the polite distance he always kept with others worked, but so far, you were still practically glued to him whether it was to ask him for advice or commenting how much you respected him.

…If you knew how he really was, Itaru was sure you wouldn’t be talking about him so happily. Focusing again, he noticed you waiting for something “Sorry, what did you say, Y/N-san?”

“Ah! I heard you are taking tomorrow off?”

“Yes, some personal matters happened at home” he turned around to make you understand he had things to do “I already signed and prepared everything, so there shouldn’t be a problem to send without me the first draft to our fellow company, I already talked with their administration”

“You really are amazing” he heards you whisper impressed.

He didn’t comment on your compliment “Anyway if anything happens tomorrow, I’ll be counting on you, Y/N-san”

Exactly as he thought, you gasped, beaming happily at the thought of being relied on “Of course! Good luck with your personal matter!”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I can’t believe you took a day off just to play games”

Izumi rested her hands on her hips when she discovered the spring member laying on the sofa, tracksuit on and shirt already filled with crumbs from the bag of chips next to him. He already had bags under his eyes.

“I did my overtime and this is how I chose my reward, director”

Rolling her eyes, she took her handbag, considering futile to argue with him “I’m going shopping and then to a meeting, make sure you don’t stay all day in that position, all right?”

Not breaking contact from his game, Itaru hummed a goodbye. Damn, thank god he had taken a day off. This event was being too competitive. He wouldn’t have been able to make the quests unless he spent last night and next 24 hours defending his rank.

At some point the doorbell started ringing “Someone is at the door” he called out loud to no one in particular.

The bell kept ringing. Where were Matsukawa or Citron supposed to be at times like this?

“Itaru, my ears! Open the door, dammit, open the door!” Kamekichi flew over him.

Groaning, he walked towards the entrance, eyes still fixed on the screen. Hadn’t he made it clear he wasn’t planning to move until tomorrow night? “Hey director, you should remember taking your keys when- Shit! How come these fuckers have so much luck? I’m gonna have to fucking sweep the floor with-”

“Chigasaki…san…?”

And for the first time since yesterday, slowly, Itaru broke contact with his controls.

No.

That couldn’t be you.

If anything, the situation happening was just the most lucid dream Itaru had ever had, because there was no way in hell that was real life.

“Itaru, who’s this jerk, want me to beat them up?” Kamekichi had landed on his shoulder, wings moving in an attempt to scare you, but neither of you reacted to it.

Gripping your bag, your face was white, looking like a scared puppy that had just encountered a scary and bigger dog “I, uh… really apologize for coming unannounced on your day off. Chief tried to contact you but, um, we couldn’t reach you and-“

“…Why are you here”

You shivered at the tone of his voice. You had never heard Itaru talk like that to anyone. Ever. You showed him an envelope “T-there’s this document chief needed that you forgot to sign for this afternoon meeting and…”

In silence, he grabbed them, scanning them with a stoic face. You could cut the mood with a knife “Pen” he opened his hand.

“A-ah, right!”

Barely exchanging looks, you took the signed papers and thanked him.

“Chigasa-“

“I hope that’s all, wouldn’t want you to come again and tire yourself out more”

You were practically shaking. Wishing him a good day, you turned and practically ran out of the place.

With the door closed, Itaru leaned his back on it, not even looking at the control resting on his hand.

Out of all the people he didn’t wish to show this side of him, somehow, unconsciously, you had become one of the firsts.

“…Well, shit”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When you finally took notice, you had already reached the station, breathing heavily. The situation that had happened moments ago struck you as surreal.

Itaru Chigasaki, your colleague at work, was what you would describe as the epitome of what you aspired to be. His charm, professionalism… could someone be any more perfect?

“I’m gonna have to fucking sweep the floor with…”

You shook your head, still not over it. You had never expected someone you admired so much to be so… different outside work.

Oh god, work.

You mentally groaned, already cringing at what scenario could possibly happen when he came back next week. As you entered the train, your mind started running wild. Would he accuse you? Joke about it? Although he hadn’t seemed comfortable… Wait, did people know about this? Would he threaten you to not say anything? The last thing you wanted was to be on bad terms with him!

As you sat on the platform, you noticed the crumbled documents in your hand, Itaru’s sign finally on them.

So much for a quick visit.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Neither of you talked about it when he came back next week.

Or the next one.

Time passed, and you were getting more and more anxious. Your blond colleague had never been someone who was cold to anyone, but it was more than clear that he had made a point not to interact with you under any circumstances, unless it was necessary.

Which was exactly why you understood his raised eyebrows looking at the coffee you had brought to his desk. Thankfully, he took the cup, bringing it to his lips “I believe I left all the files in your place, Y/N-san, do you need anything else?”

"Ah, well..." you had no idea what to say or how to react to him anymore. Itaru could feel it too, however, he didn’t try to alleviate the awkwardness.

It was painfully obvious how much it had shocked you seeing him at the dorm, so he didn’t understand why you kept trying to talk to him “You don’t have to force yourself, Y/N-san, people will notice things like that” he kept talking, his mouth covered by the cup

You opened your mouth to try and deny it but closed it, unable to. The awkward silence that had followed the last few days appearing again.

Pressing your lips together, you whispered an excuse and turned back to your own desk, dejected.

As he finished the coffee, Itaru couldn’t help but follow your figure. He had arrived expecting rumors about him, but no one seemed to have changed their demeanor.

So then, why did he feel like he was getting punched when you averted your eyes from his on meetings or he felt like being a dick to you when after it you tried to appease him?

Itaru leaned on his chair, sighing. Was it guilt?

You were someone who aspired to do your best with all you got, reminding him so much of people like Sakuya or director.

Maybe that’s why he felt like he had disappointed you, which made Itaru angrier and more confused. Why should he feel bad about it? It had been your fault. Leaving those thoughts aside he tried to concentrate again. It was actually better for him, now that he didn’t have to deal with you.

At least that’s what he repeated to himself.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was almost dinner time when the doorbell at Mankai rang.

“I’ll go!” Izumi left the kitchen, opening the door and finding you there, not that the young woman knew you “Yes?”

“Hi, uh… Is Chigasaki-san inside? I’m a… colleague from work”

The young woman laughed nervously, looking inside and then back at you again “Is… Itaru-san expecting you?”

You shook your head “I can wait here if he prefers to change. I’m not in a hurry”

“Oh! Um… all right, I’ll call him. Please wait a second”

The door closed again, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm down. A minute later, the blond came out. You took another look at his appearance. It really was miles apart from his working persona.

“I figured it wouldn’t matter anymore” he shrugged, answering as if he had just read your thoughts. His personality was on another level too “Why are you here?”

You swallowed down “I... I am lazy too, Chigasaki-san!”

Frowning, Itaru opened his mouth confused “What are you… “

“I don’t like to clean at home and get overwhelmed easily! also, I hate waking up early and I don’t like waiting for the food to get cold and end up burning myself…!”

What were you doing shouting all those things about you?

“…I also tend to leave everything until the last minute because I love spending time on the phone and have to make up for it after and, uh, what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable in your own house! But..!” you clenched your fists “You are still the Chigasaki-san that I admire and respect, it doesn’t matter if you behave differently outside work. You are you!”

Itaru stared at you, not knowing how to react to your outburst.

Seeing your expectant face waiting for his reaction, his mind suddenly compared it to how the spring troupe did that cringy act to keep him from leaving the dorm.

Noticing the similarities, he found himself smiling and then laughing, under you confused stare.

‘You are you!’

A tiny smile reached his face. It was as if the burden and guilt he had been carrying these weeks about being fake had lifted from his shoulders “…You really are something else”

You raised your hands, moving them to reject those words “I’m sorry! I just meant it was…!” Itaru kept staring at you with a smile you had never seen before and you blushed, not knowing how to behave right now.

“Ey, Y/N-san…”

“Y-yes?”

He looked at the dorm and then to you, smirking now “…Would you like to play some games?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Fuck, Itaru-san I told you to wait! You are gonna kill me too if you throw that grenade now!”

“I don’t need weak people in my party” the blond pressed the bomb, eliminating every single person surrounding him “GG, Banri”

“SHIT! Why would you-!” they kept arguing until a knock was heard on the door

“May I come in?”

“Oh, Y/N-chan-san! It’s been a while” the high school boy turned around

You smiled at him “I know! There are a lot of things to take care of as a new manager… I brought some snacks as an apology though” you lifted a bag “I’m not late, am I?”

Itaru scoffed, still looking at the screen “Hey there, Y/N, more like I thought you had gotten scared”

You frowned, making space for yourself in the couch next to them “I never back down from a challenge Itaru, and you know it! You are just too enthusiastic when it comes to these things, so I have to prepare myself to kick your ass”

“Mmm… I wonder where did that ‘I admire you the most, Chigasaki-san’ attitude go. I kind of miss it”

“I can respect you and still want to see you eating dirt, you know”

The spring member snickered, stopping the game and giving you the controls “Yeah, yeah, let's show you how to really level up to the fullest to at least entertain me”

“You bet I will!”

Itaru wouldn’t say he tried hard to achieve big things or create ties with others, that just wasn’t his thing.

However, glancing at you talking to Banri about the best way to make him lose, he thought allowing you entering in his world hadn’t been so bad after all.

And he smiled. Guess relationships really worked like that.

_________________________________________________________

Hopefully you guys ended up liking it! Have a wonderful day! 💕

#A3! Actor Training Game #a3 act #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#a3 #a3 itaru #itaru chigasaki #a3! itaru #itaru #itaru x reader #chigasaki itaru #chigasaki itaru x reader #a3 x reader

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sillyfudgemonkeys · 3 years

Note

i havent been here in a hot second is there a reason for the makoto hate specifically? like the rants go back to p5's writing issues but the spite for makoto seems very specific did she kill someones dog in one of the spinoffs or what?

You're all good. So here's the thing, she did kill my dog-I'm joking.

When I say “I’m the residential #1 Makoto Hater” it’s a joke, partially cause it probs looks that way (and probs cause it might be true, who knows if you could quantify hate then maybe I’m at the top of the leaderboards 8U but you can’t so we’ll never know). But I’m saying it at as a joke, to own myself and everyone here that knows what I think of her, rather than wear it as a badge of honor or some silliness. It’s just a “oh haha yeah there goes Silly, dunking on Makoto again! She’s basically Makoto’s #1 hater haha oh she’s so silly.” (so please don’t look too deep into it, I just want to have fun).

Anyway, me hating Makoto isn’t new, but I do hold a similar ire towards Futaba, Goro (tho I have camaraderie with his fans, I relate to their struggle in terms of my own brown hair and red eye fav and Atlus screwing them over u_u I may hate your fave but I respect you and will be in your corner), and Yukari (as well as Chloe from LiS if you want a non-Persona example). Makoto might be talked about more because 1) She hits my buttons that much faster (Futaba/Goro are more like a festering wound, and when I talk about them it’s hard to pick a starting point), 2) Her fans tendency (early on in the fandom) bringing her up frequently.....was a bad combo with #1 (overexposure+pushing all my buttons really fast=disaster). Obvie not blaming her fans, but it was hard to curate how I was able to curate my content online (esp with gaming news websites calling her “best girl” when showing off a figure announcement or some BS when I just want to know what new games have been announced >.> I can do without you trying to start a waifu war in the comments Siliconera -_-)

Anyway, I think I’ve made my reasons for hating her very clear (you just have to search her name on my blog and you’ll get a ton of essays I’m sure, too many to count). And a lot of it is the failure of P5′s writing. “So it’s just the writing you hate, not the character.” No. Because that doesn’t make sense. Except under certain circumstances (which I’ll provide examples of below with Luke Skywalker), you can’t separate the writing from the character. The character IS the writing, the writing IS the character. If you can’t hate/dislike the char because “of the writing” then you also can’t love/like them either. The character and the writing/writing choices for that character are connected. The writing embodies that character. They are the same.

Now I said there was an exception, and that’s....”different writer/director,” tho it’s not ALWAYS the case (sometimes the new writer really gets the original writing, like Saito for MM.....they are very good at emulating the clusterfuck of P5′s writing). P5′s writing is the original basis for Makoto’s character, that’s her. You can’t separate it from her. Same thing with say....Luke Skywalker from the OG trilogy, that’s him. But then we get to the sequel/Disney trilogy, new writer/director....and yeah that’s a mess (from what I understand OG trilogy=Hopeful and tries to see the best in people, 2nd Disney=Cynic and tried to kill a child, 3rd Disney=Hopeful again for some reason). There’s character development, then there’s just straight up changing the character just cause you need them to be this now.

*writes how this can apply to Persona spinoffs but deletes because I was getting too off track* Look at me exercising control. It’s probs best I save that for a meta after I’ve replayed all the spinoffs again.

But....if you want me to boil down my issues with Makoto, I hate the message we get from her. I hate the lesson we learn from her. What is supposed to happen vs what happens. It’s supposed to be about a girl who is blindly following authority and becomes disillusioned with it after being burned by it, on top of “immense pressure” she has as well, and then comes to our side (we know this because Atlus told us). We don’t get that (we know this because we saw the execution). We get two adults, yes TWO ADULTS, one of which is her sister and wants her to do well in school (but isn’t like.....a tiger mom about it, because Sae can’t be TOO horrible because we need to like her later), who in retrospect seems very busy with her job (which gives Makoto freedom), but also feels burdened by her younger sister (in which she has one shitty slip with her and then NEVER again). And the other is a dumbass principal who asks a really strange and stupid task for Makoto that snowballs into bullshit. That’s IT! THAT’S IT! That’s all we get from Makoto and “authority.” Strawmen. We don’t really get much of her personality either (I’m not saying that cause “she’s cardboard” I legit just.....don’t get her? Like I don’t get enough of her to get a solid foundation, you get me?) Like as the player, what we see of her is she’s just studying in the library (Kamo arc), then the principal calls her in, she mentions the rumors about Kamo, he asks her to look into the PT in exchange for a recommendation (to which she’s surprised and says thanks, not no, she looks like she’ll accept JUST BASED ON THAT) but before she can even say Yes (OR NO) he threatens Makoto with her sister, to which Makoto hardens and then agrees. Then she acts like an asshole and yadda yadda stuff happens.

But if she’s supposed to blindly follow authority, she’d say yes, but then they don’t let the character breathe so she can make the “wrong” choice because the Principal goes STRAIGHT to threatening her.......so now the message is muddled, or really it’s non existent. The whole Sae thing is a nothing bag too, it’s just family drama. Her sister is, no HAS to be absent a lot for her work, just so Makoto can have the freedom to be a PT....which means....it hurts her lack of freedom and other stuff associated with Sae being a big pressure on Makoto’s life. You know, I’ve said before they’ve squandered Sae, and that Makoto’s presence really harmed Sae (iirc it was this post). But at the same time, how they handled Sae really screws up Makoto’s character. Neither are allowed to breathe. Neither are allowed to make a true, horrible choice...and then learn from it. They aren’t allowed to have an actual arc. Altus played it safe, took choice away from them, didn’t want to take risks with either character and have meaning. Instead we just have this nothing contradiction thing dicking around until they join our team.

What really sucks about that....is we got that with the Kamo arc. With Anne, Ryuji, even Yuki and Shiho. Kamo was manipulative, and his manipulation caused people to make....not the best choices, all out of a means to survive. Ryuji physically acted against Kamo, and he got his leg broken, team disbanded, and outcasted. Anne was trying to protect Shiho’s position on the team, which lead to her almost getting harmed by Kamo, Shiho getting harmed, her not seeing the truth about what was going on around her, and she didn’t tell Shiho (because she didn’t want Shiho to think she didn’t get on the team for her own merits), and so on. Shiho didn’t tell Anne what was going on because she wanted to protect Anne from Kamo (and was afraid Anne would, very much blame herself), and her and Yuki and the rest of the teams helped keep quiet about Kamo so they wouldn’t be next on the physical chopping block. This isn’t me blaming them, this is me showing their choices, their attempts to fix their (hopeless) situation, to help themselves or others, and the dramatic irony being it just made everything worse. BUT, even tho Kamo was the real one to blame, each character is aware of the actions that were made, and the consequences of each action (esp Anne/Ryuji/Shiho). And in their CoOps, they identify this, and take strides to learn from it so it doesn’t happen again. That’s an arc. That’s character development. They were allowed to make errors, mistakes, decisions that negatively impacted themselves/other’s. We see a solid foundation of their character from the get go, and how it changes over that small time. We don’t get that with Makoto. The group is like solid concrete to Makoto who is like shifting sand.

Sorry got a bit off topic, anyway, I hate her message of boasting about her fighting ability but she only harms her friends (outside of shadows, but that’s not special) WHILE ALSO being a damsel that needs someone else to rescue her! I hate how when she gets called out, she wants to drop it, and gives gaslighty apologies, even tho she really ROYALLY screwed lot of people very badly. I hate how she demands us to help, only to literally be a detriment to our investigation. I hate how she gets to fly off the handle without repercussions (despite needing to be cool calm and collected for her job, especially since she miraculously can do that when needed so what the hell????). I hate how the text has her be shitty, say shitty things, be bad at her job, but will turn around and reward her time and time again.

Sure she doesn’t break the lore like Futaba, or unravel P5′s plot like Goro. But as a character with a message attached to her, even ones that the creators surely overlooked (I’m sure they didn’t intend for her to only hit her friends), it��s simple but very annoying. Fast and easy to see, doesn’t require me to think of P5′s lore as well as the grander Persona lore. Doesn’t require me to dig through text for Goro bread crumbs and then unravel the entire basis of the P5 plot thanks to him. Makoto is easier to get into, it’s smaller scale and more personal I guess.

#silly asks #silly answers #makoto salt #the thing with Kamo's arc is that when you ask 'why' to why a character or a situation is the way it is you can give a decent 'because'#when you ask 'why' with kane's arc.....you don't get that #you get a 'because' but then you keep asking 'why'#why does makoto have to stalk the PT? Because the principal is making her do it #But why is he making her do it? Because the conspiracy is breathing down his neck.#1) WHY her tho? seems a bit contrived and might not work 2) WHY do they care about some principal?#Because......um...... For 2 because he's part of the conspiracy.#Why is he part of the Conspiracy then? Um....they put him there?#BUT WHY did they put him there? Cause....it's prestigious?#BUT the game said Kamo fixed the school's bad rep so it wasn't always that...and he hired kamo.....SO WHY does he owe them getting a job at-#-a shitty school? WHY did he need help getting a job there? WHY is Haru there if-#you see? kane's arc unravels a good portion of what P5 (a least school) is based off of #vs Anne #Why won't Shiho tell Anne about the abuse? She's afraid anne might think it's her (anne's) fault and she loves her friend and wants to-#protect her. why doens't anne tell shiho? Anne doesn't want shiho to think it's shiho's fault and wants to protect shiho #kamo's arc is full of dramatic irony and people making wrong choices (which they might not realize in hindsight)#why doesn't anne know shiho is being abused? Anne thinks shiho is upset about her position on the team also Kamo won't let anyone watch #the practices so we just take the team's words at face value also the teams are protecting kamo to keep from getting hurt-#also shiho won't tell anne anything and so anne just assumes it's a rough practice and that shiho is afraid of losing her spot ALSO #ALSO anne isn't psychic also anne is outcasted from the rest of the school so she doesn't interact with them so she doesn't know what's up-#with other people and-#you can go on they have their bases covered in kamo's arc they have reasons #kamo's arc is also a bit more grounded (kane being ungrounded because of the stupid princpal and his bs0 #sorry for the side rant just.......#you don't have to agree with decisions in the kamo arc...but at least they GAVE us reasonings (and the chars are aware #in hindsight that their decisions weren't great and chose to learn from them)

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mermaidcashton · 4 years

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dance in the living room, love with an attitude

authors: claire (@mermaidcashton) & laura (@maluminspace) ship/AU: michael clifford/ashton irwin, roommates AU prompt: “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” wordcount: 10k+ warnings: swearing, implied & explicit sexual content a/n: • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (in which we all chose from a list of AU’s and had the above prompt quote to include - check out the masterlist linked to see everyone elses!) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘only human’ by the jonas brothers dance in the living room, love with an attitude *** The music was probably turned up a little too loud, but it helped to drown out the nerves starting to bubble away in Michael’s tummy. ‘I hope ‘Ashton’ likes MCR’ he thought as he half-heartedly wiped down the kitchen counters with a damp cloth. He wanted the place to look mildly tidier than it usually did for his new flatmate. First impressions counted for a lot, as his mum had told him twice this week already.

Once the splashes of milk from this morning’s mishap with the cereal had been washed away along with the crumbs from last night’s dinner of peanut butter on toast, he stole a quick glance at the clock on the wall over in the living room area. It wasn’t quite midday, which meant he had a little over an hour until his new roommate was due to arrive. That should mean that he just about had enough time to vacuum the whole flat and take a shower. Throwing the dishcloth into the little cleaning basket on the window ledge, Michael focused on screaming the lyrics to ‘Thank you for Venom’ and tried not to focus too much on the anxiety about the rest of the day.

Agreeing to live with someone he’d never met in person probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. It’s not like Michael had been given much choice, though. His last flatmate had given him less than a week’s notice when she decided to move in with her short-term girlfriend and left Michael with a whole bunch of bills that his meagre paycheck could never stretch far enough to cover. Luckily, his best friend Luke had a work colleague who desperately needed a new place to live since his landlord had slapped him with a very short notice period to move out of his current flat. Luke had offered to give this work friend Michael’s contact details and the following morning, Michael had woken up to a text from a guy called Ashton who was very interested in Michael’s recently vacant spare room.

After explaining the cost of rent and other bills in a few subsequent texts, Michael had received a very grateful reply from Ashton asking if it would be possible to move in that weekend. Of course the blonde had agreed, eager to get the awkward first meeting out of the way as soon as possible.

Determined to get his most hated chore done before he could start collecting his thoughts and mentally preparing for the arrival of his new flatmate, Michael grabbed the portable hoover from the charging port on the tiny bit of the kitchen wall that was not taken up by the counters and cabinets. He was just about to press the ‘ON’ button when a knock at the door put an abrupt halt to his plans.

Michael huffed as he made his way over to the front door. The only people that had the security code for the entrance of the building were his parents and Luke, neither of which were due to visit today. That left only someone who had the wrong flat, or one other possible visitor; his neighbour, Calum. They’d hang out sometimes, whenever their days off matched up. Their shared interest in certain obscure and rare computer games and a mutual love of sushi and beer made for hours of fun without the chore of actually having to leave the building. Michael had definitely made sure to let Calum know that he was expecting his new flatmate to arrive today, though, so he was a little confused as to why his neighbour would be dropping by now.

That feeling only intensified when a glance through the spy hole on his front door revealed that Calum was accompanied by a stranger. He opened the door cautiously, still feeling a little bewildered.

“Hey, mate.” Calum grinned, waving a handful of unopened letters in greeting. “Just found this guy outside with a bunch of boxes. I knew you were expecting your new flatmate today, so I helped bring his stuff up.” His dark brown eyes surveyed Michael with something like confusion from beneath the rim of his seemingly ever-present black bucket hat.

Michael could only imagine that his neighbour was mirroring his own befuddled expression because Ashton wasn’t due to arrive for another hour. He forced himself to look over at the stranger, whilst his mind worked over what was happening.

It appeared that Calum was right in assuming this was Ashton. He was indeed carrying a large cardboard box labelled ‘bedroom’ that would definitely suggest he was moving house. There were also a bunch of smaller boxes piled against the wall beside the front door which supported that assumption.

“Do you guys need any more help?” Calum offered, “I’m free if…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Michael cut in quickly. “We can take it from here, thanks Cal.” The last thing Michael wanted was more people to see the apartment in its current state.

“No worries.” Calum smiled, “You know where I am if you change your mind.” He turned his attention to his little fluffy dog who had been patiently waiting for his post-walk nap. “C’mon Duke.”

Once Calum and his little fluff ball had wandered off across the hall towards their own apartment, Michael turned his attention back to Ashton. Three things struck him about his new flatmate in very quick succession;

Ashton was incredibly hot. His curly black hair hung loosely around his handsome face, framing his chiselled cheekbones and clean shaven, angular jaw beautifully. His hazel eyes were striking from behind the horn-rimmed glasses perched neatly on his perfectly ski-slope shaped nose.

He looked vaguely familiar. Michael knew that he’d seen Ashton’s face somewhere before but it wouldn’t quite click in his brain. Not that it would be entirely surprising if they’d met before, they did share a close friend after-all. It just seemed a little off that Luke hadn’t reminded Michael of the occasion they'd met at before suggesting they live together.

Despite his silence, Ashton looked somewhat annoyed, possibly bordering on angry. That struck Michael as odd. He had been known to piss people off fairly regularly but seeing as he’d barely even spoken to Ashton, this would be an all time record.

“So you must be Ashton…” Michael smiled, awkwardly tucking a strand of his messy blonde hair behind his ear whilst offering his free hand out for his new flatmate to shake. “I’m Michael, or you can call me Mike if you want. Most of my friends do.” Ashton didn’t accept the offer of a handshake, in fact he made no movement whatsoever. He simply glared at Michael with an increasing level of irritation. “Are you kidding me?”

Michael knew that he was not the prettiest of people. He dressed casually most of the time and due to Ashton’s early appearance, he’d not yet had a chance to shower and make himself a little more presentable. He didn’t think that he quite deserved such a cutting greeting, though. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you yet, I was just…”

“You don’t even remember me, do you?!” Ashton interrupted, his tone dripping of resentment now. “Fucking unbelievable!” Michael couldn’t remember ever feeling more confused in his life. Ashton hadn’t mentioned that they’d previously met in his text messages so why would he be so angry that Michael hadn’t immediately recognised him now?

The newcomer’s harsh tone had caught Calum’s attention, causing the neighbour to pause in sorting through his mail and stare unashamedly at the scene unfolding across the hall.

“This could only fucking happen to me…” Ashton huffed, adjusting his grip on the box in his arms. “I get turfed out of my flat because my landlord suddenly decides he wants it for his daughter and just when I think I’ve landed on my feet with a new place, my new fucking flatmate turns out to be a one night stand who doesn’t even remember me! Talk about kicking a guy when he’s down!”

Michael barely registered Calum’s audible gasp as realisation crashed around him. Suddenly the memory of the beautiful man that had swept Michael off his feet at a bar a few months back replayed in his head like a movie he’d seen once but hadn’t been able to remember the title of. He’d only known the guy as Ash and he’d assumed it was short for Ashley. Despite the fact that Ash’s hair had been a sexy shade of crimson, styled in a neat quiff and he hadn’t been wearing glasses, it was definitely the same guy that was standing in front of him right now.

“Ash…” the word escaped Michael almost of it’s own volition. “But I thought that was short for… oh my god, this can’t be happening.” He cupped his own face in his hands as the reality of the awkward situation began to settle into the very fibre of his being.

“Wow, you can’t make this shit up.” Calum gasped, an almost delighted smile on his face. “What’re you guys gonna do?”

Despite Calum’s annoying rubbernecking, it gave Michael the perfect excuse to look away from Ashton for a second. “Well I’m gonna throw something at you, if you don’t get lost right now, Calum.” He hissed.

“He’s not the one coming across like a shithead right now.” Ashton scoffed, setting the box in his arms onto the floor. “Being a nosey neighbour still makes you a hell of a better person than the guy that flatters their way into your bed and gives you amazing sex but then gives you a fake number!”

“That’s right.” Calum agreed. “People that do that are the worst. At least have the balls to tell the other person you’re not looking for anything long term before you disappear the next day.”

“Calum, I swear to god…” Michael hissed.

Ashton shook his head angrily. “He’s right, if you never wanted to see me again, you could have just said. I wouldn’t have wasted some of my best moves on you.”

“Oh, what were the moves?” Calum smirked, prying his way further into the conversation.

His neighbour’s blatant disregard for the seriousness of the situation was annoying to say the least. It was also the last thing Michael needed to deal with right now. “Piss off, Calum!”, he snapped.

Duke yapped disapprovingly at Michael, his tiny eyes focused on the blonde man as his human’s smirk grew even further across his face.

“Oh, you can shut up as well!” Michael snapped at the tiny pooch. “Now you’re yelling at a dog.” Ashton rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s a good thing you blew me off, looks like I had a lucky escape from dating an arsehole!” Michael really couldn’t envisage the situation getting any worse. At this rate he was going to be searching for another roommate instead of enjoying a pleasant lunch with this one, like he’d hoped.

“I didn’t give you a fake number!” Michael protested. “I swear, I’m not like that, and I really liked you! I broke my phone, the same weekend we...met.” He felt his cheeks begin to colour, trying his hardest to ignore Calum’s snort as he focused on Ashton’s disbelieving face.

“It took me two weeks to sort out a new one, I had a little pay as you go in between, I had a different number, and I-you did call, then?” Michael paused his blurted explanations to blurt out a question, instead. He had been wondering every time it was late and he was alone for 6 months whether or not he’d missed a call from the best one night stand of his life.

“Of course I did!” Ashton threw his hands up in exasperation, startling Duke and sending him scuttling back into the still-open doorway of the opposite flat. “I thought we had a connection, we said we wanted to see each other again; that doesn’t happen that often for me! Maybe it does for you…”

“Oh, it definitely doesn’t.” Calum smirked. “The only man who comes to see Michael regularly is the Domino’s delivery guy.”

Before Michael could blow up at him, Calum backed up properly into his flat, resting his hand on his front door. “It’s a shame, actually,” he continued, smiling encouragingly at his neighbour. “Michael is really a great guy. He always has time for me and Duke; whether it’s for beers, a listening ear, or belly rubs.”

He throws a wink to Ashton as he shuts his front door with a click. “I’ll leave you to figure out which one is for me. Welcome to the building!”

Michael knows he needs to gain control of the slightly-stunned silence left in Calum’s wake, fast. He needs to say something apologetic, or charming, or cool. “Do you like fish fingers?” Or that.

Ashton blinked a few times in quick succession, and Michael wanted to throw himself down the stairs.

“Do I like fish fingers?” Ashton repeated, pushing his long black hair back with both hands.

Michael flushed again, at least thankful for the fact that he no longer had an audience for the most embarrassing encounter of his life. “It’s just, I thought we could have lunch, and talk, and I’m not really much of a cook, but I have fish fingers, right, and everyone likes fish finger sandwiches...don’t they…” He trailed off, hoping Luke perhaps had another co-worker who needed immediate accommodation.

Ashton fixed him with the most intense stare he’d ever received in a conversation about freezer food, and Michael tried to match his unrelenting gaze in a way that would make him look less like he wanted to cry. Ashton’s eyes really were beautiful, seeming almost magnified by his glasses. He looked thoughtful and sad now, rather than judgmental and angry, and Michael would take that.

“I do.” Ashton decided on, after what felt like an eternity. He stooped down to pick up his box again, muscles tensing, and Michael’s mind began to wander.

He remembered Ashton’s arms looking just like that as he lifted him up for the last few feet of the journey to the redhead-at-the-time’s bed. Michael could almost feel his fingers digging into the bare skin of his thighs all over again. The memories of slow, wet, considered neck kisses being broken with teeth, and the delicious burn that started low and spread like wildfire as Ashton stretched him out like he was born to do it.

“Michael? After you?” Michael snapped out of his daze, dragging his eyes away from Ashton’s lips where they had landed at some point in his reminiscing. He stepped back so Ashton could enter the flat and set the box down by the sofa. “Yeah, great, come in, make yourself at home, I’ll get the rest of your boxes!” As soon as he was outside in the corridor, Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. ‘Okay, Clifford - you need to snap out of it. Relax and smooth things over so you two can live together.’ He told himself, as sternly as he could manage. ‘We need a roommate more than we need to get laid.’

‘That’s debatable.’ Another voice - which sounded more like Calum than himself - chimed in before Michael shook it off and picked up the stack of cardboard boxes cluttering up the corridor.

‘Okay, you can do this. Damage control. Just be normal. Go in and face this head on. You can do this.’ Michael murmured, running his tongue over his bitten lips as he took his first steps back to where Ashton was waiting.

He hip-checked the front door closed as he re-entered the flat, placing the boxes next to one Ashton had carried in, before straightening up to see Ashton sat on the sofa, looking both nervous and delicious.

“I…” Michael faltered under Ashton’s almost shy gaze, then caught sight of a slice of Ashton’s firm, hairy stomach from where his t-shirt was riding up slightly.

“I just need to go to the bathroom. Then we can...talk, and eat. Okay?” Michael forced what he hoped was a casual, winning smile, and then scuttled across to the bathroom the moment Ashton made a noise of agreement and nodded his head.

Michael clicked the lock shut and put the toilet lid down as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. He began tapping away with urgency as he took a seat on the toilet, pulling up his message thread with his best friend.

SOS!!!! 🚨

Luke!!!!

Where are you

LUKE FUCK HELP ME YOU DICK

With each message he sent, Michael could feel his panic beginning to swell back up in his chest. Finally, three dots began moving across the message to indicate Luke was writing. Help was on the way.

🥺🥺🥺 What’s up

Michael felt what he knew was an unjustified rage at Luke and his fucking emojis as he furiously typed a reply.

Oh nothing, I just had sex with my new roomate!!!

Michael jumped when his phone immediately started vibrating relentlessly, sliding his finger across the screen and holding it gingerly to his ear.

“Hello?” He whispered into the receiver.

“WHAT!!! What do you mean you’ve slept with him?! Ashton was due there at 12, and it’s now...12 minutes past 12! That’s INSANE, even for you! I cannot believe-”

“Luke!” Michael hissed through clenched teeth, turning on the cold tap on the sink before he spoke again. “Not today, idiot! Remember, months ago, when I broke my phone? That weekend, I hooked up with that guy I met at The Alchemist? Red hair, big arms, amazing mouth-”

“Yes, I remember! What’s that got to do with it?” Luke cut in.

“It was Ashton. I only knew him as Ash, remember? And obviously I never saw him again because I had no way to contact him after I broke my phone. But it’s him, Luke - he’s in my living room! In OUR living room! What am I gonna do?! I am freaking out!”

“Oh my God! You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Mike! You’ve had your new roommates dick in your mouth before he even moved in! Classic you.”

Michael could practically hear Luke’s eyeroll. “This is not classic me! Dick! Help me, Luke!”

“What do you want me to do, I can’t unfuck him for you!” Luke shot back. Michael let out an involuntary whimper and slumped further down on the toilet. He was so screwed.

***

Michael emerged from the bathroom, Luke’s advice ringing in his ears as he approached Ashton on the sofa. ‘He’s a really nice guy, Mike; just talk to him. Explain what happened after you hooked up, and say you hope you can put it behind you and be friends. I think he’ll be cool, honestly. Just try not to trip and land on his dick and you should be golden.’

He took one last deep breath as he sat down on the black leather beside his one-time lover.

“So, Ashton...I...listen, I’m sorry that I broke my phone and made you think I’d ghosted you. I’m just an idiot that dropped his phone outside Sainsbury’s. And I’m really sorry I didn’t recognise you straight away, I was just expecting someone I hadn’t, and your hair, and glasses, and-” Michael could feel himself starting to babble but he couldn’t stop himself; he was so desperate for Ashton to like him. He was trying not to think about why it was this important to him.

Ashton held his hand up to stop him with a small smile. “Michael, it’s okay.”

Michael stopped short in his unravelling with a look of surprise. “It is?”

Ashton’s smile grew wider. “Yeah. I was just a bit blindsided, and I was hurt at the time back then, you know? But you explained, you apologised, and you seem like a nice guy. Luke sure can’t talk you up enough, and I trust him. I have no reason not to believe this is gonna be all good.”

Michael blinked, unsure if this was too good to be true. “Yeah? So...we’re good? You’re gonna...stay?”

Ashton relaxed back into his seat, toeing his shoes off and under the coffee table. “If that’s okay with you, yeah. We’re both grown ups; we can keep it platonic and put the past behind us, right? Friends?”

Michael nodded, trying to hide the gulp in his throat. “Yeah, of course. Right. Great. Friends.” He could definitely do this.

***

He could definitely not do this.

It’d been a long one month, two weeks and three days of trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to be anything more than Ashton’s friend and roommate.

Some days, Michael thought it was possible to put those lingering feelings away and focus on their blossoming platonic relationship. After all, Ashton was everything most people could ever want in a flatmate. He was tidy, considerate, fairly quiet and respectful of personal boundaries. The slightly older man was also great company. Michael has had many pleasant conversations with him over breakfast and in the evenings before they went to bed.

As lovely as all of that was, Michael had started questioning if it was worth the growing ache in chest for more. Each new thing he learnt about Ashton made him more sure that he was probably the closest thing to the perfect man that Michael would ever know. It was a cruel twist of fate that had meant his one opportunity to have Ashton for himself had slipped through his fingers, quite literally. He cursed himself on a daily basis for that one clumsy moment when he’d fumbled pulling his old phone from his too-tight jeans outside the supermarket and had been forced to watch his only chance with Ashton sink into a muddy puddle.

Whatever higher powers existed had been even less kind to have that strong, gorgeous, well-hung man turn up on Michael’s doorstep months later, as his only hope of being able to keep the flat he’d grown to love.

Every day since then, seemed to have presented a new challenge or torture. First it was the tight t-shirts and vests Ashton wore more often than not. They accentuated every muscle of the raven-haired man’s torso and displayed his strong biceps in all their glory.

Then came the sleepy morning routine they’d subconsciously fallen into. Ashton would emerge from his room in nothing but his loose grey sweats and crooked glasses, his hair ruffled and his eyes heavily lidded, before joining Michael for a hasty breakfast which usually consisted of cereal or toast and mug of strong coffee. It was during these sluggish mornings when they’d started to bond over their mutual love of crime dramas and fantasy movies, among other things. That had naturally led to evening-long Criminal Minds marathons whole weekends debating whether the Lord of the Rings movies or the Harry Potter movies were the better adaptations of their original books. Those playful arguments had spilled over into text messages now, so Michael couldn’t even escape his torturous living situation when he went to work.

Despite all of that hardship, the most latest and arguably the toughest challenge Michael found himself facing, was Ashton’s morning yoga. At first, the older man had kept that part of his morning routine confined to his bedroom. For some reason or another, over the last week or so, Ashton had decided that the living area was a more suitable location for this activity.

If Michael thought that sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton was hot, then sleepy, shirtless morning Ashton doing the ‘downward dog’ was positively off the fucking scale. The way his large hands pressed into the yoga mat and the way his strong arms and legs tensed as he straightened his back and pushed his arse up into the air lingered in Michael’s mind all day. These images often flickered through his mind at night too, when he was alone in his bed with nothing but his hand for company.

Deciding that a little get together with some friends would help dispel some of the tension, Michael floats the idea of asking Calum and Luke over for a ‘lads night’. Ashton had agreed easily, being a generally social person, he’d seemed enthusiastic about the possibility of hosting a mini party.

A group message is created and it doesn’t take long to settle on the following Friday night for beer, snacks and a FIFA tournament.

Ashton seemed to have been looking forward to it, often mentioning how excited he was to get to know Calum better and asking Michael to help him decide between certain snacks to purchase for the occasion.

All in all, Michael was proud of himself for the idea, focusing on hosting a couple of friends had certainly given both him and Ashton something new to focus on.

It was only when Friday arrived that Michael started to doubt his plan. Watching Ashton arrange plates of snacks on the kitchen counter, with the cutest concentration face he’d ever seen, started to make Michael wish they were spending the evening alone instead. He quickly pushes the thought of his head, berating himself for thinking something so stupid. It’s not like anything could happen between them even if they were alone, they were roommates now, that’s where their relationship ends.

“So....” Ashton broke the silence enveloping the flat as he finished pouring a bag of cheesy Doritos into a bowl. “Did you finally solve the mystery of who was stealing people’s shit from your fridge at work?”

Michael was caught off guard by the question. He’d been watching Ashton so intently that he momentarily forgot about everything else. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been keeping Ashton up to date with the ongoing lunch burglar drama at the DIY store he worked at. “Oh, umm no, not yet! But Brenda finally told Linda to stick her fake friendship where the sun doesn’t shine.”

A genuinely delighted smile burst into Ashton’s face as he headed into the living room area. “Good for her! Linda sounds like a bitch…”

It really meant a lot to Michael that Ashton took such an interest in his work life. The fact that he cared so much about people he didn’t know, but was aware they meant a lot to Michael, was also heartwarming.

Before Michael could go into more detail about the break time drama, a knock at the front door interrupted him. “Oh yay! Our first guest!” Ashton beamed, jogging off towards the front door to greet Calum.

***

As soon as the beer and wine had started flowing, Michael’s ever-present pining for Ashton dulled to an almost non existent haze at the edges of his mind. Sure, his knees felt weak every time Ashton flashes him that dopey smile of his and he might have blushed whenever their knees touched as they competed against each other in a thrilling game of virtual soccer.

That was all better than his usual all-consuming lust, so Michael was somewhat proud of himself. He even managed to surprise the urge to let Ashton win their game, and was almost smug when his player sent the football flying past Ashton’s keeper to secure a 2-1 win.

“Motherfucker!” Ashton grumbled, throwing his control pad into the sofa as he fixed Michael with look that was almost definitely the hottest gaze he’d ever been caught under. “I’m gonna get you for that, Clifford.” It sounded like a promise that held more weight than the simple challenge to a rematch it was probably meant to be.

Michael had to fight back a whimper, staring into Ashton’s beautiful hazel eyes this closely was too much. The intensity of it all rendered him momentarily speechless and he was all-too glad when Ashton got to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“I need to drown my sorrows.” The black-haired man laughed, breaking the tension that had descended on them before heading off to the kitchen. Ignoring the knowing looks from his two friends, Michael picked up Ashton’s discarded controller and tossed it to Luke. “Your turn to face me, Hemmings. Let’s see if I can beat my all time record of beating you 6-1”

“Fuck off! You have never beat me that badly.” Luke huffed, picking up the control pad that had just landed in his lap. “I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass in front of your new boy-“

“Shit, we’re out of beers already!” Ashton’s interruption came at exactly the right moment in Michael’s opinion. He really hadn’t wanted Luke to finish that sentence and now he wouldn’t get the chance.

“I’ll go to the shop for some more, does anyone have specific requests?” The eldest friend asked as he traipsed back into the living room area.

“Oh you don’t have to go!” Michael shrugged, “you should stay here, we’ll send Luke instead, he sucks at this game anyway.”

Luke scoffed, waving his hand defensively. “You’re not getting out of playing me that easily!”

Ashton laughed, his eyes sparkling as he checked that his wallet was still in his jeans pocket. “It’s fine. I’m already out of the competition and I wouldn’t want to give anyone else an unfair advantage.”

Maybe it was just the effects of the beers he’d already drank, but Michael could have sworn that Ashton’s gaze lingered on him a little longer than it probably should have. “You’re too nice.” The blonde beamed fondly, “I’ll transfer you my half of the money in the morning, unless you wanna take a tenner from my room?”

“Oh is that an open invitation?” Calum asked, a lazy smile curling the corners of his lips. “You owe me at least that from when we bet on whether or not Luke could drink that tzatziki sauce last time.”

“Fuck off, Calum! I don’t owe you a penny, I won that bet, Luke’s a fucking wuss…”

“Hey! I am not!” Luke interrupted incredulously.

“Okay, I need to hear that whole story when I get back!” Ashton giggled. “I’ll just grab a case of whatever beer is the cheapest though, yeah.”

There was a general murder of agreement before Ashton headed out of the front door. Michael fond him watching until Ashton had disappeared into the hallway, swinging the front door closed behind him. “He’s so nice…” The blonde sighed dreamily, still gazing at the closed front door. “Don’t you think he’s just the best?”

Calum and Luke exchanged a ‘is he for real’ glance before silently agreeing that this was the perfect opportunity to tease Michael about his blatant love for Ashton.

“Yeah, he’s pretty special.” Calum agreed, smirking slyly. “You really can’t sing his praises highly enough, can you?”

Shaking his head, Michael finally returned his attention to the TV. “You really can’t, he’s just so kind and sweet.”

Calum nodded in agreement. “Not bad to look at either!”

“Right?!” Michael giggled, oblivious to the fact that his tipsiness was making his lips too loose.

“Hey Mike.” Luke cut in, reaching over to nudge his friend’s shoulder. “How’s being in love with your flatmate working out for you?” His conversational tone was entirely at odds with mischief in his eyes. It confused Michael but the youngest friend’s words were altogether too bold, a blatant overstep if ever there was one.

Despite his inner rage at being called out like this, Michael fumbled, unable to cobble together an appropriate response. “Ugh, I don’t even… You’re so far-“

“There’s no point denying it anymore.” Calum chuckled, “I can feel the sexual tension between you two from across the hall!”

“God, I bet it’s like watching a car crash, isn’t it?” Luke asked, picking up the bowl of M&M’s on the coffee table. “It’s horrific but you can’t tear your eyes away? Am I right?”

Calum nodded. “It’s like watching a bad fucking soap opera.”

Michael felt offended and embarrassed but still no words seemed to form coherently in his mouth.

“At least it’s a bit less tragic now we can be sure it’s not entirely one sided!” Luke stage whispered with a calculating look on his face as he met Calum’s gaze.

“Yeah, it’s mildly less irritating!” Calum laughed.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Michael sputtered. “Ash and I agreed that our one night stand is ancient history, we’re not-“

“Oh puh-lease!” Calum scoffed. “If you two haven’t fucked again by the end of this month I’ll eat my bucket hat.”

***

Ashton had returned with a case of twenty four bottles of beer and as a result, lad’s night had ended up running into the early hours of Saturday morning.

Having drank his way through more than his fair share of that case, Michael didn’t end up rising from his pit until noon had long since been and gone.

“Ah you are still alive!” Ashton chuckled, tearing his attention away from the TV to look at his flatmate.

This was definitely not fucking fair. Michael didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he looked exactly as he felt - rough as all hell. Ashton on the other hand, still looked as dreamy as ever. His black curls, although slightly ruffled and fluffy, were still on the stylish side of messy and he’d somehow found the motivation to get dressed, too, something Michael wasn’t even contemplating.

“I’m glad you’re up now, though, I wondered if you had anything planned for dinner?” Ashton asked, peering at Michael from behind his horn-rimmed glasses.

The thought of food made Michael’s stomach lurch unpleasantly and he had to fight to hold back a wretch.

Ashton gives a sympathetic giggle before pausing his show and rising to his feet. “I’ll take that as a no. Don’t worry, buddy. I have a plan but first…” he jogged over to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle. “Why don't you go and take a shower while I make you a tea? You’ll feel better after that and then we will talk dinner!”

As Michael plods over to the bathroom, he shoots one last look over at Ashton, busily preparing mugs on the countertop and tries his absolute hardest to remember a time that he wasn’t in love with his flatmate.

***

As always, Ashton was proven to be 100% correct.

Michael felt a million times better once he was showered and snuggled on the sofa with a mug of steaming tea.

“You look a little more alive now.” Ashton smirked, sparing Michael a sideways glance before returning his attention to ‘Law and Order’. “Do you think you can handle talking about dinner yet?”

The ache in Michael’s stomach felt a lot more like hunger than it had done when he first woke up and the thought of food didn’t make him feel like throwing up anymore so he nodded. “What’re your plans, chef?”

Ashton’s cheeks turned a rosy pink as he shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to see you try to cobble together another freezer meal so I thought you might like me to teach you a simple pasta dish?” He suggested, his tone a little shy like he was worried what Michael’s reaction would be. “I’ll do most of the work, but I thought if you helped out, you’ll learn how to make something other than Super Noodles.”

Michael couldn’t even be mad at the subtle dig at his cooking skills. He was terrible in the kitchen and it was just a little embarrassing that Ashton had noticed just how dyer his cooking skills were. “When you say simple, do you mean like a recipe and technique you can write on the back of a postage stamp because that’s about the level of my skill.”

Rolling his eyes, Ashton casually threw his arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Don't be so hard in yourself, buddy! I once taught Luke how to make scrambled eggs on the stove so he didn’t have to be a savage and use the microwave anymore, so there’s definitely hole for you, I promise.”

Michael tried to focus on the hat Ashton was saying but all that his slow, hungover brain could process was that he was pressed against his stupidly gorgeous flat mate’s side. The heady smell of Ashton’s minty body wash and the soft scent of his fabric conditioner felt intoxicating and Michael could do nothing besides allow his head to drop into Ashton’s shoulder.

To the blonde’s surprise, Ashton shuffle away or call him out on it. He simply rests his own head on Michael’s and laughs. “We’ll make a chef of you yet, Clifford.” He promised.

***

They spent a good three hours, watching reruns of C.S.I and making plans to start a Marvel movie marathon after dinner. They sat close to each other the whole time and Michael noticed Ashton watching him from the corner of his eye on at least three separate occasions.

By the time Ashton suggested they start making dinner, Michael had gone over his conversation with Calum and Luke the previous night, about sixty times. His two best friends had convinced him that Ashton wanted Michael just as much as Michael wanted Ashton.

“The way he looks at you, dude.” Calum laughed. “He’s practically imagining you naked at any given moment. It’s getting uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Michael reprimanded. “He doesn’t think of me like that anymore. We had a one night thing months ago. That’s it. Nothing else will ever happen between us again, we’re just flatmates.”

Calum and Luke exchanged a sceptical glance before bursting into laughter.

“Yeah right!” Luke huffed sarcastically. “Do you know how many times I hear your name come out of his mouth at work these days?”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. He had no idea that Ashton talked about him at work. It felt kind of surreal to imagine his roommate relaying snippets of their home life to Luke.

“Let me guess!” Calum interrupted. “About a thousand…”

Nodding, Luke drained the last of his beer. “Yeah and that’s just before lunch!”

“Honestly, if they don’t bang soon I’m gonna knock their heads together.” Calum sighed. “Did you know Michael comes over to my place most mornings so he doesn’t have to watch Ashton do topless yoga?” He asked Luke disbelievingly. “I want my lie-in’s back!”

At the time, Michael hadn’t believed his friends. He didn’t think that there was even a remote possibility that Ashton still carried a torch for him. But in the clear light of day, Michael couldn’t deny that all the signs were there… perhaps there could be more between them after all.

He followed Ashton into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his grey oversized sweater, trying to clear his mind enough to be able to process learning a new skill.

“Okay, this is like the simplest recipe I know but it’s delicious and tastes so much better than the freezer junk you usually make for yourself.” Ashton rambles as he grabs a saucepan and a frying pan from the shelf near the cooker.

“Hey, freezer junk has been my lifeline on many occasions, I’d probably be dead without it.” Michael scoffed, only half joking.

Ashton rolled his eyes fondly, handing Michael the saucepan. “Fill this with water for me and then put it on the back hob, while it’s boiling I’ll teach you how to make the sauce.”

As Michael carried out his instructions, he couldn’t help but admire the concentration on Ashton’s face when he began rifling through the fridge and cupboard, pulling out various ingredients.

Once the pan of water was safely on the job Ashton had indicated, Michael returned his full attention to the slightly older man.

“Right, the first thing we do for the sauce is put 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil into this cold pan.” Ashton explained, pushing his glasses up his nose a little, reminding Michael of a hot English teacher or something… fuck, it was already difficult enough for Michael to concentrate without random fantasies about Ashton fucking him over a desk running through his mind. “Usually I’d never add oil to a cold pan, but for this particular recipe, it works because if the pan was already hot, the first ingredients would burn before the rest was in there.”

There was something about the way Ashton talked with such passion and confidence that made Michael wish he was confident enough to just drag him to the bedroom, his need for more from Ashton becoming unbearable. He forced himself to nod, pretending like he understood when really, Ashton could be telling him absolutely anything right now, and Michael would not know the difference because all he can think about is the way Ashton had groaned at the feeling of Michael’s nails running down his back and how he’d growled Michael’s name as he neared his climax.

“Can you pass me the basil?” Ashton asked, pulling Michael out of his memory.

The blonde surveyed the ingredients on the countertop. Luckily he recognised most of them, so he picked up the basil by process of elimination and handed it to Ashton like a dutiful sous chef.

Ashton looked mildly impressed as he took the bag of basil and took out handful. “We want about ten or so decent sized leaves and we tear them in half before adding them to the oil, okay?” He waited for Michael’s nod of understanding before tearing the leaves in his hand and dropping them into the pan.

“Then we need to chop 6-8 cloves of garlic directly into the pan.” Michael looked back at the little stack of ingredients and frowned, noticing an instant problem. “We only have one clove of garlic…” he pointed out, biting his bottom lip worriedly.

Ashton burst out laughing as he picked the garlic up from the counter. “This is a whole bulb, babe…” he explained, apparently not even noticing his use of the supposedly accidental pet name.

It was difficult for Michael to feel too offended by Ashton’s laughter when he’d just called him babe, though, so he let it go, focusing on the term of endearment, no matter how accidental it might have been, rather than the humour at his dumb mistake.

“It’s the smaller, wedge shaped pieces that are cloves, please don’t mix that up if you make this without my help.” Ashton chuckled, breaking six cloves from the bulb and picking up a tiny knife he’d laid out next to the oven.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Michael pouted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.”

Ashton gave him a fond smile. “You’re not alone in that, I promise…”

It was hard not to feel comforted by Ashton’s lopsided smile, so most of his embarrassment slipped away fairly quickly.

“I just chop off the little hard parts at the bottom of each clove and peel the skin off before chopping it directly into the pan. Don’t chop it on a board or you’ll lose some of the flavour.” Ashton explained carefully.

Michael watched with interest as Ashton demonstrated his technique with the first two cloves. He handed the third to Michael along with the knife and gestures for him to add it to the pan.

It took him probably three times longer to chop that one clove into the pan, than it took Ashton to do the first two, but he was encouraging and patient. The older man praised Michael for completing the tiny task, seeming genuinely impressed.

Once all six cloves of garlic had been added to the pan, Ashton turned on the hob into a medium heat. “Okay, so we stir this together for about five minutes. Can you do that while I open the tin of tomatoes?”

Michael nodded, picking up the wooden spoon from the counter and storing the simmering ingredients together. It already kinda smelt like his favourite Italian restaurant and his tummy grumbled impatiently.

“One thing I should specify is, you need to use tins of whole tomatoes, not chopped.” Ashton explained as he poured the first tin of tomatoes into the sizzling pan. “Can you pour in the second one?”

Michael did as he was told and watched as Ashton squished the whole tomatoes down and stored them into the red eat of the ingredients.

“Mmm it smells so good.” Michael sighed, breathing in the delicious smells.

Ashton looked proud of himself as he offered a smile. “Can you take over the stirring while I add the salt?”

Michael took the spoon from Ashton, ensuring that their fingers brushed.

There was a moment of eye contact and a silent shifting of tension between the two of them. If ever there was a time to bite the bullet and kiss Ashton, now would be it. His nerves failed him though and he dropped his gaze to the simmering pan.

Instead of moving around Michael to pick up the salt as he’d done for the tomatoes, Ashton simply reached past the blonde, pushing him against the counter momentarily before he pulled back to add the salt to the pan.

If Michael had been fully alert, he’d have recognised that for the flirtatious move it was meant to be, as it was, he put it down to a simple lack of judgement on Ashton’s part and continued to concentrate on stirring the sauce.

***

The tomato pasta tasted as good as it had smelt. It turned out to be exactly what Michael’s hungover body had needed.

He and Ashton had eaten it at their little table in the kitchen. Conversation had flowed freely as always, skirting around flirtatious at times but never quite enough for Michael to pluck up the courage to take things further.

“The only thing that would have made that better would have been a nice glass of white wine, but I thought you were still a bit too delicate for that.” Ashton giggled as he picked up the empty plates from the table and carried them over to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, you drank as much as I did!” Michael pouted, picking up the empty glasses and following Ashton to the sink. “How’re you not hungover.”

Ashton chuckled as he ran the water into the washing up bowl. “You’re just a lightweight, Mikey.”

It wasn’t the first time Michael had been called that so it didn’t take him by surprise. He laughed it off as he grabbed a tea cloth ready to dry the dishes that Ashton washed. “One day you’ll stop teasing me, Irwin.”

Ashton shook his head. “Don’t count on it, babe… you’re too easy to make fun of, that’s not my fault.”

There it was again, that little slip, a fond nickname that roommates probably shouldn’t have for one another.

Quickly pulling himself together, Michael nudged his flatmate in the arm, just hard enough to pull a surprised “oof” from him.

“Careful now.” Ashton warned jokingly. “You don’t want to start a scuffle you can’t finish, Clifford.”

Michael threw caution to the wind and nudged Ashton again, deliberately keeping his gaze on the plate he was drying.

“That’s it!” Ashton huffed, scooping up a handful of bubbles and swiping them across Michael’s face.

The blonde spluttered and shook his damp fringe out of his face before fixing Ashton with a glare. A few acts of retaliation flashed through his mind. He could have whipped Ashton with the tea cloth or splashed him with dishwater but none of that happened.

There was something about the way Ashton’s eyes were sparkling, almost like he was daring Michael to do the thing he’d been too scared to do this whole time. He refused to let another opportunity pass like before when they were making the pasta sauce. Michael tried not to overthink as he stepped forward and cupped Ashton’s face with one hand before leaning in and kissing him.

The raven-haired man’s lips felt every bit as soft as they had done on that night seven months ago. Ashton didn’t kiss back with the same hunger and desperation that he had done back then, though.

Michael stepped back, feeling his cheeks heat up in an embarrassed blush. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Ash…”

Ashton bit his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at Michael intently. “No…” He said, finally breaking his silence. “You just shouldn’t have waited so long.”

The older man’s words had barely penetrated Michael’s brain before he was being pressed against the counter behind him. Ashton’s lips were on his again but this time they were working just like they had been that night at Ashton’s old place.

The intense kiss pulled a whine from Michael and he automatically wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck.

It started as a fairly simple kiss but it quickly began to build momentum. It was the crack in the dam holding back all of their emotions for all this time.

“Ashton…” Michael gasped as they pulled apart for air. “I know we said we should just be friends but…”

“Fuck being just friends.” Ashton mumbled as he worked kisses down Michael's neck. “I can’t pretend anymore.”

Those words were all Michael needed to hear in order to relax into this. “I can’t tell you how bad I’ve wanted this.” He whispered.

Ashton slipped one of his thighs between Michael’s as he nipped at the blonde’s neck. “I think I have some idea.” He groaned. “I never stopped thinking of the way you moaned my name that night, Michael.” The older man confessed, pulling back just enough to look Michael in the eye. “Wanted it again since the moment I walked in here.”

The way Ashton was looking at him like he wanted to devour every inch of Michael, had the blonde melting. “Me too.” He crashed his lips against Ashton’s in another desperate kiss as he subconsciously rutted against the older man’s thigh. After the months Michael had spent feeling kind of lonely and touch-starved, the tiny amount of friction was enough to have him whimpering against Ashton’s lips.

“Uh, you sound and taste even better than I remember.” Ashton muttered, pressing his thigh harder against Michael’s crotch to pull another little gasp from him.

“Ashton! Fuck, please, I…” Michael’s head tipped back as he lost his fight to regain any sort of control over his own body. He was in Ashton’s control now, and Ashton knew it.

“Come on…” Ashton coaxed, stepping back from Michael as he took both of his hands in his to pull him away from the kitchen counter. Michael whined high in his throat as he easily followed where Ashton led.

Michael had hardly been into Ashton’s bedroom since he had helped him move some furniture the day he moved in; it had almost felt too intimate to go into Ashton’s personal space given the history between them. Seeing it now, cozy and dark with slithers of light coming through the window from the lamp posts outside, gave Michael a chill; it felt like Ashton was sharing a secret with him.

He followed Ashton’s lead dutifully all the way to the bed, accepting the deep kiss Ashton offered him as a reward, before the older man peeled his oversized sweater from his torso, breaking away to pull it over Michael’s head. Michael wanted more contact, but was disappointed when Ashton gently but decisively laid him down among the crisp sheets, instead.

Ashton pulled his own t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion and flicked the lamp on his bedside table on, bathing the bed in a warm glow that made Michael feel like he was in a dream.

Michael gazed in wonder at Ashton as he climbed into bed beside him, letting his eyes travel all over his arms and chest, taking in the extra tone and definition in his body since the last time he’d been able to stare at him like this; clearly, the yoga was doing more than just allowing Ashton to ‘find his centre’.

He didn’t think he was anything special to look at, but he could see Ashton mirroring his own actions, eyes full of lust searching all over the parts of Michael’s body he could see, and even his gaze lingering on a part he couldn’t.

“Ash,” Michael breathed out, surprising himself with how far gone he sounded already. “Take ‘em off, I wanna…” He trailed off as Ashton’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, holding eye contact for only a moment before he nodded almost imperceptibly, shuffling down the bed and taking hold of the waistband of Michael’s sweatpants. He returned his gaze to the pale man before him, biting his own lip as he allowed his fingertips to graze the skin of Michael’s hips. “These too?” Ashton questioned in a low voice as he brushed the fabric of Michael’s underwear.

“Oh God, yeah”, Michael answered, squirming slightly from the infuriatingly gentle feel of Ashton’s touch. Ashton didn’t need to be told twice. Michael shivered with the feeling of being suddenly completely exposed as his sweatpants and underwear hit the carpet. Michael looked up at Ashton through his lashes, braced up on his knees in his black, ripped jeans. “You’d better be planning on losing those in the next second, Irwin.”

Ashton smirked as he undid his jeans. “And I mean your underwear, too!” Michael amended hastily, hungry to see if his memory of Ashton’s body was accurate.

The dark-haired man’s smirk grew wider at Michael’s clarification, pulling his zip down and allowing his jeans to fall open, exposing only bare skin beneath. “Underwear?”

Michael’s jaw dropped a little, prompting a deliciously filthy laugh from his roommate. “For the record, roomie - I don’t wear underwear.” Ashton winked as he yanked his jeans down as far as he could in his current position, before wriggling around to pull them off completely. Michael was pleased to see that, if anything, his memory had been selling Ashton short. Blame it on the alcohol.

Michael didn’t know how to decide on what to do first; on one hand, he wanted to kiss Ashton non-stop for the rest of eternity, but on the other hand, if he didn’t get filled up in the next 10 minutes, he was definitely going to throw a tantrum. Luckily, he realised, it probably wasn’t up to him. All of his experience with Ashton so far told him that the older man would definitely be taking the lead, and this was definitely not a problem for Michael. Indeed, it had worked out very well for him last time, when his staff night out started at the bar and ended with Ashton eating him out like his life depended on it.

“What are you thinking?” Ashton’s sultry voice broke through his thoughts, apparently wanting a coherent answer despite the fact that he had just begun to run his fingers up and down Michael’s sensitive, pale inner thighs. Michael let out a shuddery breath as he tried to use his words to tell Ashton he wanted anything and everything possible between them, right there and then. Perhaps the way his cock twitched when Ashton let one his nails run over a faded stretch mark right at the base of one of his thighs would speak for itself.

“Maybe we should get right to, huh, gorgeous?” Ashton teased, withdrawing his touches to lean towards his bedside table. He pulled open the top drawer, fumbling only for a moment until he found what he was looking for. The lube and condom were dropped carelessly onto the mattress as he shut the drawer again, returning his attention to the man almost-beneath him immediately. “We’ve got plenty of time for all the other goods stuff; right now, I need to fuck you, and I know you need me to fuck you...don’t you?”

Michael wondered at what point in his life he had begun to communicate exclusively in whines, but Ashton seemed to be into it, so it didn’t matter. Michael watched impatiently as Ashton popped the top on the half-empty bottle of lube, wasting no time in squirting a generous amount onto two fingers on his right hand and pulling Michael’s leg fully around his hip with his left.

Michael’s heart jumped as much as his cock when Ashton breathed gently on the lube coating his fingers in an attempt to warm it slightly before he brought them straight down to Michael’s bare hole, rubbing over it in a firm circle.

Michael was glad he didn’t have the problem of not wanting his roommate to hear him getting fucked, anymore, as he let out his loudest, neediest whine yet. Ashton proved he had meant what he said about not taking their time with their second tryst, sinking his index finger inside Michael in one fluid motion. Before Michael had got to 10, Ashton was opening him up at a steady, delicious pace and was driving Michael crazy in record time.

Michael wouldn’t claim to be a pornstar or anything, but he didn’t normally have a problem with stamina. If Ashton kept it up like this, though, Michael was in danger of coming before Ashton’s thick cock got any closer to him, and that was unacceptable.

“Ash, please, I can’t...I want, ne-your cock, please!” Michael cried out as Ashton probed his spot one last time before immediately acquiescing to Michael’s begging. Michael wriggled at the loss of Ashton’s fingers, but took comfort in the fact that Ashton was already tearing the condom packet open.

Michael watched in awe-tinged anticipation as Ashton gave himself a couple of loose tugs once he had the condom on, before closing in on his lover once more, making sure Michael was laid comfortably on the pillows as he positioned himself over him. Michael clung to Ashton’s shoulders as he lined himself up, just resting the tip on Michael’s slick hole for a moment.

Ashton’s hazel eyes bore down into Michael’s green ones with a soft fire as he raised one hand to brush Michael’s fringe out of his flushed face. Michael let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding as Ashton pushed in - slowly, but all the way.. He felt like he was sinking and floating simultaneously, and wrapped his arms around Ashton’s neck to anchor himself here, with him, in this moment.

Ashton pressed his face deep into Michael’s neck, kissing and sucking his way up towards Michael’s ear. “You good?” He murmured, shifting his hips a miniscule amount. “Yeah,” Michael breathed, “S’good, please…”.

With a final nip to Michael’s neck, Ashton pulled back slightly and began to move his hips properly, his cock sliding halfway out each time as he began to build a steady rhythm for them. Michael felt that perhaps in their sexual relationship so far, he was earning himself the reputation of a bit of a Pillow Princess, and so he began to move his own hips to meet Ashton’s building thrusts. Ashton groaned, long and loud, at the heightened sensations Michael’s movements brought, and they began to work together towards their goal.

Suddenly, Ashton’s mouth was crowding his, his tongue sliding into his mouth in a glorious kiss that Michael never wanted to end. He couldn’t tell if it had been 10 minutes or 10 hours when he felt that familiar feeling begin to bubble in the lower stomach. Ashton had begun to up the pace of his thrusts, his hips occasionally stuttering as groans rumbled low in his throat, so Michael knew they were on the same page.

“Ash,” He murmured in the millisecond between kisses. “Touch me, please, I’m getting so-” Michael broke off into a moan as Ashton was already wrapping a firm hand around his neglected cock, stroking it with determination and flicking his thumb over Michael’s dripping head. “You close, baby?” He murmured, eyes drifting over Michael’s face and the arousal present there. Michael was starting to writhe slightly and his head was flopping to the side on the pillow, but Ashton wanted his attention. With his free hand, he took Michael’s chin and turned his head to meet Ashton’s stare. The moment Michael was forced to meet his strong, heated gaze, his hazel eyes boring down on him with such intensity, Michael felt the kick of heat and it was all over. He cried out Ashton’s name and let out a series of curses and moans as he came, hard and hot over Ashton’s hand and their sweaty stomachs in equal measure.

Michael hadn’t finished himself before he felt Ashton taken by surprise, as well; his hips shooting forward to fill him to the hilt for the last time as he spilt into the condom, releasing Michael’s chin to brace himself through his orgasm on the pillows. “Michael, fuck!”

Michael regained enough control to watch Ashton’s face through hooded eyes as he came, moaning and unrestrained as he finished. He thought he looked heavenly.

As they both fought to catch their breath, Ashton pulled out gingerly, releasing Michael from his grip as he moved away to remove and dispose of the condom. Michael wriggled in place, trying to get comfortable to recover from what he hoped would be the first of many. Ashton came back from the bin in the corner and flopped back down, alongside Michael now, lifting his arm to allow Michael to snuggle in under it when he wrapped it around him. “So…” He said, sounding casual as you like. “About the whole platonic, friendly, roommate thing…”

masterlist for the 5sos ficwriters collab • my masterlist

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rhinozilla · 4 years

Text

“Past”

(DBH Found Family June 2020 challenge hosted by @dbh-found-family Week 4, Prompt 1: Past.)

Connor had been subdued for most for his first week back at the DPD since the revolution. He was perfectly attentive, focused, and engaged whenever there was a case to be worked on, but between crime scenes, Hank could see it. He could see it in the way that none of the patrol androids spoke to Connor, instead speaking only to Hank. He could see it in the way the staff androids gave Connor a wide berth when they walked through the bullpen. Conversation, when required, was kept short and coldly polite.

It really drilled home the idea that being hated wasn’t the worst thing you could do to a person. It was ignoring them completely.

“They don’t like me,” Connor replied bluntly when Hank asked him about it. “And they have cause. I don’t blame them for that.”

“Kid,” Hank sighed, wadding up the sandwich wrapper into a ball and tossing it into the backseat of the Oldsmobile to be dealt with later. “If they have a right to not like you, then you still have the right to be upset about that.”

In the passenger seat, Connor sat still, dull eyes on the dashboard. Hank dusted bread crumbs off his hands and pants, not in any hurry to get back to the station from their lunch break. Connor didn’t look too eager either.

“Hey, if it helps, I didn’t like you when we first met,” Hank remarked.

Connor paused, blinked, and closed his eyes. “Why do you think telling me that helps?”

Hank squinted through the windshield, watching some civilians meandering around the sidewalk. He looped an arm along the top of the bench seat.

“Because it only took a week for you to wiggle your annoying, stubborn, plastic ass into my good graces,” he snorted. “And now I don’t want any other partner, and…well, Hell, you’re about the only friend I’ve got.”

Connor peered over at him, expression still downcast. “You’re mine too, Hank.”

He drew a deep, imitative breath, sitting up straight in his seat again. He mimicked Hank in his people-watching.

“All I know to do is to keep…trying to reach out to them and…hope that eventually they give me a chance.”

“They will,” Hank pressed, then paused. “And if they don’t, that’s their loss. Your past doesn’t define you. I have to believe that for myself, and I believe that for you too. What you did before you deviated, what Cyberlife forced you to do…That was who you were, but it isn’t who you are. You are…” Hank took a breath, tilting his head in thought. “You are an extremely capable detective and a pain in the ass sometimes. But you are also empathetic…to your own detriment sometimes. You go to work every day where you feel like you’re not wanted, because you are dedicated to your job. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Connor. Don’t let how far you’ve come get bogged down by where you started.”

Connor’s jaw worked as he kept staring ahead, but he gave a short nod of acknowledgement.

“Besides, if I can change, they can. Have any of them pointed a gun at your head?”

Connor scoffed. “No.”

“Then they’re already not as bad I treated you back then.”

“That wasn’t personal, Hank.”

“If somebody points a gun at you, it’s always personal. Their reasons and excuses don’t matter,” Hank grumbled, looking away, out his side window.

“You were drunk that night,” Connor tried to add

“Which makes it worse,” Hank remarked. “Rule one: never point a gun at something that you don’t intend to destroy. When I think about what if—“

“You’ve already apologized numerous times for your behavior then, Hank,” Connor said.

“And I’ll keep doing it until I feel that I’ve gotten my point across,” Hank said, looking back over at him and meeting his eyes.

Connor stared back at him for a long second. “Your past doesn’t define you. That’s what you’ve just been telling me. That applies to you too.”

“Well…maybe I’m a hypocrite then. Sue me for being human,” Hank said with a sarcastic grin.

Connor’s returning smile was a little more reserved, but it was a step in the right direction.

“Humans have committed much worse crimes than hypocrisy,” he noted.

“Whoa, okay, we are not opening up that box,” Hank said, waving a hand at him and starting up the car. “This is not Star Trek, I’m not Picard, and you are not Q putting humanity on trial here, bucko.”

Connor smirked as Hank started pulling the car out of the lot, aiming the wheels back to the station.

“You are certainly not Picard.”

“Hey now, watch it!”

“And I’m not Q. If anything, logically, I’m Data.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Look, it was just a metaphor.”

“And a good one, Hank…Data even had a wayward twin brother who went renegade like RK800-60…Except…Lore went renegade in favor of emotions, whereas Data—“

“You are really getting too into this…” Hank sighed, then looked over at Connor.

Despite the cheerful turn of the conversation, he could see the weight already coming back onto Connor’s shoulders the closer they got to the station.

“You remember what happened to Data?” he finally asked. “After he kept proving himself to the rest of the crew?”

Connor looked out his side window in a way that told Hank he already knew where Hank was going with this.

“He…became part of the crew. Accepted. They became…friends,” Connor conceded.

“Damn straight,” Hank said, patting him on the arm briefly as the station came into view.

Connor seemed to dwell on that for a moment, and he appeared to come to an optimistic conclusion.

A beat passed.

“You know, Hank, you’re actually more like McCoy.”

“Now you listen here, punk—Actually, I don’t mind that…”

#detroit: become family event #dbh-found-family #hank anderson #dbh connor

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mnemememory · 4 years

Text

i’m going to need you to go to hell

critical role cutthroat kitchen au

“In this case, I have $150,000 of cold, hard cash. Six chefs get $25,000 each. If they want to leave this kitchen with any money, they have to survive three of my culinary challenges. And each other.” A small smile plays over Jester’s face as she stares down the camera. “In this game, sabotage isn’t only encouraged – it’s for sale.”

Jester always loves this part. With a dramatic flourish of her hand, the curtains behind her open to reveal her next round of victims. Participants. Whatever.

“Welcome – to Cutthroat Kitchen.”

“Ah, hi. My name is Yasha. I like cooking.”

There’s a pause as the cameraman waits for her to continue. Yasha continues to stare blankly at the camera, face indifferent.

The cameraman clears his throat. “What sort of cooking do you prefer?”

“Oh, you know,” Yasha says. She doesn’t elaborate.

Jester stands to the side of her table, arms crossed.

In front of her are five people – chefs, supposedly. Jester hadn’t looked too hard at their credentials. After all, just because they could sauté a shrimp didn’t mean they could do it in handcuffs. Being a bad cook was more entertaining for their program’s target audience, not less.

No, Jester had specifically chosen these people because of how explosive this was going to be.

(Also, she had gotten them all really, really drunk).

From the back of the set, someone gives Jester the go-ahead.

She clears her throat. “Hi! Welcome everyone, hope you’re having a great day. I’m having a wonderful day. I guess we should get started with the rules – now I know you all had to tick a box saying that you’d read and understood the terms and conditions outlined in your contract, but no one actually reads those. Firstly – I am Jester Lavorre! Otherwise known as the really famous Lady Fancypants McGee!”

She pauses. There’s a confused pause, and then everyone gives some mumbled version of “Hi, Jester.”

“Now, you five will be enduring – I’m sorry, participating in three rounds of cooking! I’m going to be assigning the dish. You have sixty seconds to shop for your essential ingredients in our Cutthroat Kitchen pantry. After that – well.”

Jester smiles at them. It is not a nice smile.

“We’re going to have an auction.”

“I’m Beauregard Lionett,” Beau says, sprawled out over the provided chair. Her foot is hooked around the side and digging slightly into the sheet background. “And I’m going to win Cutthroat Kitchen. I spent years training under the members of the Cobalt Soul – I’ve seen things. Horrible things. I can’t be scared anymore.”

There’s a sigh. Off-camera, someone mutters almost too low for the mic to pick up: “Why do we always get the crazy ones?”

“Don’t blame me, man. Jester’s the head of scouting.”

Louder: “What’s your specialty?”

Beau tilts her head to the side, thinking about it. “Anything that’s not sweets, really.”

“And for our first round, you’ll all be making – cupcakes!”

Jester splays out her fingers and wriggles them around. Behind her, a curtain opens to reveal a massive platter of multi-coloured cupcakes. She grabs one and bites into it, getting frosting on her nose. When she grins, her teeth are stained blue.

“Okay, are you all ready?”

Everyone nods.

Jester moves out of the way of the pantry, leaning up against the island table. “On your marks,” she says slowly. The contestants shift their grocery baskets around in their grips. “Get set…”

She waits.

And waits.

And takes another bite out of her cupcake.

“Go!” she yells, mouth still full and spraying crumbs everywhere.

And they’re off – Beau gets there the fastest, shoving Fjord aside when he tries to duck in before her. Veth is next, hopping nimbly over Fjord’s fallen form and dashing inside. Fjord scrambles to his feet and starts shoving as much food into his basket as he can, elbowing Beau when she goes for more icing sugar. Caleb ducks the flying limbs and goes to grab the chilli powder. Yasha stands at her table, looking horribly lost.

Caduceus just walks.

“Ten,” Jester cheers. “Nine! Eight!”

Caduceus walks out, basket full, smile mild.

“Seven! Six!”

Caleb rushes away from the dangerous elbows and back to his station. His basket doesn’t look anywhere near as well-stocked at Caduceus’, but there are enough ingredients that he could theoretically make something.

“Five!”

Beau lunges past the doors and falls face-first onto the ground, basket spilling everywhere. She rolls onto her feet and makes a flying leap for the bag of self-raising flour that Caleb is bending to pick up.

“Four! Three! Two!”

Veth sprints out, tripping Fjord onto the ground.

“One!”

With a maniacal laugh, Jester slams the pantry door shut on Fjord’s face. He gives a loud groan and stares rolls over to stare up at the ceiling.

“Well, well, well,” Jester says. She’s finished her first cupcake and is onto her second one. There is now pink icing on her fingertips. “Looks like I’ve caught a fly in my web!”

Fjord gets up and resignedly holds out his basket for inspection. Jester winches the door open once more and stands in front of him, stroking a finger along a non-existent moustache.

“What are you taking from me,” he says.

“I think – hmm, it’ll be difficult to make cupcakes without milk!” Jester says, grabbing the carton and shoving it randomly onto a shelf. Fjord just shakes his head and walks away.

Jester turns around and claps her hands.

“Now for the fun part! Let’s talk sabotages.”

“My name is Caleb Widogast,” Caleb says, not blinking. “I am thirty-three. I was born in the Zemni Fields. I have a cat called Frumpkin –”

“Oh, um, no,” the cameraman says. “You’re introducing yourself with regards to cooking –”

“My best friend is named Veth,” Caleb says. “She is also competing. She is very good at cooking.”

“Oh boy,” the cameraman says under his breath. “Well – what about you? What do you like to cook?”

“I like to set things on fire,” Caleb says.

“Starting bid for the hook is…?”

“One hundred dollars,” Beau says quickly.

“Two hundred,” Veth says.

Jester grins and waves the plastic pirate hook around to each person as they bid.

“Three hundred,” Beau says.

Veth narrows her eyes. “Five hundred dollars.”

“Six hundred and fifty dollars,” Beau says, teeth clenched.

“Seven hundred dollars,” Veth says.

Jester is watching them go back and forth in delight, head bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball. When Beau fails to respond, she starts talking.

“Okay, so – seven hundred dollars – going once – going twice – sold! To the halfling with the shiny buttons!”

Veth puffs out her chest and goes up to deposit the money into Jester’s grabby hands and collect her prize.

“They are very shiny, aren’t they?” she says. Then she takes a good look at her competitors.

Beau is scowling into her basket, annoyed at having lost. Veth feels no regrets about having spent so much money on the first item. She knows exactly who she’s giving this to.

“Captain Tusktooth,” Veth says, tipping him an imaginary captain’s hat. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Fjord jerks the hook out of her hands angrily and glares at her. Veth gives a contented sigh and goes back to her designated spot, just next to Caleb.

“I’m Chef Brenatto, from Felderwin,” Veth says. She’s standing on her chair rather than sitting in it, smiling wide with sharp teeth. “And these punks are going down.”

“What do you like to cook, Chef Brenatto?” the cameraman says, sounding resigned.

“Oh, everything,” Veth says. Her dress has a lot of buttons on it, sewn heavy along her skirt. “But my favourite things are rats. I’ve tried to cook my friend Caleb’s cat once or twice – he always gets away from me, the sneaky good-for-nothing – but nothing beats a good roasted rat.”

“Next up, we have this lovely cement mixer! If you win this bid, you can give this to whoever you like to substitute for their mixing bowl and stirring utensils. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly sanitary. Probably. In any case, I’m not the one who has to eat it, so.”

“Oh no,” Beau says, staring at it.

Jester’s smile is positively evil. “Oh, yes. Starting bids!”

“One thousand dollars!” Fjord says, eyes wide with panic.

“One thousand five hundred!” Beau says.

“One thousand six hundred,” Veth says.

Fjord turns towards them both. “I am not getting this cement mixed on top of a pirate hook. One thousand eight hundred dollars.”

Veth smiles at him daintily. “Two thousand.”

“Three thousand,” Fjord says through gritted teeth.

Veth stares at him with narrowed eyes, and then gives a huff and shrugs it off. Beau gives a wave of acceptance to Jester.

“Going once – going twice – sold! Three thousand dollars from Captain Tusktooth.”

“Do you have to call me that?” Fjord says, walking up to deposit his money. Jester just shrugs and shoves it back into her bedazzled pink briefcase.

Then he starts looking around the room for signs of weakness.

“Really,” he says out loud. “There’s only one person I can give this to.”

Veth glares at him as he wheels the cement mixer over to her. “I’ll get you for this, pretty boy.”

“I’m sure you will,” Fjord says, going back to his own station.

“Final sabotage for the round,” Jester announces, grabbing something from underneath her island and slamming it loudly onto the table. With a dramatic wave of her hand, she pulls back the cover to reveal a freezer of strawberry ice cream. “For this one, you have to substitute all the sugar in your baskets with this! Starting bids?”

“Three hundred dollars!”

“Hi, I’m Fjord Stone, I’m the owner of the restaurant chain Captain Tusktooth. We specialise in seafood.”

Fjord gives the camera a slightly uneasy smile. He keeps glancing around, like he’s expecting someone to jump up and scare him at any second.

The cameraman clears his throat. “Are you okay, sir?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Fjord says. “I just heard that Veth – er, Chef Branatto – was also competing. I was wondering if she’s already here?”

Veth shoves aside the fabric background and jumps onto the back of Fjord’s chair, grabbing at his shoulders. “You bet I am.”

The camera cuts on Fjord’s startled scream.

“As you can see, halfway through and they’re doing remarkably well despite my – handicaps.” Jester snickers to herself and gestures to Fjord’s station, where he’s apparently attempting to mix the batter with his hook.

“And Veth is using that cement mixer to full advantage, managing – oh, hi, Yasha.”

Yasha sneaks up behind the camera and gives a small wave. “Jester, may I have some butter?”

“Of course,” Jester says. She goes into the pantry and comes out a few seconds later. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Yasha says, going back to her workstation. Although she hadn’t actually grabbed anything from the pantry in the initial sixty seconds, she’s managed to accumulate a veritable wealth of ingredients to the side – including, but not limited to: half of Caduceus’ eggs, some of Fjord’s icing sugar, and a tub of Beau’s ice cream.

“Where was I?” Jester says. “Oh! Yes – Veth is trying to make some very delicious-looking triple chocolate cupcakes –”

“Hi,” Caduceus says, waving. “I’m Caduceus Clay. You might know me from the SBS network’s show Grave Discoveries, where my family and I discuss the ups and downs of operating a small Church cemetery. Each episode, we delve into the history of Shady Creek Run and all the mysterious happenings around the area.”

“Food,” the cameraman says. He sounds utterly defeated. “Please. We are a food show.”

Caduceus looks delighted. “You are?” he says. “Jester didn’t really tell me what I was doing. This was only a social visit, you see.”

The cameraman’s forehead smack was audible even without a microphone.

“Alright, people – count down with me!”

Jester was jumping up and down in front of the cameras, waving her arms about wildly as she counted.

“Five!”

Caleb very calmly tried to put out the fire on his stove. Veth was right next to him, frantically trying to help. Neither of them was doing a very good job.

“Four!”

Fjord and Beau were racing to plate everything; Beau had apparently given up halfway through for the icing and was just drizzling her raw cupcake with melted ice cream. Fjord was attempting to bump her at every turn while also desperately smoothing down his own icing with his hook.

“Three!”

Yasha was sitting next to her already-plated cupcake, doodling flowers onto the plate in icing.

“Gee, that looks nice,” Caduceus says, leaning over.

Yasha turns to smile at him. “Thanks. Yours looks really good too.”

“It’s matcha.”

“Two!”

A hoard of crew members descends upon Caleb’s cooking station with fire extinguishers.

“One! Alright – time is up, challenge over, hands off the food.”

“Can everyone please extend the warmest welcome to your judge for today – Mollymauk Tealeaf!”

Mollymauk walks out from behind the stage, seeming undeterred at the lack of applause coming from the people lined up in front of him. In particular, Caleb and Veth look a little more charred for wear, while Beau has a split lip and Fjord is leaning precariously against the side of his table to hide his limp.

“You’re the judge?” Beau says, scowling.

“Beauregard, how lovely to see you once again. And in such pleasant circumstances, too!”

“I will punch you,” Beau says.

“Now, now, is that any way to greet an old friend? And also holder of your fate?”

Jester beams at them all. “Molly was backstage, so he doesn’t know what’s been going on.”

“I can guess,” Molly says with a careless flick of his fingers. “But I don’t really care. What’s on the menu today, Madame Lavorre?”

“Cupcakes!” Jester says. She turns around and grabs another one of her pre-prepared snacks to wave around Molly’s face.

“Excellent,” Mollymauk says. “Now, I’ve been told I only care about three things – does it look good, does it taste good, and is it actually a cupcake?”

Fjord and Beau exchange uneasy glances, and then seem to realise what they’re doing and look away.

“Hi, Molly,” Yasha says.

“Hello, Yasha. That’s some lovely artwork you have there.”

“Thanks.”

Molly picks up the cupcake and takes a bite. He tilts his head to the side, and then smiles.

“Ooh, strawberry. Very nice.”

“Mhm.”

Molly moves on.

“Cousin,” Caduceus says in greeting.

“Cousin,” Molly says. He picks up the cupcake. “Matcha! My favourite.”

“I know.”

Jester frowns at him. “No one was supposed to know who the judge was. Did you tell him, Molly?”

“No,” Molly says, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

“How did you know?” Jester demands, standing up onto her tiptoes to glare at him.

Caduceus just smiles.

“I’m not eating that,” Molly says, staring at the charred lump of coal settled innocuously in the middle of the white plate. Pieces of ash had started flaking off and were staining the sides.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Caleb says.

“Chef Brenatto,” Molly says, all teeth.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Veth says, smile just as wide.

“I haven’t seen you since – when was it, again?”

“The hospital,” Veth says. “Scrambled eggs.”

“Ah, yes. Now, tell me about this – interpretation of yours.”

“It’s still technically a cake,” Veth says.

“Hmm.”

“It’s just a…pan…cake.”

“I see.”

“Beauregard! Such a wonderful surprise.”

“Fuck off,” Beau says, arms folded across her chest defensively.

“And what’s this…delightful creation of yours?”

“It’s a cupcake.”

Molly eyes the sludgy mess dubiously. “Are you sure?”

“Look, are you going to eat it or not?”

Molly picks it up and holds it to the light. It slides out of his fingers and lands back onto the plate with a squelch.

Beau glares at him. “You did that on purpose.”

“I did not –”

“Captain Tusktooth,” Molly says.

Fjord just glares at him, head held high. Then his shoulders slump and he gives a defeated wave across his monstrosity.

“Really? You have to call me that too?”

“Oh, but of course,” Molly says. He squints down at the cupcake and then reaches out to poke it. “I think this is more icing than cake.”

“Just how I like it,” Jester pipes up.

Fjord spares a brief second to smile fondly at her. He turns his attention back to Molly, who still hasn’t taken a bite.

“I don’t know how to pick this up without getting icing everywhere,” Molly says after a while. He tries to pinch at the top, but his fingers just slide right through.

“Hey, don’t ruin it!” Fjord protests.

Molly shrugs, using his fingers to scrape off most of the excess icing, and then pops the little circle of cake left remaining into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, face serious.

Then he turns away.

“Excuse me,” Fjord says, outraged. “That’s all you have to say?”

Molly gives a careless wave of his hand and keeps walking.

“Caleb, you’re disqualified.”

“Yeah, okay,” Caleb says. He just looks tired. It takes him less than thirty seconds to stuff the money back into Jester’s hands and then run off to the side of the set.

“Don’t forget, we’re all still going out after this,” Jester calls after him. She waits a few seconds to see if he responds, and then gives an “eh” and turns back to Molly.

“And the other person leaving today is –” he pauses, grin wide.

Jester takes another bite of her cupcake.

“– Captain Tusktooth.”

“This is bullshit!” Beau bursts out loudly. “Just because you don’t like me – wait, I’m not being kicked out?”

“Thanks, Beau,” Fjord says sourly.

Beau looks slightly dazed. “I’m still competing?”

“I can kick you out if you really want me to,” Molly offers.

“No, no, that wasn’t what I –”

“See you for the afterparty, Jess,” Fjord says with a sigh.

Jester just grins at him, reaching over to swipe a speck of icing off his cheek. She watches him walk away fondly, and then pats Molly on the head and pushes him backstage.

“Congratulations on surviving the first round! Round two is just as much fun – I hope everyone likes ice cream!”

#critical role #mighty nein #fanfiction #jester lavorre #beauregard #fjord #veth brenatto #nott the brave #caleb widogast #yasha #caduceus #mollymauk tealeaf #i think i'm funny #cutthroat kitchen au #where did this even come from #who knows #not me #my writing #this was so much fucking fun to write tho

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dyaz-stories · 4 years

Text

Secret Santa 2019 — In A Hopeless Place (We Found Love)

Aaaand I’m finally here to publish my @inusecretsanta story! @witchygirl99, I am your Secret Santa! I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long, and I hope you will enjoy it!

Also available on ff.net and Ao3.

The first sticky note the Office Lady leaves him is green. Inuyasha doesn’t pay much attention to it. He rips it off, reads the “Hey, would really appreciate it if you could make sure not to leave crumbs on the desk :) Have a nice day, K.”, written in calligraphy that he can’t help but identify as cute, scoffs, crumples it, and throws it in the bin.

The Office Lady is the woman who uses the same office as him half of the week. He gets Monday, Friday, and Wednesday morning; she has Tuesday, Thursday and Wednesday afternoon. Yes, it’s fucking stupid. He’s aware. Not to mention, he got the short end of the stick. She gets the longer week-end and he has to get up on Wednesdays. He blames it on Sesshomaru. Yeah, the guy only owns the company and probably didn’t meddle in his personal schedule, but he’s more than happy to blame absolutely everything he possibly can on Sesshomaru.

The K. signature kinda bothers him, though. So far, he hasn’t given much thought to the other person who occupies the office. He’s noticed the cactus she brought, and by her smell he can tell that she’s a human woman who, frankly, has no business smelling that fucking good, but he doesn’t even know her name.

K, huh? Certainly couldn’t be Kikyo. Last he heard — by a friend of a friend of a friend, ‘cause he most definitely ain’t checking on her — she had moved and was getting married. To a doctor. A human one, at that, so her family most likely hadn’t complained this time. Good for her. Probably. They were water under the bridge at this point. Maybe they wouldn’t have fucked each other up so bad, if they had been just a couple years older. If they’d been more experienced, more willing to compromise, more…

Why the fuck is he thinking about Kikyo? There’s a fucking reason why he keeps the memories buried as deep as possible.

Ah. Right. He glares furiously at the bin, at the bottom of which the notes lays. Crumbs, she said. Yeah, yeah, he’ll try. He was late on Monday, he ate in the office, and he definitely doesn’t remember cleaning up afterwards. Politeness would probably require him to write a note back, apologizing and promising it wouldn’t happen again.

He doesn’t.

Inuyasha hears from her again a couple of weeks later. If she was offended by his absence of response, she doesn’t show it. The note is still green. Again, he doesn’t pay attention to it. This time, he rolls his eyes and takes it off while he goes to open the window. He focuses better when the room doesn’t smell like her. He’s not sure why he’s so affected by it, quite frankly. It’s definitely very new. People who stink, sure, but people who are just so damn tantalizing? New. Some might even say a first.

Anyway, what does she want this time?

“It really isn’t a problem if you want to borrow a pen or something, but please make sure to leave everything the way you found it :) Have a nice day, K. PS: thanks for taking care of the crumbs, hope I didn’t come off too annoying last time!”

Ugh. He just has to roll his eyes at it, because how the fuck can she be so ridiculously sugary? God. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s people who act fake. He would know, he’s faced his fair share of them, being a half-demon, and he considers it a fact that they’re worse than people who openly hate you.

There’s no way she means that. There’s no way she’s that accepting and nice and not frustrated at him, even though this time, he didn’t even do anything wrong. Must be Miroku, the guy has a habit of dropping in to borrow stuff from him. He’s told him off multiple times, but it doesn’t seem to change a thing. He probably got the wrong side of the desk this time.

Also, who even notices that kind of stuff? He wouldn’t know if Miroku took half of his fucking supplies. Out of curiosity, he opens one of her drawer, and fucking hell. Pencils are organized by colors and sizes. Everything has its place. He lets out a disgusted noise. He’s not going to bother and try to rectify the misunderstanding, ‘cause that sounds like a stupid waste of time. If it had only been up to him, they would have never interacted in the first place.

He doesn’t need any more people in his life. The few ones in it are more than enough for him to handle, thank you very much. He doesn’t see why he’d need to be friendly with each other, either. They’ve never met, and he can’t think of any reason why it would change in the future. So, without thinking much more about it, he puts the note right where it belongs.

In the trash.

This time, it doesn’t take as long for him to hear about her again. The note is yellow, and Inuyasha vaguely pauses at the new color. How many does she have? Does she change them depending on her mood, or on the importance of the message? What kind of psychopath does that?

“You left the window open and it was really cold by the time I got there. Please don’t let that happen again. Have a nice day, K.”

Aw, no smiley face? The mask is starting to slip, then.

He does have some responsibility in this one, though. He has probably opened the window Wednesday morning as he always did, and then left it open. He can handle the cold pretty well, being a half-demon and all, but it is October already, and the Office Lady is human. Still, it had only been a few hours. No way it was that bad. Yet another thing he would make sure wouldn’t happen again, only this time, he may be feeling the tiniest twinge of guilt.

He hesitates longer before throwing out the piece of paper, and actually considers replying “Sorry”. Maybe it would deescalate things, get him back on her good side, where she writes on green paper.

He looks out the window, at the grey, cold sky. It’s generally cloudy, but Wednesday it was clear and blue. He remembers enjoying it.

Ah, fuck it. It’s her fault in the first place if he opens the damn window, even if she doesn’t know it and there’s no way she can do anything about it because he’s not communicating with her. He’s not going to write back on a colored sticky note. Plus, it’s Friday, so even if he did, he would probably rip it off when he would come back Monday.

His hand hovers above the bin, then with an annoyed growl he puts the note in one of his drawers. He doesn’t know why. He didn’t even keep the nice ones. He tells himself it’s because that way, he’ll keep track of the things she asks him and it’ll be easier. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s starting to enjoy this contact with this unknown woman who smells strangely nice.

Nothing at all.

Then, the Office Lady leaves a furious pink note on the desk, and Inuyasha realizes that yes, they are color-coded, and apparently she bases said color on the severity of the offense. She’s fucking weird. Who does she think he is, a five-year old? (Miroku does tell him he acts like one, but he refuses to take it into consideration right now)

“Listen. The crumbs, the pen, that’s okay. The window, it’s annoying because I have to keep my jacket on and it makes squeaky sounds whenever I move, but I can survive it. You not answering me, I think it’s rude and you probably have some deeply seeded issues about communication, but again, I’ll manage. The fact that you emptied my stapler and didn’t put any staples back in? That’s unacceptable. I want new ones. K.”

What did he say? A psychopath. She’s a fucking psychopath. Still, he grimaces at the note. Him not replacing the staples is breaking the main rule of an old code between office workers. There’s only one thing that’s worse, and that’s not putting paper back in the printer once it’s empty.

Not that it justifies her tone. Who does she think she is, exactly? Think she’s perfect, huh? Well, he doesn’t have dirt on her right now, but there’s no way she didn’t annoy him since they started sharing the space. She, erm, she left the computer on that one time and he certainly didn’t write her a green note to complain about it. And she left her key on the locked drawers on her side of the office and did he scold her for it? Nah, he didn’t even touch the thing — that would have deserved some yellow note, at least.

Again, he could, and maybe he should, apologize. He could reply on her note. He definitely doesn’t. He’s not playing her weird game. At this point, frankly, he thinks it must be a kink of hers. There’s no other way around it.

He knows he kept the yellow note for whatever reason, but this one, certainly, should go straight into the trash. He crumples it in his hand. Then he hesitates. Maybe she’ll try to murder him one day and this will be evidence that she was insane from the very beginning.

He keeps the note.

When Inuyasha arrives on Monday, he has a little stack of staples refills, which he puts on her side of the desk. He could write her a note about it.

He doesn’t.

The Office Lady replies with a yellow note, and Inuyasha feels strangely satisfied when he sees the color. Not that he feels guilty about the whole thing, ahah, certainly not, or that he wants the Office Lady to at least think of him in friendly ways, but, well, since most people out there hate him for no valid reason, maybe he can do with one less person disliking him.

“Thanks. K.”

He’s not disappointed by the one-word reply, and even if he was, it would not be childish. Miroku would say something about how he can’t expect people to congratulate him for basic decency, and he would retort that this was not basic human decency, that if she wanted him not to empty the stapler, she shouldn’t have left it out, and that he had no obligation to buy her refills.

Thank God he doesn’t talk to Miroku about that shit. Miroku does most of the talking for them both.

He moves the notes into his locked drawer. He doesn’t want her to know he’s keeping them, or anyone, at this point. Weirdly enough, this is the most he’s interacted with someone he didn’t already in quite some time.

“Thanks”, she said.

Well. It’s some sort of improvement, isn’t it?

November starts without any new notes having been sent, and Inuyasha finds himself getting bored at work a lot. He tries to tell himself he’s not expecting anything, but well, he’s lying to himself and he knows it, and he also can’t stop himself from thinking about how fucking stupid it is.

The Office Lady could be anyone. She probably doesn’t think about him half as often as he thinks about her, but hey, she doesn’t have to handle his smell. They’re not fucking lovers, they’re certainly not friends, and they’re not even acquaintances. They’ve never met, never seen each other. She doesn’t owe him anything, and their only interactions were one-sided, from her point of view at least.

He hates himself.

But on Friday morning, he walks in the office, and is almost knocked out by the overpowering smell of flower. His vision blurs, and he can only press a hand against his nose to try to lessen the smell. It’s not exactly working. A reasonable person would probably call for help, but ‘reasonable’ was never a word one could apply to Inuyasha. He manages to stagger to the window and to open it. There, he takes long, calming breath of air, before turning furious eyes to the offender.

Lavender. With the smell so strong that he can barely breathe, even now. He takes off his jacket and uses it to protect his mouth while he grabs the pot and puts it on the window ledge. Thankfully, the wind blows the smell away, and he sighs in relief.

Inuyasha walks to the desk in what can only be qualified as a blind rage. He has to move slowly so he won’t rip off the handle for the top drawer, and once he’s there, he has to try several time before he stops tearing to shreds the notes with his claws. Finally, he manages to get a pink one.

Yeah, he’s aware, he said he wouldn’t write back to her, and certainly not use her color-code, but fucking hell, she’s done it now.

“Don’t. Bring. Flowers. Again.”

His writing somehow manages to be agressive, but he cannot care less. As far as he is concerned, this means war.

Pink.

“You killed my lavender! If you don’t like flowers, couldn’t you just wait a day? K.”

Pink. (He can’t believe he is using her code. Maybe he should change it just to mess with her. They’re her notes, after all.)

“No.”

Pink. So this is a war.

“Wow, amazing, so glad you’re communicating with me.”

Pink. What a fucking bitch.

“Printer is empty.”

Pink.

“Oops, didn’t notice. You should fill it.”

Pink.

“You emptied it, you fill it.”

Pink.

“Why’d you kill my lavender?”

Pink.

“Who cares? Fill the printer.”

Pink.

“No.”

Pink.

“Are you a fucking child?”

Pink.

“How can you call me a child?”

Pink.

“The smell was too strong. Fill the fucking printer.”

Pink.

“The smell was too strong?? What are you, a dog?”

Pink.

“Half dog-demon, yeah. Took you long enough for the printer.”

Yellow. Shit. He wants to stay mad at her.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I should have thought about it. I deeply apologize.”

Yellow. Inuyasha really, really wants to reply with pink, but he holds back somehow.

“You couldn’t know. Forget it.”

Green.

“No, seriously. I’m sorry. Can I get you something? Are chocolates off the table because of the dog thing?”

He wishes he could say it doesn’t make him laugh.

Green.

“Ramen.”

Next time, there’s a green note on a small pack of ramen, saying “Enjoy! :)” Inuyasha answers with a green note that says “Thanks”.

It’s probably the nicest exchange they’ve had since this began.

The Office Lady puts out a family picture. It features an old man, a middle-aged woman and a young boy who’s probably in high-school. Inuyasha doesn’t really want to comment on it, but he wants to know if she’s the woman.

He picks a green note, and for once, he starts the conversation. “Who are they?”

Green note.

“Mom, grandpa and little brother! You can put your pictures up if you want to, I don’t mind :)”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the smileys.

Green.

“No pictures. We didn’t get enough time.”

Green.

“Shoot, sorry again :( Me and my big mouth…”

Green.

“’s okay. Been a long time.”

Inuyasha laughs when she gets him another pack of ramen as a way of saying sorry, and then he realizes that she got him his own set of notes. There’s green, yellow and pink, obviously, but there’s also blue, and he’s never seen her use blue.

He gets a green one. “What’s blue for?”

Green.

“Work. Boring >:(”

She’s fucking adorable.

Mid-November, the Office Lady starts decorating the office for Christmas, and once more, Inuyasha thinks about how much of a psychopath she is. Can’t she wait for December like everyone else?

After a few days, though, the tinsels grow on him, and he leaves a note, almost despite himself. Almost.

“The decorations are cute.”

Green.

“Aw, thanks! I’m so happy you like them :) I was afraid you’d be a bit of a Grinch.”

He’s a bit offended by how right she is.

Green.

“How about we meet for lunch on Wednesday?”

That’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. And she will probably find it weird. But he writes quickly and then practically runs out of the office so he won’t change his mind.

On Wednesday morning, Inuyasha finds out she replied “I’d love to!! :)))”, and it has him grinning for the entirety of his work hours. Miroku drops in and acts shocked at seeing him smiling. Inuyasha throws something at him — his stapler. Miroku’s lucky, because the Office Lady’s cactus was right next to it, and it was really tempting to throw that, but he doesn’t want to start another pink-note war.

At noon, he waits in the office.

And waits.

After an hour, he wonders what the fuck he’s still doing there. She ain’t coming. He’s not even sure why he stayed there for so long. It’s not like it’s the first time someone stands him up, and he barely even knows the girl.

He throws his jacket on, grabs his suitcase and walks out. Everything looks and feels cold, deserted. It’s noon, so there’s almost no one in. It doesn’t improve his mood, but it does make him feel a little better. At least he doesn’t have to watch them try to stay away from him in the elevator today. No such thing as a small victory.

As he walks out, he notices a woman running towards him. Wind is blowing in her black hair, and she’s wearing a green dress which only reminds him of the notes. He considers dropping the door and letting it hit her in the face, because he’s in a bad mood, but he’s also feeling sentimental today.

She shoots him a bright smile that makes her blue eyes shine when she realizes he’s holding the door for her.

“Thank you!” she breathes out as she runs in, moving past him pretty fast, for a human.

He only recognizes the smell after she’s gone.

She was late. He considers running after her, catching up with her, telling her. He doesn’t move. Sure, she’s early for her work hours, but she’s still late, so it must mean she didn’t want to see it that much, right?

The next morning, there’s a green note that says “I couldn’t make it I’m so sorry :(”

He doesn’t reply.

He is very surprised when he runs into her again, because it’s not one of her days. She’s running through the building, trying to keep up with someone who Inuyasha recognizes as Miroku’s Office Lady — Sango. Yeah, Miroku knows who his Office Lady is, because, like the weirdo he is, he communicated with her. Then asked her out on a date. Then she said no. Then he asked again. Repeat that for a dozen times, and then she showed up at his office and threatened to kill him.

Needless to say, Miroku’s in love.

Anyway, Inuyasha’s Office Lady is running after Sango, but they’re also both carrying big boxes of stuff that might very well belong to Miroku. If he was a good friend, he’d stop them.

He doesn’t even think about it.

However, when his Office Lady trips, he barely thinks before stepping in and grabbing her arm, steadying her.

“Oof, damn, thank you so— Oh, it’s you again.”

She smiles brightly, and his heart drops to his stomach.

“You held the door for me!”

“…’cause you were running.”

Not to be nice. He’s not nice. Why did he just catch her? He has no fucking idea.

“Yeah, I was… late,” she grimaces. “I’m Kagome, by the way.”

Kagome. So that’s what the K is for.

“Inuyasha.”

Her eyes widen, and then her gaze moves up to his ears, like she just suddenly noticed them, along with the white hair and golden eyes. He rises an eyebrow. Does she know his name? But how? She opens her mouth, but then Sango reappears.

“Kagome, hurry! We don’t have that long before he comes back!”

He should stop them right? He probably should stop them.

Miroku deserves it though, so he doesn’t move.

“I really need to help my friend,” she breathes out, “but you… We—We’ll talk again!”

Then she runs away, and he vaguely wonders if the whole thing actually happened as he stays there, standing with his hands in his pocket, looking at the corner at which she disappeared.

She smells even better from up close.

The only thing on the next note, green, is her phone number.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

He waits for a little while. It’s definitely not the right move, and Miroku would kill him if he knew, but thankfully Inuyasha hasn’t updated him since the beginning of the note-war. Also, Miroku’s entire office was moved on the roof and he has been in a bit of a bad mood recently.

Tough.

One day, though, Inuyasha realizes that there are two golden plaques on the door. With his name — Inuyasha Taisho —, but more importantly, with her name.

Kagome Higurashi.

How did he never notice that?

He texts her that evening. Keeps it short and simple. Place and time.

She replies “It’s a date! :)”, and he kinda misses her writing, but it’s all set now. No backing away, and if she doesn’t show up this time, well, at least she’ll be able to let him know? He’s not sure about himself this time. He’s not quite the type to give people second chances.

Only, it might actually be worth it this time.

Of fucking course, she has to be late. It only makes sense, that she would torture him a little more. Inuyasha seriously considers running away the second the time is passed. But he waits.

Not for an hour, this time. Just a reasonable fifteen minutes, before she runs past the corner. She’s in good shape, he thinks when she gets by his side and is only barely panting, but he supposes if she’s often late, it would make sense.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, I had—”

“You’re always late, aren’t ya?”

She blushes, not in an embarrassed way but in an angry one.

Still just as adorable.

“No, no, not always, just… Just often.” She pushes some hair out of her mouth. “I’m Kagome Higurashi, by the way.”

“I know. ’s written on the office door. I had totally noticed.”

She laughs at that.

“I felt so stupid. You’re literally called Inuyasha. I can’t believe I made that dog joke, I’m so sorry by the way I—”

“That was a month ago. I’m over it.”

She frowns.

“You’re not really good at conversation, are you? Funny, I certainly couldn’t have told that from your notes.”

Is she making fun of him?

“So, wanna… Walk around? Grab coffee?”

Truth is, he didn’t plan the date, because part of him was worried she would bail on him, and he didn’t want to look stupid having to cancel a reservation at a restaurant.

“Actually, I need to go grab something at the office, if you don’t mind?”

“On a week-end?”

A psychopath. He knew it from the beginning. He can’t believe he didn’t pay attention to the signs.

“Oh come on. I went on week-ends when Sango wanted to get revenge on her Office Guy. It’s for myself this time. And kinda for you.”

Sango calls Miroku Office Guy. That’s hilarious. Did she miss the plaque on the door as well?

“’kay. I’ll follow you.”

Like he can say no to her. And they’re not even dating. Yet.

“Okay, just— wait a second, okay?”

Inuyasha shrugs. He hesitates a little before following her inside. He can’t say he’s really fond of the place, but mostly, he’s getting ideas now. Ideas that feature her sitting on the desk with her legs spread and him—

“Got it!”

Thank God. He needs to cool the fuck down.

“It’s for you.”

She hands him a carefully wrapped present, and he can only stare at it.

“It’s not Christmas.”

December has barely started. Seriously, what’s wrong with her?

“I’m late most of the time, but I like planning. Aren’t you going to open it?”

He wants to, but he also doesn’t want her to realize he wants to. So he scoffs and rolls his eyes. She leans against the desk, watching him with amusement dancing in her eyes and, yup, not looking at her, it’s giving him way too many ideas.

He rips the paper open, and ignores her sudden fascination for his claws. She seems almost disappointed at how quick he is at opening it.

It hits him like a punch in the chest.

It’s a picture of his parents. He hasn’t seen many of them, and he definitely doesn’t own any.

“I asked your brother,” Kagome says softly. “He isn’t an easy man to get a hold of, but Sango helped. She… has her ways.”

So Miroku’s Office Lady is a force to be reckoned with. He’ll remember that.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and carefully puts the picture back in the envelope. Doesn’t want to rip it by accident, and he is trembling a little.

“I don’t have a present for you,” he mumbles.

“I mean, you can think of something else you could give me, right?”

He squints at her. Surely, she can’t mean… Is she pulling fucking mistletoe out of her drawers? How many decorations for holidays is she hiding in there? How in advance is she planning? Again, what’s wrong with her? Now she’s holding the mistletoe over her head.

“Not that you have to,” she frowns when he doesn’t move. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, I thought we had a good vibe and—”

It takes one wide step and his mouth is on her, his body pressing itself against hers between her legs. He kisses her hungrily. He’s been imagining the way she tasted since he first smelled her.

He’s not disappointed.

When she wraps her arms around him and brings him closer, he decides that she’s not disappointed either.

Good. Cause he has no intention of letting go of her any time soon.

Tagging list: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @sweetchcolate @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas @mustardyellowsunshine @meggz0rz @contacting-u @ramen---boi

#inusecretsanta #inuyasha #inukag #kagome #kagome higurashi #my writing

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goosefeathercore · 4 years

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13 days until The Broken Code book 4!!!

Hiiiii @ the like.. 2 people counting down with me you’re very swag and I hope everyone at least somewhat likes the book lol! I know a lot of people are very annoyed that the Erins released a cover ‘spoiling’ that it was Ashfur, but I personally just don’t think that it’s so drastic??? There were clues from the start but by the end of the last book I myself thought that it was indisputably Ashfur, but I understand that not everyone is caught up and they have may have missed some of the build up! So for people who are afraid that the Erins have killed off the climax way too soon, don’t fret! I think Ashfur was dragged out long enough, although I understand why you would want the reveal saved until the end. BUT the good news for you is that this is a much bigger scheme than just Ashfur, consider this the first piece of the puzzle! Ashfur is honestly really god damn sad to listen to rn..it’s very clear that he’s severely immersed in a delusion that even death was not able to pull him out of. His plan isn’t to dismantle the clans, his plan is just to get back to Squirrelflight, and someone fed into that delusion and enabled him to act on it. What I’m saying is that he’s a pawn. Ashfur has always been extremely vulnerable to manipulation because everyone knows that they only need to mention Squif to hook him into doing their bidding. If you drop a little crumb about her every once in a while, you’re feeding his obsession and he’s easy to control.

But the cool thing is, aside from one or two fan theories, we have no idea who is pulling Ashfur’s strings. Ashfur didn’t have any plan other than getting close to Squif again and what he was told to do about code breaking. Obviously, he didn’t handle it so masterfully, because it was really never his agenda in the first place. Ashfur is no mastermind, he was only dangerous in the beginning because he was acting out a really smart plan. So with Ashfur’s piece in place, our goal now is to figure out who his superiors are in this scheme! There’s also the question of what’s going to happen to Ashfur now. Obviously, he’s going to be interrogated, and it’s very likely that they will use Squirrelflight’s power over him to do this. It’s kind of against my morals, but in what is essentially a criminal investigation it’s a very effective strategy and contributes to the bigger picture. A couple of issues with this come to mind for me. Firstly, Ashfur might hardly know any information himself! If this is a big organized attack, Ashfur was just the one they made do the dirty work and they must have known the risk of him getting caught. In things like this IRL, the underlings just know enough to be convinced and do their specific job, so that if they’re caught, the leader(s) remain safe.

Another potential problem (which many people likely won’t care about and that’s fair i’m just a hyper-empath) is what’s going to happen to Ashfur if he does have information and he spills it. Snitches get a lot more than stitches, and Ashfur is already dead, so if he was killed again for giving away info, he’d be permadead and I hateeeee when that happens in the books :(( I mean, I’m not particularly convinced that the clan cats would protect him. Firestar probably would have because he’s Firestar and he’s a bleeding heart like yours truly, but my man is gone and I’m not sure if anyone alive rn would have sympathy or even pity for Ashfur. Am I an Ashfur apologist? HELL NO 😭 but I consider him to be about on the same level as Breezepelt. Meaning, they’ve done really shitty things that they are not entitled to be forgiven for, but they’re also not evil-minded like the cats in the place of no stars are. They are not lost causes as long as there is someone willing help them. Yellowfang was kind enough to accept him into Starclan, but he was still so much of an outcast there that he was alone with his thoughts and someone was able to creep in on him.

It might sound extreme, but I still think that Yellowfang made the better choice, even if she didn’t give very good reasons for it. If they had dumped him straight into the dark forest, he’d be eaten alive by the truly sadistic, black-hearted, jaded, violent masterminds that live down there. He’d basically be a servant, just like he was in life and that would be handing the dark forest a free apprentice to execute their whims. So I think that getting help in Starclan is still the better choice for everyone. But Yellowfang or somebody needs to work with him just like a counselor helps people with delusions rationalize IRL, they don’t go away on their own. I genuinely think that if he had something Heathertail and Crowfeather were to Breezepelt, he could finally an ok guy! Sorry if this one is a mess, I’m having a pretty off day mentally but this is still something keeping me going!

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forever-rogue · 5 years

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Lucky You - Part 1

A/N: Soo, this is my first time writing for Billy and ST in general. Hopefully it’s not complete garbage. This will have a few other parts too! Anywhooo enjoy! No spoilers contained within! xx

Word Count: 4K

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Warning: Language, Billy being Billy (but nothing too bad)

MASTERLIST

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What?!” you snapped, finally unable to ignore the pale ocean eyes that were boring holes into your back. You’d felt his gaze linger on your figure as soon as you had gotten into the school’s gym that was crawling with tons of other students at the moment, meaning that he could watched anyone else - anyone but you. You wished it had been anyone but you. You hated Billy Hargrove…that’s what you had been trying to convince yourself of for the last several months.

But any sort of resolve you had against had slowly been dissipated since the day you had laid eyes on him and first saw that smile, that damned smile that almost never appeared on his face, but when it did you were done for. It was all but perfect, a megawatt smile on a face as beautiful as the most magnificent sunset. But you vowed you’d be in your grave before you ever admitted any sort of attraction to him.

“Well, well,” his warm voice was laced with amusement as he slowly sauntered over to you, sweat glistening all over his well toned and tan body. You refused to turn around, not wanting to give into his power, because you knew that he knew exactly the effect he had on women…most importantly you, “look what the cat dragged in.”

You let out a sigh, running a hand over your face in an exasperated manner, willing him with every fiber of your being to just to away. But of course he didn’t, no, fate would not be that kind. When you didn’t respond, he reached up and gently tugged on your ponytail, knowing it would annoy you more than anything.

“What the hell is your problem?” you almost screeched as you whipped around and came around face to face with him, your hand raised to smack him thoroughly across his pretty mug, just like he deserved. But Billy caught your hand, his fingers clamping down tightly on your wrist as that trademark smirk stretched across his lips.

“Not so fast Princess,” his voice was low but soft as you struggled to free your hand. He seemed amused at how easy it was to fluster you, but he eventually let you go, his hands landing on the his hips, just above the shorts that were slung low on his bottom half. One wrong move and they’d be on the ground, leaving him more exposed than anything. It was a tempting thought, and caused you to bit the inside of your cheek to keep your mind from wandering too far into the gutter.

“What the actual fuck do you want, Hargrove?” you tried to keep your voice tinged with as much as venom as possible, making it clear that you did not like Billy Hargrove. The quickly spreading tingling you felt running through your body was clear evidence that none of that was true. You had felt the sparks flood through your veins as soon as he hand had made contact with your skin. He held up his hands, trying to play the innocent victim card.

“I just wanted to say hi,” he cocked his head to the side, much like a confused puppy, his beautiful eyes as innocent and wide as possible. Damn, he was good, “you look lost, Princess. What’s got you wandering into the gym? Should you be in the library, all caught up in those books you seem to love so much.”

“If that’s your pitiful attempt at humor, it’s not working,” you sighed and took a step away from him. The larger the distance between your bodies, the easier it would be to refuse his advances, or so you figured anyway. Out of the corner of your eye you spied Steve coming out of the locker room, running a hand through his hair, trying to get it back to it’s normal state. A wave of relief flooded through your bones at the sight of your best friend, more ready than ever to leave and forget all about that this encounter. You were definitely not going to think about any of this tonight while you were locked in your bedroom, under the covers, and left with only your imagination. Definitely not.

“It’s seemed to put a bit of a smile on your face” he raised an eyebrow and you just rolled your eyes, ready to head off to the safety of Steve’s warm presence.You just flipped him the bird as you turned on your heel, “awe, come on, you don’t mean that!”

“Do too,” you countered without skipping a beat or casting another glance back in his direction. You heard him sigh softly, a sound of annoyance mixed with defeat, and it gave you a small sense of satisfaction. Another day that you had resisted Billy’s charm advances. It was a good day, and the rest of it was going to be spent with your best friends, which would provide a welcome distraction.

“You’ll go out with me at some point!” he called over at you, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.That was not what you were expecting at all, especially not from Billy ‘Bad Guy’ Hargrove. You swore you could almost detect a bit of softness and fragility to his tone, but surely that was impossible? This was Billy after all.

You turned around and held out your arms as a gesture of both what the hell and try me. You noticed that the corner of his mouth slowly started to turn up into a small smile, “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Billy. But you’re welcome to try. Spoiler alert though, I happen to despise assholes.”

“I’ll accept your challenge, Princess,” he suddenly seemed to have his spunk back, excited by the prospect of the challenge of winning you over. He liked a challenge, difficult or not and you were proving to be the hardest one to date, “once you finally get over yourself you won’t be sorry.”

“We’ll see,” were the last words out of your mouth as you almost skipped over to where Steve as now waiting for you. His mouth was hanging open and a confused grin was etched across his face. He’d only witnessed the last bit of your encounter with Billy but it was enough to make all the hair on his body stand up on end.

“What just happened? Did I just stumble into the twilight zone?” he quickly looked between you and Billy, as you just shook your head and pulled him along with you, “Hargrove-”

“Nothing to worry about, Pretty Boy,” you reassured him, opening the door and stepping into the chilly winter afternoon, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck. It was the middle of January, and winter was still in full force - your favorite. That, combined with the sparks from your interaction with Billy, was enough to lift your spirits as you giggled at the look on Steve’s face, “Billy’s on some weird vendetta, thinking that he can get me to go out with him. I told him he’s welcome to try, but it’ll never work. I, Y/N L/N, will never ever go out with Billy Hargrove.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

February

You abhorred February the majority of the time it rolled around, for a multitude of reasons, namely because it signaled the end of the winter, and the onslaught of spring which led to summer, which was the absolute worst. But anyways, you also hated it because of Valentine’s Day, which you insisted was a crock of shit, all consumerism that got people to buy things they didn’t need, and to shame people who were single.

Not that you didn’t have a Valentine - you always did, a savior in the form of your best friend, Steve. You both hated Valentine’s Day, so you figured why not suffer together? After the first year you had done it, you’d both had so much fun going out and making fun of the all the couples, so in love and showing their affection off to the world, you’d decided to make it a tradition.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Steve greeted you with a big grin on his face, and a large frosted sugar cookie in his hand. You gave him a quick hug before eagerly taking the large treat and shoving it into your mouth, relishing in the buttery sweetness, “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, as a few crumbs fell past your lips. Steve sighed and let out a chuckle as he wiped the top of your shirt, “Happy Disgusting Love Day to you!”

“Ahh, there you are,” he laughed as you started to riffle through your locker, attempting to gather all the things you needed for the first period, “hey, we still on for the usual after school? I was thinking we could go see a movie after dinner? It won’t be too late, I promise, and you’ll have plenty of time to finish your homework, little nerd.”

“Very funny, Pretty Boy,” you sighed dramatically at him; teasing each other was the pinnacle of your relationship and you wouldn’t have changed it for the world, “but yes, whatever you want to do is fine with me. But just so you know, I’m picking the restaurant for this evening. I think Hopper’s taking Mrs. Byers to that fancy place. Maybe we can go there and gather intel!”

“You’re so nosy,” he laughed as the bell rang, signaling the start of classes. His eyes widened as he realized he was going to be late again, and he couldn’t risk that. He’d already gotten into too much trouble this year, “I’ll see you at lunch, gotta go!”

“B-bye,” you waved meekly after him, shaking your head at him; he was always something else. Grabbing the rest of your things, you shut the locker, but almost proceeded to drop everything out of your hands as Billy stood there, watching you intently, “Jesus H. Christ, Hargrove! You could have, you know, said something instead of standing there like creepy weirdo.”

“For someone so observant, you’re very clueless,” he threw his back with laughter, momentarily removing the heart shaped lollipop from his mouth, his curls bouncing magnificently in the light. You huffed at him and got ready to walk away so you wouldn’t be late either. Billy stopped as soon as you took a step and reached out to grab your arm in his - he had a strong grip and it sent a shiver up your spine, “hang on for a moment.”

“Billy, I’ve got to get to class,” you stated matter-of-factly, “don’t you have to do the same?”

“Yeah, but when’s the last I cared about that?” he went back to sucking on the lollipop, making a deliberate show of it, and you had to struggled to keep your eyes from flicking to his lips. It would have been wrong to admit that your wished your were that sucker.

“Maybe you should try it sometime,” you pointed out, a mischievous idea crossing your mind as Billy just shrugged, a self righteous little smirk on his face. You reached over and snatched the lollipop from his mouth, surprising him and yourself as you stuck it between your own lips, sucking on it for a few moments before releasing it with a loud pop.

“What are you doing later?” he blurted out his, his tan toned chest rising up and down faster than it had previously. Your actions had caught him off guard and sent all the blood rushing down south, his already tight jeans becoming more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. A small, delicate laugh escaped your now sticky lips as you slung your backpack over your shoulder, “ahh, come on, Princess, you know you want all of this. Any other girl would be dying to be in your shoes right now.”

“Maybe you should find one of them and proposition them,” you were proud of the effect you had on him as you noticed how he shifted his weight back and forth, a grimace on his handsome face, “besides I’ve got plans.”

“Harrington?” he asked through gritted teeth, annoyed by the idea of that pretty boy having his hands all over you. He knew you were close to him, but he hadn’t realized you were that close. You nodded, and he slammed his hand lightly against your locker, “I didn’t realize you were dating him. Does he even know where your c-”

“Eww,” you stopped before he could go on any further, holding up a hand to silence him, “Steve’s my best friend, dude. I’m not fucking him though, the thought of that alone is enough to make me want to die.”

“Then why are you spending the Valentine’s with him?” he was confused by your words that clearly clashed with your thoughts on him.

“Don’t have a boyfriend and he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Therefore as best friends, we’re spending the day together,” you raised both of your eyebrows at him, “duh. Besides, there’s no one here that’s even remotely captured my interest.”

“Come on, Y/N, just go out with me,” he was growing frustrated by your refusal to give into him. He never had to try this hard with other girls, they always threw themselves at him. Billy Hargrove didn’t have to beg a girl to go out with him, they begged for even the slightest bit of his attention. But not you; no, you provided a challenge he couldn’t back down from him. He was the hunter and you were the prey and he wasn’t stopping until you were his.

“Why?” you played with the sucker in your mouth, just to taunt him a little further, “you’ve given me no reason to say yes to you. Besides, Billy, let’s be honest here, I know your type. You just want a challenge, you only want me because I’m saying no, but as soon as I give in you’re just going to fuck me and then never speak to me again. I’m not into that, I don’t want a bad boy Billy.”

“It’s not like that,” he insisted quietly, although he knew you had a point. He had a reputation for a reason after all, but it had quickly changed once he had met you. He’d dropped all the other girls as he pursued you, attempting to win over your affection.

“Whatever you say, Billy Boy,” you gave him a wink as you turned away and started to head to class; you were well late now, but it was worth it. Any time spent antagonizing Billy was worth. You kept the lollipop in your mouth, a small piece of victory, “keep trying, maybe one day it’ll work!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

March

By the time March rolled around you were already eager for summer vacation to start, the lull of time off from school drawing you in like a siren calling to a sailor. Even though it was still a few months until you could enjoy the freedom of sleeping in without an alarm, not having to worry about homework, and getting to hang around all day with your friends, it was constantly on the back of your mind. You were...distracted to say the least, and there was just one other thing at the forefront of your mind.

Normally it would be school and cramming for exams, making sure to keep up your already perfect grades, but this year there were...other distractions. Namely in the handsome form of Billy. He’d taken it upon himself, almost as if he was on a personal mission, to get you to agree to go out with him. Just one date, one little date he always insisted, reassuring you that that was all it would take for you to fall for him. Normally you’d just roll your eyes at him, pat his cheek and tell him he was cute, but it was never going to work.

Your resolve had weakened ever so slightly, your words less sharp than normal, your glances softened, eyes not as hard as they used to be. You thought it hadn’t been that obvious but the relentless teasing from Steve and Nancy were enough to see that you were incredibly obvious. You denied everything they said, firmly reiterating that you would sooner be in your grave than ever even kiss him. You’d gotten close enough to that when you’d stolen his lollipop the month prior, the taste of which you were sure still lingered on your lips, sometimes bringing a blush to your cheeks.

But it was Pi Day, which you wouldn’t have known about, but your math teacher was a huge nerd, much like you were in other ways, and wanted to celebrate. He’d brought in several pies to share for the class and only taught for a few minutes before deciding to let you all do whatever you wanted. You were glad for the reprieve; it had been a long week already and you figured you’d use the period to take a quick cat nap - not before eating your piece of pie of course. It was a delicious looking Boston Cream Pie and you were eager to dig into it.

You were only stopped when Billy stepped next to you, sliding into the abandoned seat across from yours. Of course, he just couldn’t let it go.

“Hiya Princess,” he smirked as you set down your plastic spork, letting go of the idea that you’d get to eat this pie in peace. You propped your elbow on the top of the desk and rested your head in your arm as you glared at him, “what? No greeting? Not even a smart remark?”

“What Billy?” you gave in, watching as his face between through several expression changes, ultimately landing on bemused. He looked good today, better than anyone should have looked if you were being quite honest, and it was getting harder not to stare at his chest, how the shirt he wore was perfectly taught across his muscles. He reached over and swiped his fingers across the top of your pie slice, scooping up a bit of the whipped cream.

“Just wanted to say hello,” he said innocently as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked off the sweet cream, tongue darting out of his mouth purposely to make sure he had your attention. He never broke eye contact with you, and it was a horrible struggle not to give in and watch him, and you instinctively licked your own lips which suddenly felt way too dry and chapped. You wondered how his lips would feel against yours, if they were as soft and supple as they looked.

“I’m sure,” you suddenly regained a bit of confidence as you came back to your senses, taking the plate and pulling it further away from his reach. He’d been hovering around you even more lately, always making sure to catch your eye, a smirk or wink cast at you. He was starting to break you down, and you had a feeling he knew. But you refused to admit defeat, and even if you wanted him (which you didn’t, you constantly assured yourself), you were never in a million years going to let him wear you down. You weren’t like all the other girls and never would be.

“I can be a nice guy,” he must have felt a rush of bravado because he reached over and placed his hand under your chin and tilted your face up to look at him, “maybe not to everyone, but for you. I can tell there’s something different about you, and I want to know more. I can tell you like me too, Princess, even if you’re denying it to yourself. I can see the way you look at me, especially when you think I’m not looking.”

“Oh?” you were growing more annoyed with him by the second, his normal swagger setting back in, “and how do I look at you?”

“With those big innocent eyes...I can tell you’re not though. I’m guessing I’m going to get to find out soon enough just how not innocent you are,” the words barely left his mouth before you took the plate of pie and smashed it onto his face, covering his features in the sticky chocolate cream.

“Tell me how I look at you now, Billy,” you fumed, all eyes in the classroom turning to face you as you single-handedly embarrassed him in front of everyone. He wiped the pie off of his eyes, anger spreading throughout his body as he bit his tongue to hold back his words, “don’t you dare presume you know a single thing abut me, Hargrove. I will never, ever go out with you, and that isn’t just a bunch of words, that’s promise.”

“Miss L/N! Mr. Hargrove!” your teacher wasn’t quite sure what to do as an awkward silence hung in the room and people starting to whisper among themselves. He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, shushing the people around you, “that is enough out of the two of you. Detention for the next three weeks for the two of you, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“What the f-”

“Do you want to make it four weeks?” he raised an eyebrow at you, stunned by your sudden insubordination; you were normally the teacher’s pet, always doing whatever you were told. But there was something about Billy that set you off in a completely different direction.

“No,” you sighed, casting annoyed glances between him and Billy, who was silently fuming as cream slowly dripped off of his face and onto the floor.

“Good,” he sighed, “now I want the two of you out of my classroom. Hargrove clean yourself off and Miss L/N, I recommend you take the time to reflect on your actions.”

“Fine,” you grabbed your bag and stormed out of the classroom, leaving them all behind, annoyance filling every fiber of your being. You never used to be like this, you were the good girl. But now? Now Billy was starting to get to you, and he was likely pissed to the point were he’d never let you live it down.

“That was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it?” Billy scoffed as he stumbled out of the classroom, heading for the bathroom. You remained silent as he started to walk past you, a cool air about him, “didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Shut up,” you hissed at him, wishing your actions had been a bit more of deterrence on him, “I hate you, Billy Hargrove. You’re nothing to me, and you never will be. Drop the act and just leave me alone.”

“You just pied me in the face in front of everyone,” he pointed out, “you think I’m going to let you get away with that? I don’t think so, Princess.”

“Whatever Billy,” you rolled eyes at him, trying not to think about how good he looked, even covered in pie, that you may or may not have wanted to lick off of his face. It simply wasn’t fair, but you weren’t going to let it get to you, “we are never ever ever going out. No matter how hard you try.”

“We’ll see,” he said with a smirk before starting to duck into the bathroom, propping it open with one toned arm, “I always get what I want. And I want you. You’ll give into me eventually, trust me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to get another word in before he disappeared into the bathroom. You thought about storming in after him, but stopped yourself - the two of you alone in the bathroom might lead to exactly what you were trying to prevent.

You were weakening little by little and Billy knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #stranger things cast #no spoiler #non spoiler #my writing #au #oc #reader insert #fanfiction #imagine #one shot #steve harrington #dacre montgomery #nancy wheeler #natalia dyer #joe keery

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monst · 4 years

Text

T’is the season Day 25 pt2

Day 25 (extra) Grinch! (The main three’s reaction to a Grinchy s/o!!!)

The holidays may be about warmth and coming together but sometimes there are situations in life that sap the joy out of you. Lucky for you these men are always up to making your heart grow a few sizes.

Midoriya Izuku

You weren’t exactly thrilled for the holiday season this year. For starters you had gotten a part time job at a department store to help you make ends meet and have a little extra cash in your pockets. What you weren’t expecting as how exhausting and soul sapping working on the front lines really was.

You dealt with a plethora of shitty customers during the black friday and the next day was worse. Then came the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers. You were ready to tear out your hair. Sure there were bearable days but the small amount of cash and dull ache on your legs always made you question whether it was really worth it.

The green haired pro-hero wasn’t privy to your ever growing distress. There wasn’t much he could do to help you as you had mentioned that you didn’t want to burden him by asking him for monetary help. So he could only sit by and give you encouraging words as you were forced to work double or triple shifts.

He was really understanding of your moody behavior. He knew how stressful the holidays could be. So when you exploded at a customer at work he was quick to come and pick you up from the precinct. You were on a tangent yelling at the officers at how stupid the holidays were and, how selfish people were only caring for matericlatic things and treating everyone with disrespect.

Just as you were swearing off the holidays the number one hero walked in. It came as a shock to the officers to see him and seeing as you didn’t do anything harmful you were allowed to leave. You walked in silence; As Midoriya escorted you back to your apartment. That was until you decided to apologize for bothering him.

“It’s really no problem (Name). I get it. You’re under a lot of stress. You’ve been working too hard is all.” You really hated how nice he could be. “I’d be worried if you weren’t the least bit grouchy.”

“I really hate the holidays.” You groaned.

“You got fired right?” He asked.

“What do you think?” You sassed.

“....Maybe, You should come work for me?” He proposed. “I-I mean you don’t have to but it’s b-better pay and not as taxing, you’ll have good hours so that you can get better grades and stuff.. I mean if you want to!” He blushed rubbing the back of his head.

“Izuku...Your a fucking angel.”

Bakugou Katsuki

His vermillion eyes would drift towards your form often. He had noticed something was off immediately. Your usual expression seemed to morph into a scowl as you did mundane chores. Your peeved silence was starting to get on his nerves. And, when he had heard you saying ‘fuck Christmas’ he decided to break the silence.

“The fuck is wrong with you.” He could have worded it better he mused, but it was enough to grab your attention. He was not expecting the nasty glare you shot him. As a matter of fact the look pissed him off.

Before an argument could commence you sighed and brought your fingers up to your head to massage your temples. “It’s not you Katsuki… I just can’t with the fucking holidays right now. Fuck I just want a drink. I just want it to be over already you know.”

He didn’t like your disheartened expression. He motioned you over and when you were in range he snatched you onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed his head to your back. “Talk” was all he said and you immediately began to vent.

“It’s just so fucking annoying!?!” You huffed tears coming to your eyes as you recalled the conversation you had with your folks. “There assholes. I hate them and these stupid dumbass holidays.” You grit your teeth in frustration.

“Why can’t they just accept you!?!” You shouted. “Don’t bring that fake ass hero! The fucking audacity!!”

“It’s fine (Name) not everyone likes me.” He reminded.

“So?!?! They could at least make an effort! Your my fiance for fucks sake! Like I could excuse the shit they did on Thanksgiving but blatantly telling me not to bring you or dump you. That’s too fucking much.”

You had felt him sigh into your back. “And why the fuck is this bothering you?” He asked making you ignite.

“Why? Why!?!? Katsuki what the fuck of course it’s going to bother me. I love you and I obviously love them I just want them to accept you.”

“And, if they don’t? Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. I don’t want to make you choose between me or them. They love you. Hell even I would tell you not to be with me. I’m not exactly ideal not to mention that I’m a pro-hero, one of the best. You do know what fucking happens to those close to top heros right? Targets they become fucking targets or worse they get left widowed.”

“Fuck Katsuki why do you always have to do that.” You cried.

“I’m not telling you to abandon them or me I just want you to see both sides of the picture.” He added. “At the end of the day their going to have to accept whatever you decide for your life.”

“....I’ll tell them that we’re both going. They need to understand that this is my choice, that your my choice.”

“So long as we’re doing it together I’m good.”

Todoroki Shoto

He was summoned by the loud sounds coming from the kitchen. Along with the clashing of pots and pans he heard you swearing up a storm. When he peeked around the corner he found the source of your distress. It was your worst nemesis. Cooking.

Todoroki knew you were a disaster in the kitchen and, he had tried dropping various subtle hints that you shouldn’t take up the task of cooking for him and his family for the holidays. Sadly you didn’t pick up on them. Not that they were good hints to begin with….

When he saw ou he noticed how frazzled you looked. Your hair stood on end and dark circles were threatening the skin underneath your eyes. You had stayed up late watching food network in order to figure out what to prepare. You didn’t realize how hard it was till you began. Hell it just dawned on you that you needed to cook for a whole group of people and that they would be judging your food.

There was so much to prepare!! When todoroki had tried getting your attention you had brushed him off with a scowl. You were only growing more frustrated as your pie crust kept on crumbing. “Fuck it!” You seethed tossing it to the trash. “We don’t need fucking pie!!”

Todoroki felt bad for being amused but slowly you were becoming a menace. Hell you hung up on Uraraka the three times she called. When Iida came over you had slammed the door in his face and told him to ‘fuck off’. Hell he could have sworn you let out a ‘bah humbug’

He didn’t step in until you were at wits end. That was the only time you would listen. You were surprisingly stubborn. You were crying over an onion when he decided to approach the rabid dog you. “Are you okay.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic babe!” You seethed between your teeth. “Never better.”

“You don’t look like your fine.” He pointed out.

“Of course I'm not!! I’m a shit cook and, everyones gonna get food poisoning and, your gonna leave me because everyone wants someone who can cook!!”

“Then does that mean your going to leave me too?” He asked. It was then that you remembered that Todoroki couldn’t even boil water and you cracked a grin.

“I’ve ruined all the dishes.” You admitted.

“So.” He replied.

“Your family’s coming over what the heck are we gonna feed them?” You sighed.

“Take-out?” He smiled pulling out his phone and credit card.

“......I think it’s for the best…..”

#Amari's TDS #bnha ficmas #mha christmas #bnha christmas #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #Todoroki shoto #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #midoriya izuku #bnha deku #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #bnah fluff #bnha angst

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

Note

I'm seeing prompts on your site and does that mean you are accepting them right now? I've never requested a prompt before and I don't know what to do? But if I'm doing it right I'd really like to see 13 for XueXiao from the bodyguard au prompt list? Fluffy or angsty, as you please. Am I doing this right?

OK so Im being obvious, but this contains XueXiao.

Modern Bodyguard AU so none of the complications of canon apply.

Now the disclaimers are out of the way, I have to apologise to the very patient @amaskinamirror bc this took so much longer to write than I expected. The reason being most of my prompt fics end up around the 1k-1.4k word mark and this kept going and kept going because there was a story there. It came in around the 4.5k work mark. Think of it as added value, unless you hate it in which case it’s not ;)

Pompts from this post here

Part 2 now available here

Xue Yang is the enfant terrible of the music world and his manager has pretty much had enough of his shitty behaviour. Features a thorny Xue Yang shaped by the worlds opinions of him, and a hardass yet caring Xiao Xingchen who maybe might just start to see beyond the lies.

Possible triggers/warnings: Also features swearing, man-handling, use of a date rape drug, minor injury and blood. Luckily XXC is there to save the day in all situations.

Xue Yang was woken up from a deep, no doubt alcohol-induced, sleep to the feeling of cold water being splashed in his face.

He shot upright coughing and spluttering and wiping water out of his eyes, trying to process what the hell had happened. The unconscious bodies around him all started to stir and groan back to lucidity.

Xue Yang followed the long line of the leg in front of him up to eventually meet a pair of dark eyes staring down at him without expression.

“What the fuck?” he demanded and tried to get up but someone he didn’t even remember the name of was laid across his legs.

It had been another party. One where they’d drunk hard and passed out before dawn some time; he didn’t know half the people here. That had never stopped him. Being the enfant terrible of the music industry took both time, effort and commitment.

The tall man bent down to extricate him, then yanked him to his feet.

“You have rehearsals in ninety minutes. Get showered, you smell like a brewery” a garment bag was pushed into his hands then he was waved in the direction of the hotel suite’s bathroom.

“Excuse me, but just who the fuck are you?” honestly his head felt a little woolly still from the after-effect of the alcohol he’d been drinking, but he was sure he didn’t know who this man was or what he was doing in his hotel suite.

“Your Fairy Godmother, Cinderella, now go get a shower, you’re wasting time”

Xue Yang grabbed hold of the collar of his jacket, “Don’t bullshit me”

The hand that clamped around his wrist was steel-like, “Your new security. Your manager sends his regards. I won’t tell you to go and shower again”

“Firstly, if you are security you are not my boss, so you can stop with the ordering me around like I’m your little bitch, secondly, you are my security? I’m sure if a duckling gets too close you’ll do a great job, otherwise…” he was going to push the other away, sure because of his willowy frame it would be easy. Quite how he ended up in an armlock and being dragged to the bathroom he didn’t know. He bit his tongue to stifle the cry of pain; no way would he utter the noise aloud. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snarled as the other kept going into the bathroom.

“I’ve already explained. I’m not going to repeat myself” the man opened the shower door, pushed Xue Yang into the cubicle and pushed the on button.

Of course Xue Yang never learned his lesson; he launched himself at the other only to bounce off the cubicle door as the other shut it behind him, holding it closed.

“New world order, xiao-Xue, get used to being my little bitch” the other grinned as Xue Yang punched the glass then yelled at the pain in his hand, “Clean up, I don’t want to be forced to come in there and clean you up myself”

***

Xue Yang curled himself up as small as possible on the back seat of the car; he was in high sulk. After calling his manager to demand an explanation of what was going on Jin Guangyao had told him in no uncertain terms he’d better get used to the idea of Xiao Xingchen being around. His new security was not only there to provide for his personal safety after a spate of disturbing mail (more disturbing than the usual run of the mill threats at least), but to whip him into some kind of shape as Jin Guangyao was convinced his terrible behaviour, bad reputation and general personality was about to lose them some very large contracts.

Everyone loved a bad boy in theory, but when it began to affect his ability to make his management company money then they were definitely going to act to protect their asset.

And that had come in the form of Xiao Xingchen, who looked as gentle and fragile as an orchid but who had already handed Xue Yang his ass once today already.

“A-Qing, I need breakfast” Xue Yang whined at his assistant as his stomach rumbled for the fourth time.

“You shouldn’t have upset the new bodyguard then” she mocked him quietly, and he retreated even more, pulling the hood of his jacket up and wrapping his arms around his knees as A-Qing took pity on him and leaned forward to ask the driver to stop at a nearby coffee shop.

They did, and A-Qing and the driver returned with coffees for all and a bag full of muffins.

Lao-Xia, the driver, and A-Qing had been with Xue Yang long enough to not meet his gaze as they started on their own food; Xiao Xingchen had no such warning; he was too busy goggling at Xue Yang who had made his own muffin disappear like a magician with a rabbit.

“Are you going to eat that?” Xue Yang asked, pointing at the baked bun in Xiao Xingchen’s hand.

He simply offered it over; perhaps surprised at the demonstration of the speed at which a muffin could be demolished without trace.

The second one followed the first in quick order and Xue Yang froze as the other reached over to brush the crumbs that had stuck to the corner of his mouth away with a thumb.

“You don’t want the Paparazzi to catch that” he said simply before turning in his seat to look out of the windscreen and sip at his coffee.

Xue Yang curled back in on himself and held his ridiculously sweet iced coffee to his chest.

“You eat too much sugar” Xiao Xingchen told him as Lao-Xia started the car and set off driving to the studio, “You need something to give you energy for the first meal of the day”

“Good luck with that, he functions on pure sugar and supplements” A-Qing mocked and Xue Yang shot her an annoyed look.

***

Xue Yang didn’t know why he was surprised the next morning when he was awoken by a solid shake to the shoulder.

He hadn’t been able to avoid the other to sneak off to party last night so he wasn’t hung over but that didn’t mean he was any more amenable to the idea of waking up.

“Come on Sleeping Beauty, you have to be at your first interview in an hour”

Interviews. His mortal enemy. The thing he hated most in the world. And he was still no better at dealing with them than he had been as a fresh face on the music scene, where the press had crucified him, thrown every painful fact of his past in his face and then painted him as a troubled bad boy with a temper; a role he’d eventually just given up fighting against and embraced.

He threw the blankets over his head; maybe if he just went back to sleep the interview would disappear.

The blankets were thrown back.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he demanded, was he allowed no privacy at all anymore?

“Get up” Xiao Xingchen jerked his head towards the bathroom.

“Fuck off. I’m not going” he reached out to push the other away.

It went about as well as yesterday had for him; he ended up face down on the bed with his arm locked up between his shoulder blades.

“Are you going to learn any time soon? I mean, kudos for persistence but lose points for stupidity. Now, last chance to get up on your own, otherwise I’ll throw you over my shoulder and you can go dressed like that”

Xue Yang wasn’t sure he believed the other was strong enough to actually carry him out of the hotel room, but he daren’t take the chance he might be dragged out kicking and screaming and dressed in his ratty old t-shirt and shorts.

“Fine, yes, I’m getting up. Let me go, please” as a street child he’d learned to beg prettily and it wasn’t a skill he was averse to using if he needed to, to survive. It didn’t need to be sincere, it just needed to sound it, to be calculated to pull on the other’s heart strings.

It didn’t seem to affect Xiao Xingchen, but he was released nonetheless.

***

Xue Yang of course arrived on time for his first interview, (there were three in total scheduled for today), as far as they went it wasn’t particularly gruelling for him, but he was fully aware he was a mess by the end of it; he’d probably come across like he was on drugs, but it wasn’t like that would be the first, second or third time the rumour would circulate in relation to him.

He knew Xiao Xingchen eyed him in consideration, but he ignored it; he didn’t have the presence of mind to survive the next two interviews and worry about what his new security agent was judging him for today.

He was much worse by the end of the second; he had been left alone a sitting room of the hotel the interview’s had been arranged at and he lowered his head into his hands, trying to even out his breathing and calm himself. His professionalism would be questioned even further if he failed to complete the last interview, or screwed up during it.

He felt the couch dip next to him, “Here” he looked up, poison on his tongue ready to be spit at Xiao Xingchen when he realised the other held out one of those large chocolate chip cookies in a napkin. There was also iced coffee sat on the table in front of him.

“Just relax, empty your head, and focus on the cookie” Xiao Xingchen informed him; raising an eyebrow as Xue Yang didn’t immediately accept the confectionery from him.

He took it with tentative thanks; and it vanished almost immediately once he’d decided to accept the gesture. Once he’d gotten the sugary coffee inside him too he felt much better.

***

Despite his trash reputation he wasn’t late for a single appointment over the next weeks; Jin Guangyao assured him it was perfectly alright to project the rebel for the masses but when you played the brat with the people in the business you’d soon be blacklisted; a risk he wasn’t willing to take with Xue Yang.

Xue Yang hadn’t managed to get near alcohol or a party in that time due to Xiao Xingchen’s hawk eyes and iron control.

Since the second morning though instead of being woken up with a bucket of water to the face or bickering the other had started showing up with a sweet pastry and a staggeringly sugary iced coffee which he traded off for Xue Yang eating better at other mealtimes.

Overall it didn’t seem Xue Yang had a moment of time where the other wasn’t somewhere close, controlling everything, keeping a watchful eye out.

And it bothered Xue Yang; he didn’t get used to the feeling of Xiao Xingchen being there like he’d been assured he would. He was still hyper aware of him, and he didn’t necessarily think it was because he was intimidated, despite the fact they’d had a few more altercations, none of which ended well for Xue Yang.

***

He tried to ditch his new security for his monthly visit to the orphanage his charity had built and ran; the less people who knew about it the better. Of course he couldn’t shake the other off so he had to attend followed by Xiao Xingchen, and explain to the children who the tall ge was. He was a great hit with them, and although Xue Yang pretended to be annoyed at Xiao Xingchen getting all the attention that the youngsters usually showered on him secretly he was entertained as he watched the other romp with the rough kids, or play softly with the quieter ones.

“This is the first time you’ve brought a bodyguard” he turned slightly at the sound of Tian Ying, the matron of the orphanage and the woman who’d helped bring him up in a similar institution when he had been a boy had come up beside him. “Are you in danger, xiao-Xue?”

“Of course not” he didn’t consider the crazy mail Jin Guangyao was filtering from him any more of a threat than any of the other mail he’d received in the last few years, and he definitely didn’t want her to worry about him, “They just decided I needed someone to carry my bags for me”

He didn’t have time to say much more as he was dragged into an impromptu game of football in the yard, where he and Xiao Xingchen were on opposite teams.

They played around half-heartedly until a Xiao Xingchen who was grace incarnate except apparently on a football pitch, stuck his foot out and took Xue Yang’s feet from under him and he tumbled. The fall itself wasn’t bad but he was a little grazed as they played on the yard and not grass.

Xiao Xingchen was unusually all apologies and personally saw to tending the grazes Xue Yang’s tumble had caused, despite his assurances he was absolutely fine. The touch of the other still made his pulse flutter in some odd emotion and the way Xiao Xingchen kept glancing up at him, like he’d discovered a rare and new species, was disconcerting. And pissed him off, because he could guess what it was about.

“Just don’t” he said through his teeth so no one around them could hear.

“Don’t what? Congratulate you on what you’ve built here? On what you’re doing for these kids?”

“Yes, don’t. I don’t want to hear it” he sucked a breath in at the sting of the antiseptic where Xiao Xingchen applied it to his grazes.

“Alright, whatever you want” Xiao Xingchen let it drop but he still looked at Xue Yang with something approaching admiration in his eyes.

And it was addictive, to have someone look at him like that, and not like he was trash. But then it had never bothered him before. Was it purely because it was Xiao Xingchen and he wanted to be more than trash in that man’s eyes?

“I guess you read too many gossip rags” Xue Yang sniped, “I’m not on drugs, in any weird cults, or a complete slut either”

Instead of bullshitting him and denying he’d thought anything of the kind Xiao Xingchen agreed instead, “I’m beginning to see that. Of course that doesn’t mean you don’t have a vile temper, that you don’t ever learn your lessons, or that you don’t sulk like a baby when I tell you no”

He was about to make one of his usual responses when the game of football moved closer and he clamped his lips closed on the curse.

There was a knowing, teasing look in the other’s eyes and as Xue Yang looked down into that finely-boned face he realised why the other’s good opinion had meant so much to him; why he was on tenterhooks whenever Xiao Xingchen was near, which was all the time at the moment, and why his pulse fluttered like his veins were full of butterflies whenever the other touched him. He was in love with Xiao Xingchen.

Well fuck.

***

Xue Yang paced around his hotel bedroom, feeling like a caged tiger. He wanted to destroy something. No, he really wanted a stiff drink.

Was he a masochist? What had made him fall in love with a man who knocked him around for fun? No of course that was unfair, Xiao Xingchen only ever restrained him and only when Xue Yang attacked first. Still, it must definitely be masochism.

Or Stockholm Syndrome; he had been at the mercy of the other, a virtual prisoner, for weeks now.

“I need a drink” he exclaimed aloud; and so he formulated a plan.

He took a quick shower and changed into something black and sexy and flashy, then he he called reception and asked for a taxi cab, and that they ring up to let him know when it had arrived.

He waited by his bedroom door, peeping through the tiniest opening for the phone to ring back; and as Xiao Xingchen got up from the couch to answer it he dashed out and past as silently as possible to give himself as much of a head-start as he could manage.

The doors of the elevator were closing just as he saw Xiao Xingchen enter the hallway and yell at him in rage.

He was in the taxi and away; his freedom all the sweeter for being carefully wrought.

***

Xue Yang was beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed and he was chatting quite happily with the guy who stood next to him at the bar of the VIP lounge. He’d been greeted by the usual crowd who hadn’t seen him around for the weeks he’d been kept prisoner, (OK maybe that was a little dramatic), but he’d never seen this guy before and new people were interesting.

Although he was beginning to get uncomfortable at how the other stared at him intently after he’d finished his drink.

He excused himself to “visit the bathroom” when life finally caught up with him. Life of course being Xiao Xingchen.

He pushed Xue Yang up against the wall of the corridor to the bathrooms, which was surprisingly currently empty.

“Hey” Xue Yang protested, although with alcohol relaxing his muscles it hadn’t really hurt as he hadn’t tensed for impact. Actually being pinned against the wall by the man you’d fallen in love with was quite nice. He had zero experience, bar some awkward kisses with a girl who’d known as little as him when he was younger, but apparently being manhandled was beginning to be something he enjoyed. Maybe because it was Xiao Xingchen though.

“I’d advise you to keep really quiet, I’m this close to spanking the living hell out of you” and really he’d never seen Xiao Xingchen’s deceptively delicate face so twisted in anger.

But of course alcohol impaired one’s judgement; to dangerous levels sometimes.

“Is that what you like?” he asked.

“What?” Xiao Xingchen was confused, his hand tightened on Xue Yang’s collar as if he suspected the other was planning something.

“Spanking, do you get off on it?”

“You really have no fucking self-preservation instincts do you?” Xiao Xingchen demanded and if Xue Yang hadn’t been so muddled due to the reaction of his body to the other, and the alcohol humming through his bloodstream he might have realised how much trouble he was in; he had never heard the other curse before in all their weeks together.

Instead he gave in to the urge pounding at the base of his brain, unable to control it anymore. He threw his arms around Xiao Xingchen’s neck and kissed him.

Well, it was clumsy and unskilled, but it probably still counted as a kiss.

He was pushed back against the wall unceremoniously, “What do you think you’re doing? You are my client. You are drunk. You are so out of line right now”

Of course he hadn’t really expected a different response. He somehow managed to pull himself free and stumbled back out into the VIP lounge.

Actually he seemed to be more drunk than he’d realised. He was suddenly barely able to control his body and he felt like his head was full of cotton wool. A hand touched his back, “Oh, you look terrible. Do you need to lie down? Should we get you out of here?” he was vaguely aware the voice wasn’t Xiao Xingchen’s, it belonged to the guy he’d been talking to at the bar, as he was guided towards the door but he really did need to lie down right now. He was about to nod his agreement when the supporting hand was violently removed.

“What the fuck did you give him?” that was Xiao Xingchen, although he couldn’t work out what the question meant. He felt the iron-grip of his security’s hand and he was pulled close to the other; he recognised the familiar scent of his aftershave and it set his mind at rest.

***

It had been days since the nightclub incident; and he’d managed to act completely clueless about the entire evening. In honesty there were huge swathes of Xue Yang’s memory that were completely blank, but he was cursed with vague recollection of him kissing Xiao Xingchen.

He wanted to die from embarrassment. He wanted to mope around at the rejection. He had to pretend like he was completely clueless about everything that happened though and let the other just write it off as a side effect of the Flunitrazepam the random guy at the nightclub had put in his drink.

He had been in touch with Jin Guangyao and begged the other to find him new security. He couldn’t carry on being around Xiao Xingchen all the time, feeling like he did, and scared to death he’d do something stupid to reveal his feelings in a way that couldn’t be pretended away like that stupid kiss.

He had faithfully promised he’d keep up the good behaviour Xiao Xingchen had bullied into him so long as Jin Guangyao replaced him with someone who wouldn’t cause Xue Yang such pain to have close.

His manager had promised to at least look into it.

Xue Yang didn’t realise he’d been wool-gathering in his head and managed to separate slightly from Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing until he saw a face in the crowd that made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t recognise the man but the fear that skittered down his spine was very real; he turned to try and get closer to Xiao Xingchen who called his name and dashed over; the flash he caught from the corner of his eye had him raising his arm in self-protection. He was dragged out of the way and thrown to the floor, catching nothing but a glancing blow as Xiao Xingchen took out the threat.

It was all very chaotic after that as the crowd helped keep the attacker captive until the police could arrive, and ambulance was also called as both he and Xiao Xingchen had taken knife wounds.

His was a cut to the arm that didn’t particularly bother him, it was the wound on Xiao Xingchen’s side that scared the life out of him. He used his folded jacket to keep pressure on the injury.

A-Qing fluttered around trying to get him to let someone else take over so they could do the same for his arm but he just waved her off; it was nothing.

“You really have no fucking self-preservation instincts” Xiao Xingchen told him in annoyance; luckily he seemed fully conscious at the moment.

“I know. I‘m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be better from now on” he felt close to tears but fought them back brutally.

Xiao Xingchen nodded at what he said and looked into his eyes, “At least you’ll get your new bodyguard now, silver linings right?” he reached out with his left hand to thumb away one of the tears that Xue Yang hadn’t realised had escaped.

Fucking Jin Guangyao and his stupid big mouth.

“It’s for the best, xiao-Xue, in light of everything”

Which meant Xiao Xingchen was aware of his feelings and agreed the best way to deal with it was to move on. Well there went his dignity.

“You’re too precious for this cruel world in the limelight, anyway” Xue Yang tried to mock, his voice a little strangled.

“Which of us do you mean?” Xiao Xingchen asked and it was both an arrow to his heart and salve to his ego to hear such an opinion from the other.

He was glad when the paramedics had arrived and he was shuffled away to have his own wound dealt with so he could save some face. If the paramedic thought the tears were a reaction to the pain or shock of being attacked then good.

They were taken to a nearby hospital to be treated. Xue Yang’s cut needed a few stitches so he was ready to be sent away reasonably quickly, but he stayed in the waiting room until A-Qing came back to report Xiao Xingchen was fine, he’d be kept in for a few days as his would was deeper and nastier but he was stable and in no danger.

“Aren’t you going to visit before we go?” she asked, but he shook his head. And honestly she was smart enough that she probably knew what was going on and why he didn’t want to impose on the other. “Alright, lets get you back to the hotel. I think Jin Guangyao will be waiting, unfortunately, I can’t do anything to put him off this time”

Xue Yang sighed and accepted his fate.

One Month Later

The stage lights faded for the last time and he was finally able to slip offstage. He was lathered with sweat and completely exhausted. Xue Yang’s knife wound hadn’t been particularly deep or damaging but it was surprising how much it had knocked him down. He still tired out so much more easily than he was used to, but he hadn’t wanted to put this concert off, preferring to get it out of the way so he could take a holiday for a couple of weeks and use it to think about the next steps in his career, and indeed life, with nothing hanging over his head.

The man who had attacked them had been the same who had drugged his drink in the nightclub, although due to the effects Xue Yang couldn’t identify him; it had been lucky his subconscious had reacted to the man though, or it could have been so much worse.

He accepted the towel A-Qing held out for him as he met his entourage in the back stage passages and dried off, pulling on the coat she had also brought him.

There was an oddly smug look on her face and he questioned her.

“Nothing, just something funny is all” she refused to be drawn on what caused her to smile so.

They made it back to the dressing rooms and he was bundled inside.

He wondered, uncharitably, if she was on drugs.

“No rush, your car won’t be here for quite some time yet” A-Qing told him as she shut the door behind him and he turned to find his street clothes. Except he wasn’t alone.

Oh.

Suddenly he daren’t move from the doorway, not sure whether to tear it open and flee or move into the room and act like he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

In the end he compromised, did nothing and stayed exactly where he was.

“Why are you here?” he tried to keep his voice steady, and luckily it didn’t shake too much.

“Why do you think?” Xiao Xingchen asked him.

#mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fic #xuexiao #xue yang #xiao xingchen #Modern AU #Bodyguard AU #Blood cw #injury cw #date-rape-drug cw #pining #one-sided feelings?

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kerfufflewatch · 5 years

Note

Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks.

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee.

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him.

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself.

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him.

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through.

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think.

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most.

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined.

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates.

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all.

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals, he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear.

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food.

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that."

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose.

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely.

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry.

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored.

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

#Kerfuffle Fic #scenario prompts #Overwatch #McHanzo #Anonymous

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