#// remember if you take the cloud away in their emojis it will give it to the ones who survived the fall and their current day in wonderlan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xo2dee · 4 months ago

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ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ

𓆩♡𓆪 ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Nanami Kento x (Fem)Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MDNI/18+ only. post shibuya au, post shibuya!nanami, manga spoilers, mentions of body harm, established relationship, body worship, hand jobs, thigh riding, slight angst

𓆩♡𓆪 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9833

𓆩♡𓆪 ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: In time, in sync, tonight the stage is yours.

𓆩♡𓆪 ᴀ/ɴ: i wrote this like two years ago for nanami's bday and was supposed to post it again on his bday but im late for everything :/ but pls enjoy!

𓆩♡𓆪 twitter - ao3

Violet clouds tumbling about in various shapes and sizes and an orange sky waning to something cooler took the time to bathe Tokyo in its glory for the evening. And as gorgeous as it looked, you could not find the means to take in the beautiful sight outside your balcony window since you were too busy keeping all your attention on your surly lover and his disgruntled attitude from the moment he had woke up that morning.

“No peeking,” you reminded him, your hands still covering his eyes regardless before you placed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Kento sighed, his shoulders drooping and leaning his back from where he sat in the dining room to brush the crown of his head against your chest, “I’m not, and I told you this wasn’t necessary. You didn’t have to go out of your way to do anything for me.” His voice remained in that low grumble (tired, quiet, and nearly monotone), but you could vaguely hear the briefest bit of anticipation in way his vocal cords slightly shook. From the element of surprise or your clingy behavior? You weren’t sure.

You pulled your hands away after resting your chin on his shoulder, glancing over to make sure he still wasn’t peeking before you hummed and rubbed your hands along his upper arms, “So you say, but you of all people should know me.”

“I do, and I had a feeling from the moment you left this morning that you were up to something.”

You looked away from his long eyelashes brushing across his skin, noting the faintest shade of red coloring his cheek in the process, and looked in front of you both onto the dinner table where sat his ‘birthday cake’ and the polka-dotted candles lit up with the number 32 spread out. You moved your hands onto his shoulders and massaged them, your own sigh falling out of your mouth and kissed his temple at his ragged tone. “It’s nothing bad… And it’s not like I pulled a Gojo and nearly planned a whole surprise party; just a little of something to show my appreciation and love for you.”

“You already did this morning and gave me my gift. And you’ve told me, ‘Happy Birthday’ at least three times already today too.”

You squeezed his shoulders and rolled your eyes, remembering his sleepy grumbling when you had woken him up at three in the morning to tell him, when you had kissed his scarred cheek from behind as he stood in front of the mirror brushing his teeth and told him, and when you had texted him around lunch time with an excessive amount of emojis and letters full of caps lock and received a thumbs up emoji in response and just a, ‘Thank you, I love you’.

(Kento sucked at texting and it only seemed to be getting worse as he grew older, but you weren’t about to tell him that.)

But he could blush and sigh in exasperation all he wanted, you knew he liked attention from you. “So what? It’s like a national holiday to me today… Anyway, you can open your eyes now,” you combed your fingers through his hair, the undercut long since grown out as he had gotten older before throwing your arms around his shoulders once more as you pressed your cheek into his and smiled from the warmth it emitted, “I hope you like it.”

You could feel him sigh before you heard him, peeking in your peripheral vision as you watched his one eye open to give sight to the lone umber iris you treasured as it settled on the table in front of him. You bit the inside of your cheek as he took it in, the usual taut furrow in his brow lessening, his lips slightly parting as you watched the amber candlelight flicker across his sharp, angular features, and a glimmer of surprise taking over his expression altogether as he took in what was in front of him while remaining speechless. It made you giddy, a giggle bubbling out of your lungs from his apparent awe as you angled your mouth onto his jawline and kissed him there as well, leaving behind yet another lipstick stain in your wake.

“Happy Birthday, handsome. You said you weren’t up for a cake this year, so I had to compromise and I think I did pretty good.”

You folded your hands atop his chest (his steady heartbeat ricocheting off your palms setting itself as a reminder of what you nearly lost, and how it remained beating despite the rough exterior of his skin on the outside and the failed lung the doctors did their best to help causing him to have breathing problems still after four years) and embraced him from your stance behind him, basking yourself in his warmth as you heard his breathing pick up and his hand coming up to curl around your wrist.

“This is… I haven’t had this in –”

“Nearly ten years? I know,” you cheekily replied, tucking your face in his neck and curling yourself into his scent, “Would’ve been a hassle trying to find the place if it wasn’t for you telling me about it all the time.”

Kento made a noise in the back of his throat, releasing his hold on your wrist and turning his head as you removed your face from his neck so that your noses brushed across one and another, “You… Is that what you were scribbling on that piece of paper this morning…?” He hadn’t removed his eyepatch for the day, nor had he ever seemed to stop dressing down since the accident, but you knew it was more of a small insecurity he held within himself to remain looking as normal as he could. Not that he was particularly vain, but you knew he hated looking in the mirror sometimes thinking he was disfigured beyond being recognized and often it showed when it came to you regardless.

Nevertheless you felt your cheeks warm, realizing he had seen you doing that and casted a small glance to your purse that laid on the couch from when you came home and he took it from you. Kento’s own near indistinguishable glint in his eye brightened, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you into his lap and securing you there when you threw your legs across his own as you got ready for all the teasing you knew was to come. However, he seemingly spared you for the night, taking your hand to press a warm kiss to the inside of your wrist and murmuring against your skin so quietly and softly you nearly didn’t hear him.

“Tell me about your day.”

He wanted to know your thought process on why you did it and truly what you had done the entire day away from him.

The dreaded piece of paper with your destination scrabbled on it like chicken scratch had been crumbled and folded up in your purse as you had left your shared apartment in a haste, nearly your shoes on the wrong feet and almost forgetting your wallet in the process to race against the clock to get to work and to perhaps keep your husband under wraps for the surprise. However, going to the store and getting all the other supplies you needed was a walk in the park, but trying to find the exact location of… Hell, you weren’t even able read the damn name anymore by the time 4 P.M. rolled around, as the ink had blotted and the shitty pen you kept in your purse barely worked anyway, so you were left with squinting at it standing on the sidewalk trying to remember where in the fuck you were supposed to go in smack dab the middle of the Summer.

And, fuck, was it hot.

Unbearably and unbelievably hot.

July was seemingly always scalding in the Summer of Tokyo, and it didn’t really matter that the sun was only beginning to set for the temperature to remain the same as it was from noon until at least nine at night. Perspiration clung to your body with every step you took, your thighs beginning to chafe from how they had been rubbing together while you walked and you were then wondering if the sun had fried your brain from where it had been beating down on your scalp all day. You had lost count of the many times you had accidentally licked your upper lip free of any sweat, hoping to anyone above that your eyelash glue wasn’t melting off your fucking eyelid and your eyeliner wasn’t running and smudged underneath your eye with the amount times you had fiddled with your face, but more importantly you hoped that whatever you were doing worked out in the end and you didn’t look like an idiot.

It was July 3rd, and you had trotted out around on one of the world’s hottest, and most special days in desperation for a gift you had somehow thought of on your own to get.

It was July 3rd, and it was your husband’s – Nanami Kento – birthday, and you were trying your damnedest to find that little, nook-and-cranny, locally owned (because Kento really preferred local businesses more than anything) bakery that he used to frequent constantly, and maybe beg for the recipe for his favorite sandwich so that you could make it for him for his birthday and any other day he wanted for the rest of his life.

Perhaps it was an oddball gift, as you had already asked Kento what he wanted –

(��What do you want for your birthday?”

“You don’t have to get me anything. Spending time with you that day is enough for me.”

“Corny. And you say that every year, and you still get me things for my birthday.”

“And I mean it every year. The greatest gift you have given me was when you agreed to marry me, so you’ve already given me everything I could have ever wanted.”

Okay, you’d admit, you giggled, squealed, and kicked your feet like a girl with a crush at that, the corny, dork of a man always one-upping you and making you feel like a Goddess, but God for once you wanted to make him feel the same way.)

– and he had said nothing despite the fact that whenever you gifted him that book he had been eyeballing in the book store he had literally sighed like he was fantasizing about getting home to watch his favorite cooking show, and it was then the lightbulb in your head went off when you remembered Kento only really sighed over very few things.

One: the crisp smell of a new book and the tightly wounded spine nearly making him bust in his pants whenever he got his hands on it.

Two: you.

And three: food. Not just any old food either; sandwiches that made him gush and launch into a detailed explanation about whenever the bread was baked just right, and the vegetables looked like edible art, and the meat to it was laid and folded just perfectly with the right amount of sauce and any seasoning, was really what could get Kento going and make him literal putty.

So, you thought, why not find that bakery he used to go to (and for some reason won’t go back, you weren’t about to ask why either) and get the little recipe of the sandwich he sometimes would whisper in your ear about like he was dirty talking to you again, and just make it for him? It was a perfect idea to you, and for once Kento wouldn’t practically kick you out of the kitchen whenever you offered to make something for him whenever you had the Holy Grail in your hands and could hover it over his head.

Yeah, it was a good gift, and you only had nonchalantly asked him the name of the place so you were all set the moment he spoke them without a thought in the world. Kento would be ecstatic, and it’d make you feel at ease if you got see that genuine smile spread across his face because he had looked miserable when you went to work that morning and lingered by the front door longer than usual and kissed you goodbye a little harder than normal before you left. Then he’d be less miserable having his favorite sandwich made out for him and sleep like a baby that night with one hand holding your boob like always.

Yeah, everything would work out perfectly.

And considering his reaction and how he was staring at you perched atop his lap embarrassed as you rambled on about everything, you assumed you hit the nail on the head.

Kento had propped an elbow up onto the table, his cheek resting against his knuckles and his thumb rubbing into your hipbone as you finished talking as he had listened so intently with a twinkle in his half-lidded eye and small, smile on his face. “Even when I think I know you, you still continue to surprise me.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, thoroughly smug that you had managed to surprise him in the end and batted your eyelashes at him, “It’s my charm. And it’s not a fun marriage unless we still continue to surprise each other like this.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily know, this is my first marriage.”

“And it better be your only.”

He rolled his eye back, tapping his index finger against his temple and flexing his thighs beneath your body as he stretched them out, as he knew you were only teasing him ever since you laughed in his ear at the old grannies down at Farmer’s Market with hearts in their eyes every time he went and grocery shopped. “I took my vows to heart that day –”

“I know, it was like two pages long –”

“ – Regardless,” he shot you a look, but his reddening cheeks spoke for the most of him, “I’m a monogamous man… for the rest of my life.”

“Like a penguin.”

Kento’s lips twisted into a curl, like he was trying to hold himself back from laughing, “You say my animal documentaries are boring, yet you remember things like that?”

You shrugged and brought yourself closer to him, locking your fingers behind his neck and bringing his cheek in for another kiss, “I think it’s sweet… Anyway, I take it you like your gifts?” you asked with a tilt of uncertainty in your voice, something he caught up on with his intuitive sixth sense when it came to all things regarding you.

Kento moved meticulously, removing his hand from his cheek and to yours as his other slid up to rest on your back with his fingers spread, and it took you a long moment to realize he was touching you with his left hand. All remnants of nearly flawless skin that was once there, and you nearly couldn’t even feel the callousness of it spread out to his fingertips as you had grown so used to it. Kento’s left hand was the hand that held the wedding band, and it was the hand you always took to hold, to kiss, to rub your cheek across in a semblance of your love whenever you couldn’t find the words to tell him and he was going through a bout and your actions spoke louder than your words ever could.

He still looked at you the same way he had whenever you were the first face he saw whenever he woke up from the hospital and the day he saw you at your wedding. And you still had trouble not shying away from his intense gaze like the days you could barely look him in eyes in the beginning of your relationship, but it was all worth it in the end whenever he spoke his affirmations to you.

Kento was not a man of many words per say, more showing his emotions through his actions, but when he did take the time to formulate words of comfort on his tongue to mouth into your skin, you knew he meant every word.

“Of course, anything and everything you given me I cherish, beloved. Getting my favorite sandwich, however…” he trailed off, and you could distinctly hear his stomach grumble in a sign that he had not yet ate. He took that time to drop his hand to rub at your arm, a sigh leaving him that sounded nearly forlorn and you just knew he was already calculating all the parts of the sandwich and critiquing them to his liking. And from what you could see (nearly the damn reflection of the sandwich shining in his eye with sparkles around it), he liked what he saw.

(Honestly, if he had never went into being a salaryman those short years or made his way back into Jujutsu Sorcery, Kento could’ve easily have became a chef if he so wanted. You could vouch for that for the many nights Kento cooked for you and sent you off to work with a packed lunch.)

Though looking at Kento reminded of you of part two for what you wanted to tell him, the corner of the receipt paper it was written on digging into your breast (and probably a little sweaty) as you straightened back up and pulled your face away from his.

“Ah – that reminds me –” you dropped your arms from around his neck before you began unbuttoning your shirt, discreetly eyeing Kento as you did and creasing your lips so that you didn’t laugh whenever you saw his eye widen and face turn that lovely shade of rose when you figured he was thinking you were turning to a more carnal side. Silly, cute, little man, he had seen you naked countless times, but still got slightly embarrassed and would start sweating whenever you started to show him your boobs, and it always fun to tease at him. You didn’t keep him on the edge, afraid he’d combust if you started undressing, and only unbuttoned two to reach into your bra and pull out the folded piece of paper, “Got another little surprise.”

Kento regarded you amused (possibly wondering what else you kept in your bra) before picking the paper up between two fingers and inspecting it with dubious concern. “…It’s wet.”

“I was sweating, okay? It’s hot, now just open it.” You could’ve done without his commentary.

He obliged you, unfolding the receipt carefully before he let his eye roll over the numerous words written down in a row with instructions written next to each one of them, with precise quantities and times because you knew it had to be just perfect. He blinked as he read over them fast, an eyebrow quirking up before looking at you curious to what it all meant, “Ingredients and instructions?”

You leant into him, pressing your forehead against the side of his head and toying with the top two buttons of his shirt, “To your favorite sandwich. Now you or I can make it anytime you want, and be forever grateful to the girl working for giving it to me without an argument.”

His looked somewhat excited as he inspected the paper in his hand, yet the drone of his voice nearly made it sound like he couldn’t bring himself to care. You knew better though, he was just too embarrassed to show his obvious happiness to what you had got him, but the little sigh he let out before speaking was the same one he made whenever you gave him that book. “And how did you manage this?”

“I’m the master of ass-kissing.” (Read: you begged and promised you’d come back with him if she had given it to you.)

“True.”

You slapped his chest lightly and nearly squealed at his little smile, situating yourself in his lap as you turned to look at his favorite sandwich topped off with the gaudy candles that was slowly beginning to wither away before snatching the birthday hat you bought and slapping it atop his head. He looked cute whenever he was disgruntled, especially when the elastic to the hat slapped his chin, but it was even funnier watching his expression wither when you sat the kazoo on your tongue and blew into it right in his face and ear while expressing your excitement, yet again.

“Happy Birthday, Kento! Now blow out your candles and make a wish, birthday boy.”

A few moments passed, and you watched the gears in his head turn as he sat the paper down onto the table, and you nearly wanted to groan when you realized where he was going with his idea.

“Stop. Before you say anything else corny. You have to keep your wish to yourself and maybe it’ll come true.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but did as you asked and blew them out without a second thought. The amber glow of the day fading away as the sky outside turned to dusky purple and left you and Kento alone to enjoy it together, yet you watched curiously as he tore off a part on one half of the sandwich, his arm curling around you to keep you sat snugly in his lap before he brought up the piece and held it against your lips. His voice but yet another warm, soft murmur, mouthed into your cheek and his tongue nearly swiping along your skin.

“Wanna help me eat it?”

The moment you got done eating with him and moved to cleaning (to which you had to ban Kento from the kitchen whenever he tried to even think about helping) and while you had been cleaning, the faintest scent of cigarette smoke and Kento’s preferred cologne reached your nostrils, a thin trail of the smog wiggling into the living from the open balcony door letting you know that Kento had been outside on the balcony where he usually smoked. If there was one thing about him, it was that he was pristine about not letting any smoke come into contact with anything inside, wanting to smoke outside as he did it very rarely before, but after the accident Kento had taken up smoking more than usual. You had told him it wasn’t too good for his lungs, but you couldn’t do much when you remembered he mainly did it as a form of an anxiety reliever and whenever he was stressed… Besides, where he wasn’t too worried about his own health, he constantly fretted over your own and refused to smoke anywhere near where you could secondhand do it.

He never smoked long and when you walked out of the kitchen it wasn’t an odd sight to see him on the couch by then, one hand swirling a glass of whiskey from the bottle that sat on your centerfold table with the blue bow around the neck (courtesy of Mr. Satoru, even adding a little note that said, “Happy Birthday! With Love, Gojo <3” combined with his own chibi drawing of himself throwing up peace signs) with the ice cubes clinking against the rim and his nose already buried in the book you had bought him. He was a sight to behold as well, his bright hair pushed back onto his head with the very small telling sign of a five o’clock shadow growing along his jawline that would be gone as soon as the morning came, his shirt having been deftly unbuttoned to grow accustomed to the heat coming from outside and his skin beginning to finally wane away from that sunburn he had gotten from the trip you two had gone on to Milan two weeks before.

He truly was beautiful, inside and outside, but it was heartbreaking to see him sometimes avoid mirrors or from going out into public on the days he was feeling particularly bad.

You didn’t take long to join him, the soft music he had put on soothing your ears as you eyed the sharpness of his jawline sculpted and shadowed from the sky outside and sat down on your side of couch. You stretched your legs out and toed at his thigh, appreciating his loose slacks on his figure while grabbing his attention, “You like the book?”

“Mm, very much. Thank you again.”

“I’m glad, you had been eyeing it for a while so I knew I just had to buy whenever you wouldn’t…” you reclined back into the many throw pillows on the couch (something was your doing as Kento had been the one to pick out the style and layout of the apartment, but you were giving the reigns to decorations as you seemed fit – especially if the fuzzy throw rug beneath you two spoke for anything) watching his eye move over every word and wondering if he was truly content to stay inside with you for the night. You bit the bullet in the end, knowing you’d only worry yourself to death over him if you didn’t ask. “You sure you don’t wanna go out anywhere else? Gojo and Shoko did invite us to that restaurant you like.”

He peered at you for a long moment before sighing, closing his book and set both it and his drink onto the end table next to him and grabbing your ankles to pull your feet into his lap to rub at them, “I’m more than glad to stay here and spend the night with you. Knowing Gojo he’ll tell the waiters it’s my birthday and I’ll have to sit there and endure that God awful singing… Besides,” he threw his back onto the edge of the couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the hard swallow he took as he massaged a particular knotted spot in your foot, “I’m not really one for attention like that.”

Kento never was one for going out into public for celebrations, sure he would occasionally go out to eat and take you out on a date for your anniversary, and he also always made sure to have plans for your birthday, but never was one really for his celebrating his own. You had learned even as a child his mother normally baked him a cake on the day as he and his family celebrated it at their home; a quiet and mundane tradition he seemed to want to carry on into his adult life, and you had no problem obliging that. Kento never minded if only a few people gave him birthday wishes, but a part of you wondered if his newfound insistence to remain home on certain days was still the effect to what had happened to him in Shibuya. He had not seen Gojo in over a year, and the rest that remained even less, but you knew retirement meant usually staying away from all things that were work.

Sure you could hear Gojo’s voice over the phone at times, and you could hear Ijichi asking how he was at times in the night, and it was even better whenever you watched his phone light up with the name Itadori Yuji with text messages, but you knew only talking to them over the phone could only last so long and Kento had to at least go and see them when they all worried over him and constantly asked you about him. Not that you were annoyed over it, but more-so worried Kento was starting to shut himself out again from everyone and keeping his distance from everyone. You supposed he thought his birthday would come and go once more, just another day on the calendar to him and he could continue living out as the years passed and he was at peace with himself.

You weren’t going to dally on it, instead taking in his form that looked more taut with tension than it had been in a while as you preyed upon the slight sheen resting atop his collarbones. It had been awhile since you and Kento had been intimate, something that took some time to open him up to again and something that was still a hit-or-miss situation when it came down to him wanting to indulge in carnal desire, but you never pressed him for it to just instead opting to wait it out whenever he was ready. Though sex had been somewhat different from Kento at times taking you from behind as much as he could, to him not even thinking of himself as he buried his face into you and ate your pussy until you were crying from overstimulation and couldn’t take it anymore, you never really got the chance to worship him much like he did you.

Kento needed to relax, take all worry off his shoulders if just for the time being and enjoy life as he could in the moment. You weren’t about to let that opportunity pass up either whenever you had the chance on a day you were dead-set on showing him all the appreciation and love.

“Then –” you broke the silence, watching him reopen his eye to peek at you first before you wiggled your feet out of his grasp and spread your legs apart as an invitation, “something else for the night?” you asked coyly, refraining from biting your lip when you watched his chest rise and fall from the heavy exhale he took once the skin of your inner thighs came into his view.

You had thought he’d perhaps politely decline again, telling you he’s not feeling up to it for the night, but you were mildly surprised when he moved for you, his body rolling off from his position as he found himself lowered down in-between your legs. You blinked at how fluidly he moved, having little to no time to even react yourself when he was already there, one on your legs hoisted up over his shoulder as he pressed the other one down into the sofa cushion. He was still gentle as ever; his hand skimming along your inner thighs, his cheeks brushing along your skin as you felt the roughness from the light facial hair and burnt remains on the left side of his face, and of course his lips finding their way to kiss every single inch of you he could until he got to where he wanted to be most.

You were nearly ready to just let him have it that way, your clit already throbbing in anticipation when you remembered just how good Kento was at eating you out and how good it felt when he knew just how to bob his nose along your clit, but you remembered that it wasn’t about you that night and you were set on a mission to make him feel the most good instead of his usual lenience to cater to you most of all. Kento kissed and sucked at a spot on your inner thigh for a brief moment, his fingers creeping up to find the edge of your panties before your hands shot down and one curled around his wrist and the other tangled into the locks of his hair in a gentle squeeze. You had done it in the heat of the moment to keep yourself from drowning into him; a knee-jerk reaction that made Kento balk and nearly push himself away from you if you hadn’t spoke for your intentions.

“Wait – not like this.”

Sneaking a peak down to him you almost wanted to reassure him from the slightly cautious look in his eye, his chin dipping back into his chest nearly like he was afraid to get to close to you again without knowing exactly what you wanted from him as he spoke slowly and so quietly you wanted to sigh at his brief relapse of insecurity.

“You don’t want me to eat you out?”

This man… It wasn’t that at all. You frowned, cheeks warm despite your annoyance to completely ignore himself and swatted at him from between your legs, “Are you forgetting today isn’t about me?”

Kento had the gall to look confused, brow knitted and cheeks turning pink as his lips fell into a thin line, “I always eat your pussy when we have sex.” Why did he have to say it like he was droning on about workplace harassment to Gojo again? Not only that, he nearly looked like he was ready to pout he couldn’t face dive into your pussy and drown himself in there like he was drinking from the scared rivers of Eden.

You leant back on your elbows and rolled your eyes, your skirt sliding up as you did and leaving you reeling in the slight satisfaction you got watching his eyes dart down for brief second to catch a glimpse of the panties you put on for him, and slid your leg off of his shoulder, “Yes, I know, and I do brag about it to my friends a lot –” He nearly looked mortified before rolling his eye. “ – but that’s not the point. Today I just wanna give you the appreciation you deserve…”

Kento only blinked at your words, his eye glazing over for a moment before he looked damn near ashamed and shy from his spot in-between your legs and released his hold on your thighs to sit back upright on the couch. He kept his body open however, legs spread and arms open to invite you into him, but you could still see the slight stiffness present in his shoulders as he sat there awaiting you into his arms. He swallowed once, looking unsure for but a brief moment, before he gave you his verbal consent that he wanted to continue, knowing you weren’t going to move unless you knew he wanted you to.

“Come here.”

You offered him a small smile in return before crawling over to him, not finding yourself in his lap just then as you gave him yet another kiss to cheek and trailed on over to his ear lobe, whispering into his ear in a churning murmur to let him know your true thoughts. “Something else for the night?” Only a rumbling hum was your answer, the heat behind your naval already burning with unbridled want as he leaned back fully and let you straddle his lap, your knees digging into the cushions of the couch and you breasts pushed up against the broadness of his own as you snuck your fingers up to his face once more. You were tracing over his brow bone when he answered you, a mumble as soft as the sheets felt whenever he took you on your wedding night and you fully became husband and wife with the kiss that you had dreamt of for years.

“Okay… Something else this time.”

Kento’s breath stuttered the moment you moved over to his eyepatch, meeting that one umber iris for a second before you got the approval and were able to remove it with his permission. You discarded it next to the both of you as you leaned in to place a soft kiss to where his left eye used to sit, his chest heaving with a hiccupping sigh as you moved a hand to comb through his hair and trailing down to trace his jawline with only but your fingertips. You didn’t waste any time to move your lips down to his own, planting a slow kiss there with as much passion as you always did because the scars never really did bother you, nor did the mismatched feeling of his mouth on your own or sucking along your skin turn you off to him in anyway whatsoever. It was a slow song you teetered to, opening up your arms to him as you swayed in front of him gently opening him up to the idea until he got comfortable to get up and join you.

When his hand landed on your lower back to knead in your skin and muscle with his knuckles, you knew he was complying to let you take control for the night and cater to him much like he did you all those times. Though he was still somewhat unsure as his sigh shakily and ran a finger up your spine while speaking into your kiss, “Can… can we just go slow… Just be easy tonight; no rush. And nothing too intense.”

You leant up to kiss his forehead, a sheen of light sweat making itself known on his skin there, and pushed his hair behind his ear as you answered, “Of course. Anything you want.”

You could smell the smoke and whiskey as he blew a breath of relief into your face, his mouth finding yours again for another kiss, “Thank you.”

You pulled away from his lips and cupped his cheeks, smiling against his lips as you whispered against them just what you thought about him, “You’re pretty.”

Within your palms you could feel his cheeks warm and watched his eyebrow tick upwards at the compliment, the evidence of his embarrassment there despite how steady his voice remained when he answered you, “I don’t think that word suits someone like me.”

“Don’t deflect,” you sighed, kissing the corner of his mouth as you knew good and well that he knew why you were saying it, “You’re handsome; beautiful; other-worldly… How about those?”

Kento’s face was visibly turning redder as you named off every word that you could to describe him, his fingers knotting in the back of your shirt as he balled it up and you felt his jaw shake to formulate a response. When he seemed unresponsive you settled for a kiss you placed onto his jawline to ease him, your fingers sliding down along his neck and collarbones until you found the buttons of his shirt and began plucking them free as his hands returned to smoothing out along your back. Sometimes it was better to play into Kento’s body language with your own, as he was a man of very few words at times and it was an easier route to show him your comfort through actions pertaining towards your delicate nature towards him instead of words that would only fluster and overstimulate him.

He let you map out his body as you pulled his shirt apart, fingertips gentle as they ran over the more predominate area of his skin covered in scars and lost skin. You could feel the uncertainty in his taut muscles, the desire to perhaps cover himself back up from the way you were following the moments of your fingers along his skin with your eyes, and you had to stop yourself for a moment as when you skimmed his abdomen it flexed harshly as you brushed across a long wounded scar from a fight years before the accident. You looked back up to him from underneath you eyelashes, his head having tipped back a fraction as you eased him back to look at you and to only admire his features in the violet dusk from outside for a moment before you remembered you had to keep up the reassurance.

“Is this okay?” you asked, running a thumb underneath the eye and enjoying the feeling of his eyelashes kissing your skin whenever he blinked.

You gauged his reaction as he held your gaze, something glimmering in the lonely iris as his pupil dilated when he stared for seconds longer and sighed shakily before finally answering, “It’s okay.”

It was the reassurance and encouragement you needed, keeping your touch light as you wiggled back onto his lap but a few inches and your hand on his hip trailed down to his pants, enough to reach and see what you had been easing him into already showing through his loose slacks. You spread your fingers across his pectoral, his heartbeat steady against your palm as you cupped him through his pants, running a finger along what you knew what the tip and switching to full on rubbing him through the cloth when you heard the sigh leave him as you touched him.

“Still okay?” you repeated once more, experimentally wrapping your fingers around what you could of his cock and squeezing him. Your skin prickled whenever he groaned softly, a pant on the edge of his tongue as your stomach twisted with phantom butterflies when you remembered all the breathy noises he would make in your ear and neck when he was losing himself to your touch or inside of you.

“Still okay,” he answered, his head falling back onto the back of the couch again and causing your hand to drift up towards the waistband of his pants when you took it as a sign to continue further and take the next step. You hummed as you leaned into him, pressing a kiss in the middle of his pectorals as you slid your hand into his pants and briefs fully to touch him.

His low sighs encouraged you, peppering kisses along his torso much like he did your own before in your own form of body worship. Once you got closer to his nipple and you allowed your lips to close around it for you to suck on, a higher-pitched noise sounding like a whine leaving him as he gave a full body jerk. You latched off his hardened nipple and blinked coyly up at him, watching as he kept his eyes on the ceiling and his parted, pink lips continuing to match the coloring on his cheeks while your hand finally pulled his cock free from his pants into the open air and for your eyes to see.

It was already deepening into a red, his veins engorged as it throbbed in your hand and you traced a finger along the vein protruding from the underside of him. You only watched with an inward sigh as precum began to leak from his head, feather-light touches you kept along the sensitive region as he jerked his hips underneath you while you lubed your hand up with his fluids, and whines disguised as hisses escaped through his clenched his teeth when you swirled your thumb along his tip the way you knew he liked it.

His tone was slightly shaky when he spoke again, chest heaving and his fingers digging into your shirt, “Don’t tease. Please – just touch me.” He was perhaps a bit too whiney for his own liking as his breathing began to speed up when you dipped back down to kiss along his chest and fully wrap your hand around his cock to jerk him off, but you realized he was in no place to necessarily to care when you were easing into comforted euphoria once more.

You hummed against his hot skin, amping up your ministrations a bit as you closed your teeth around the nipple you had in your mouth in a playful bite and only letting up when you heard the soft groan he gave while hips lifted marginally off the couch. You pressed a kiss to it afterwards before beginning to slide your lips down to kiss sweetly along the rest of his scars, and letting your hand fondle at his nipple instead, squeezing, tugging and all around fondling it as you kissed and sucked around rest of his body while your hand kept up a steady rhythm up and down his cock.

With Kento’s soft groans, slight whining, pants egging you on, you kissed some of the old, fading scars tenderly only knowing they existed in the times you spent tracing a finger around his skin those nights you spent cuddling. You kissed them with an overwhelming amount of affection, a reminder that he was still gorgeous with them and a reminder that he was strong enduring even the harshest of battles and coming out from them alive. He blew air through his mouth then again, a sigh so soft and full of longing it made you realize he had never been given attention towards his body like that without it being blatant ogling at his chest straining against his shirts.

Each kiss you placed onto his warm skin made you sigh afterwards, discreetly inhaling his scent each time you did so for how good he smelled and how his natural scent brought you comfort more than you could imagine. As you felt along his body, you began to feel the jittery nerves he had before slowly begin crawl back into the depths of his mind to be forgotten for the time and to be replaced with the carnal lust and the burning affection you both held for each other.

A grunt fell out of him and his hand flew up to grip your nape when you felt him twitch from the all the overwhelming attention, pulling your body closer to him than you thought was possible as he maneuvered your head back up to him so that his breath sifted across and into your ear. You squirmed from the sensation as it made you rock your hips onto his lap when you remembered all the dampness present in your underwear and it was something he caught onto as it was beginning to seep through your panties and onto his pants.

Kento’s thumb rubbed at your nape, his lips pressing a kiss to ear lobe before he spoke, “You can’t sit here and only think about me,” his fingers left your back and you felt them dance along your inner thigh, creeping up your skirt and towards your panties as you kissed at his jaw once more, “Do you want me to touch you?”

You latched off of his skin and moved to slightly bite his earlobe, hotly whispering into his ear while your hand slowly picked up a pace, “It’s not about me.”

He was ever persistent though – a blessing to have a man like him more worried about your pleasure than his own in some cases, but also terribly inconvenient in situations like you were in then when you wanted to be the one in charge and making him feel good before yourself. His hand moved to grip your hip, his breaths falling from parted lips by then and his hips rocking upwards the follow the way you pumped his cock, “But –” he started off, a whine barely there hidden underneath his wavering voice of reason.

“It’s okay. Just relax,” you cut him off, reassuring him as you lifted up on your knees a fraction to maneuver your body to have his one thigh trapped between your legs. Kento only watched you as you slowly plopped down onto his thigh, your panties all but soaked by then and your clit tingling for attention as you leisurely rocked once and sighed whenever you felt your nerves calm down a fraction from the heated pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to build up a lethargic pace, and Kento only groaned in approval when he watched you start to ride his thigh, his arm wrapping around you to cage you closer into him and tensing and flexing his thigh whenever rolled down and back up atop him.

One of your hands slid up to his shoulder, gripping him there as you nuzzled into his neck and followed the moments of your hand pumping his cock to the way your hips were rolling against his thigh. Your body moved in alternate pivots, long deep strokes around that taut, muscular appendage, or just circling your hips around so that your clothed clit was given the friction it so desired. He was burning in your hand, the veins throbbing and his lips pushing out every noise he could muster as you knew he wouldn’t last long; it had been far too long since you got Kento in that position and it had been far too long since had allowed himself to be laid upon a bed of pleasure. It made you sigh, legs closing around his thigh tighter as you rubbed your knee oh-so gently in a circle along his balls and had to bite your lip from moaning whenever that fucking whimper left him and made your pussy clench around nothing.

Your words drew another one of those damnable whimpers out of him, his chest all but heaving and his hips rocking desperately faster up into your hand as a silent plea for you to go faster. You only hummed in delight at his keening, peppering kisses across every inch of his face that you could and massaging your hand into the tautness along his shoulder when he seemed to melt into your touch. You could feel another thick trickle of precum ooze free from his cock, and you moved your face back into his to bring your foreheads together, a flutter erupting free inside of your pussy whenever Kento kept his eye locked onto yours, following each mouthwatering movement you gave to him and onto him and the look inside of his pupil was enough to set your entire soul ablaze from all the hues of passion bursting free like a kaleidoscope the longer he kept your gaze.

Your eyelashes fluttered when you took in his expression; kiss-swelled parted lips, his eye bright, clouded, and dilated, flustered cheeks, brow scrunched in an attractive crease, and the heavy sighs leaving his mouth as he bored his gaze over every inch of your face. It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as did knowing that he was glad to have you pleasing him like you were, but seeing his face really careened you down the path of your impending release that was growing oh-so close.

You could feel the patch of wetness you were leaving on his thigh, and you knew then that you weren’t going to last long – especially having Kento in your palm and riding off the thrill of you being in charge that time around in the throes of desire.

Kento sighed your name onto your lips, another whimper drawing free of him as his cock throbbed into his hand and his hand fell off of your nape to grip your hip and following in on your lascivious movements atop his thigh. “Please – Don’t stop.”

You kissed him before nibbling onto his bottom lip, nails beginning to dig through his shirt when each roll of your clit sent an electrifying pulse towards that knot steadily growing to its head just behind your naval. He groaned again whenever you pumped your hand faster, your knee gently caressing his balls still as you rocked yourself on his thigh before you sighed and breathily asked what you knew would tip him over the edge, “Are you gonna cum for me, Kento?”

A garbled variation of your name left him, fingers digging harder into your hip as his hips jerked up quicker in your hand and he tried his damnedest to get you to move faster – harder against his thigh, but you were giving no game for that. His Adam’s apple bobbed with the audible hard swallow he took, his eye fluttering with the heavy blinks from everything happening as his eye glazed over with the full emotion that was close to his release. “Oh, fuck – please. Please keep going.

“I know you can cum like this,” you moaned into his face, kissing him as you swallowed that whimper once more and rolled your hips harder along his tensed thigh, moving your mouth to suck at his jaw whenever his noises grew louder, “God, I know you want to, Kento. Let me see you cum like this.”

Your voice had tapered off at the end, a high-pitched moan leaving you when you pussy throbbed and clenched around nothing as you felt that ball begin to reach in end of spinning and slowly begin to unravel for a piece of nirvana you could find with him. His grunts you swallowed with your tongue, a kiss full of unbridled passion you two engaged in that he greedily accepted as you two no longer had any words to say. You both knew what was to come, and neither of you were going to be deterred to stop it.

Your neediness you were sure had him reeling, his cock throbbing excessively in your hand as you squeezed him and pumped him faster to help him reach his edge. You could feel him whimper again, a suspicious noise that vaguely sounded like him telling you he loved you before he broke away from the kiss, head falling back against the couch once more and a pleased and strained groan breaking free from his lungs to let you know he had came first. You took to kissing and tonguing at his neck, moaning and sighing your praise for him as he finally released all the pent up tension into your hand.

It was a second and then you felt his cock pulsate in your hand before it was spurting out against your shirt and hand, leaving behind warm cum in its wake. You quickly removed your hand knowing he was probably sensitive, but kept yourself securely atop his thigh rocking as he caught his breath. Kento’s chest was heaving and in the low light of your living room you were able to make a slight sheen of sweat across his forehead with his hair tussled from all your ministrations. It was enough to send you over as well, a particular slow roll of your hips up his thigh that he flexed once more and you were shuddering and twitching around him with a whine of his name as you came all over his thigh whilst throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face into his shoulder.

A hard tremor of extreme satisfaction stung from your cranium down to the tips of your toes, leaving you squirming as your shaking thighs tried to close around his own while he continued only encouraging you until you were at your very end and sagging into his awaiting arms. You were well aware you had probably soaked through pants, but you were none too caring since he didn’t seem to mind at all and at times it was a regular occurrence between you two. The soft music from before was still playing as the room became humid from your conjoined bodies, the city skyline having waned away to dark as the touch of the full moon came into play and brightened Tokyo for yet another time.

You could feel your heart pound against your ribcage while you both seemed to finally come to rest after cumming, and he was dragging your body off his own to look over you and blinking down at you like he wasn’t seeing you clearly. It was one blink, two, three, then the cloud in his eye lifted and his gaze was skating down from your face and all over the expanse of your figure, awareness coming to them when he spied the mess on your shirt and remembered that he came all over your hand, then he was bristling.

Kento was shifting to sit up, taking precaution to not jostle you and his words coming out a low murmur, “Sorry… I’ll –”

You hushed him, placing a kiss to his lips and untangling yourself from his limbs and you stood somewhat wobbly and he reached forward to catch you by your hips to make sure you didn’t fall. You brushed out of his hands and pushed him back to sit into the couch, a soft smile on your lips before you straightened back up, “You’re okay, stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Kento was generally the one who took to cleaning you both up afterwards, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to let him be the one to do so that time around when you were trying to make him feel the same way he usually did with you. He had complied you with staying put as you came back from the bathroom with a few sheets of tissues, eyeing you carefully as you wiped your hand off first before tending to him. You were meticulous in the way you catered to him, dabbing at some cum stains that had gotten onto his stomach, even some spots that had spattered against his chest before tending to the lipstick stains all over him as you watched his cheeks flush from all the attention you were giving him.

You nearly wanted to giggle at his embarrassment, but held it in to not ruin the gentle moment between you two as you finished up cleaning the both of you, discarded the tissues into the trash, and crawled your way back into his lap that he was awaiting for you once more with open arms. You curled into him as his hand stroked along your back, your own hands finding way to his scars again as you absentmindedly would do at night whenever he was tremoring from a long-lost memory. Kento shuddered when you passed by that one on his side again, curling his fingers around your wrist to bring it up his lips for kiss as you pulled yourself up into his face.

“Happy Birthday,” you reminded him again, kissing his hot cheek and relishing in the soft sigh he gave, “What’d you wish for?”

You were glad to see the humor return back to his expression, his lips quirking up at the edges and his eye sliding into yours as he reached for your cheek to pinch it, “Aren’t you the one who told me not to tell you my wish? That it’ll come true if I don’t say it aloud?”

A pout fell on your lips, “That’s never stopped you before… C’mon, please? For me?”

His eye rolled back at your whining, but he was never one not to cave into your begging as his hand smoothed out against your cheek while you toyed with a strand of his hair that had curled up from sweat. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone and he made a show to slowly move his mouth back to yours, lidding his eye almost suggestively as he kissed you so delicately and murmured against your mouth so silently you had to strain to hear him.

“I wished that I could spend the rest of my birthdays with you.”

You giggled into the kiss, corny as you expected, but also giddy with the intention behind his wish as you took your hand to place it back onto his chest, fingers spread and his heart beating in sync with your own. It was enough to let him know you wished for the same, but you confirmed it verbally with a playful bite to his lip and a sigh when you embraced him and tucked him into your neck, his lips pulled into a smile something you could feel burning along your throat.

“I think we can make that work.”

#{🩸} nee fics #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #jjk nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento smut

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 3 months ago

Note

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼(the dynamics here are fascinating! Such an interesting take on how their lives could have gone so differently)

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰(this one omg!!! What does eddie know? What does the clock mean? How long until buck is fully aware? WHAT IS GOING ON?? Can’t wait to find out!)

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️(athena POV! I love it! Gerrard being dead! I love it! Having all the interrogations be interwoven to help build a picture of the whole night! I love it! It feels very oceans 911)

Also I gotta say that I LOVE when you include a mystery emoji/story on one of your responses to me! This happening twice now has me feeling genuinely so honored!

Ahhh happy to give you all the surprise emojis! Who knows, I MAY have another one soon...

33 for 🔼(thank you so much!!!):

---

With Shannon and Eddie getting along better after telling Chris about the baby, she’s seeing more of him. Not that Eddie has kept him from her at all since Christmas. He hasn’t. But with them communicating better, it’s just easier for her to spend more quality time with him. With her feeling better, too, she can watch him more. Eddie is slowly relying on Carla less and less, and Shannon more and more. She’s resumed going over to his place to stay with Chris when he’s working. Something she didn’t think she’d get again. At least not for a while. On top of that, Chris is happy again. Their work to prove his fears wrong has paid off; he seems secure in her being around and he’s excited about the baby. About being a big brother. He’s filled with curiosity about everything and asks her questions whenever he sees her. It warms her heart and soothes her anxieties. She can do this without hurting Christopher any more than she already has.

The other recent development, of course, is Maddie. The friendship she hadn’t known she’d needed until Buck arranged it. Shannon and Maddie hit it off immediately. Despite being a bit older than her - there is quite an age difference between Maddie and Buck, apparently - Shannon and Maddie immediately found common ground in the life experience of starting over in this city. Both moving forward from a lot of guilt and baggage, some days more successfully than others. Beyond that, they just have a similar conversational style. Maddie is kind and smart, but funny. Not afraid to poke fun. Shannon feels at ease around her. They’ve been seeing each other weekly, and texting a lot, too. They have plans to go shopping next week, after Shannon and Eddie find out the sex of the baby. For the first time since high school, Shannon has a social life to look forward to.

Maddie isn’t the only Buckley she’s finding herself on friendly terms with, either. Shannon and Buck have struck up quite a rapport pre-physio. Shannon finds herself arriving early on purpose, just to extend their conversations. There’s something about him.

---

96 for ➰ (ALL GREAT QUESTIONS!):

---

He’s feeling a bit better. He doesn’t know why. It’s like the looming dread has evaporated. A cloud passing overhead. Honestly, the moment they walked away from that kayak rack, Buck felt a lot lighter. Which is weird. He had a bad feeling, and… And he… He avoided getting hurt. But how did he know to do that? Just like Eddie asked. Why did he have that feeling?

Because you remember it, something small in the back of his head is telling him. But that’s impossible, so he tries to shove it down.

“I don’t know,” Eddie replies. He still seems off. Quiet. Like he adopted Buck’s bad mood when Buck shirked it. “We can always just go back to the hotel and take it easy?”

“What?” Chris complains. “That’s boring!”

“Aw, Eddie come on,” Buck adds, reaching for the driver’s side door of the Jeep. “It’s our last day here. We wanted to go swimming.”

“There’s a pool at the hotel,” Eddie reminds him. “We can swim there.”

Buck feels like he’s had this conversation before.

“I want to go to the beach,” Chris says.

“Yeah, me too.” Buck agrees. “Unless something is wrong?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Buck. Like Buck has asked him something mildly offensive. Buck raises an eyebrow. He has no idea what’s wrong!

“No, you’re right. Let’s go to the beach,” Eddie concedes. “Whatever makes the two of you happy.”

➰➰➰

They swim and enjoy the beach. It’s almost a really nice afternoon. Buck has a lot of energy, and he and Chris spend a ton of time in the water and exploring the long, flat stretch of sand. They wander off towards the rocks, to look at tidal pools, crabs, and other little creatures. Eddie follows behind them, watching them like a hawk circling overhead.

It’s strange. The whole afternoon, he doesn’t ever fully participate in what they're doing. He’s there, but not totally present. He has a distance to him, and yet he’s never not watching. And where, usually, he’d be keeping his eyes specifically on Chris, today he’s not. Today his eyes are glued on Buck.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Buck asks him several times over the course of the afternoon.

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

But it’s clearly a lie.

Buck helps Chris up onto one of the rocks to look at a sea urchin.

“I really like that purple color,” Chris observes.

“Me too,” Buck replies. “Man, we’ve seen a lot of cool wildlife today, haven’t we?”

Even as he says it, he realizes none of it has felt very novel. Except maybe this exact moment. He doesn’t know if he’s seen what he’s looking at now, before. But the otters? The seals? The opalescent slug thingies? None of those felt like a first glimpse at a magical other world. It felt like a painting of something beautiful he stares at every day.

Why does it feel like that?

“We have!” Chris agrees. He doesn’t seem to hold any of Buck’s lack of wonder. “This has been the coolest trip ever.”

Buck smiles at him. “I’m so glad, Chris. I’ve had a pretty good time, too.”

Chris steps away from Buck and crouches down to look at one of the pools. A wave crashes nearby, sending a small flood of water over their feet.

“Careful,” Buck advises.

“I’m okay!” Chris insists.

“Don’t want you to fall in. Then you’d be the sea urchin.”

“Buck.”

If no one else is going to chuckle at his joke, he will.

In the distance, Buck hears two gulls squabbling. He turns to look, shifting his balance just as another wave crashes. The rush of water is more forceful than expected, despite his own advice to Christopher. Buck stumbles a little, unable to regain his footing. With a flipping feeling in his stomach, Buck falls backward.

He only feels it for a second when his head cracks off the jagged ocean rocks.

---

57 for ☠️ (THANK YOU! That's sort of the vibe I am going for!):

---

“We’re just doing our due diligence, Mr. Han,” Ransone replies. “Making sure we have all the information necessary before ruling the death accidental.”

“Right,” Chim says. “But you only asked about Tommy. Not Hen.”

“We’ve already spoken with Mrs. Wilson.”

Chim starts to sweat a little. “Uh, listen, okay… Come on. Tommy didn’t do this.”

Oh boy. Chim panicking is never a good thing. He’s not the coolest under pressure.

“I didn’t say he did,” Ransone replies. “You jumped to that conclusion, though.”

“I did? No! I mean. I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t Tommy do this?” Ransone asks.

“What?”

“If you’re very sure Mr. Kinnard couldn’t have killed Captain Gerrard, tell me why?”

Chim blinks, like he hadn’t expected this question.

“Well, uh… First of all, he’s dating my brother-in-law, so… So I trust Buck’s taste in men, right?” Chim starts. “Second, he’s changed a lot.”

“Changed?” Ransone lasers in on this choice in diction.

Athena sighs. If Chim wants to protect his friend, he’s doing a bad job.

“Yeah,” Chim nods. “He’s not the same guy he was when Gerrard was our captain the first time. When I met him.”

“What kind of guy was he then?” Ransone asks.

“I… Wait. No, that’s not what I meant,” Chim stammers.

“What did you mean?”

“I plead the fifth!” Chim exclaims.

“That’s not how that works, Mr. Han,” Ransone sighs.

Chim’s face is very red. “Listen, Tommy is a better man now, but I didn’t mean to imply he was, like, capable of murder when we worked under Gerrard together.”

“Then what was he like?” Ransone presses.

“I don’t know,” Chim shrugs. “Colder? Meaner? More affected by others’ opinions?”

Ransone nods. “I see.”

“Buck wouldn’t date a killer! He knows Tommy well!”

#daisies and briars writes #buddie shannon throuple fic #time likes pulling my teeth fic

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v3nusxsky · 2 years ago

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Hi could I request an Emily Prentiss x Reader, where reader plays for the USA women's soccer team. Emily has never been able to go to any matches because of a case. On a day off her and the team surprise you by coming to see you play. Maybe it's the world cup final and you score the winning goal and dedicate it to her.

Sorry if it's long I love all your writing 🤍

Match Day Surprises

*Authors note~ this is such an adorable idea and truly highlights just how much the BAU give up to do their job*

Trigger warnings~ fluff? Disappointment??

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

You knew your girlfriends work kept her busy. It's not like your job didn't. But sometimes you just wished that she had some time off, to come and watch your games or just relax with you in your shared apartment. Quite often Emily would be off on a case and you'd be off in the opposite direction to play a match. Most of the time your games were later in the day which meant any down time Emily may get you were more than likely on the pitch.

You'd met the BAU team and you knew that they would take amazing care of your girlfriend just like Emily knew your team would do the same for you. They'd been one or two instances where one of the team members have had to contact the other half to inform them of an injury. You remember getting the panicked call off of Garcia saying how Emily was absolutely losing it over not being able to see you or be with you. It was just a sprained ankle, you'd be fine but you knew your girlfriend always worried. So it was no surprise when she came home and babied you while you recovered.

To say you were any better would be a blatant lie. You remember getting that dreadful call from Garcia to say Emily had been in a car accident and had a concussion with some cuts and bruising. All you wanted to do was hold your girlfriend but she was hours away in a car and you had a game in a few hours. You settled for a panicked FaceTime call which Derek answered for Emily as she couldn't even see the buttons on the phone, yet she still told you how beautiful you looked and to have a good game. Even blew you your good luck kiss. That was something you'd both held dear, before every match or every case the other would either kiss you good luck or send the emoji. It let them know the other was thinking of them.

You were gutted when Emily was called for a case three days before your final match of the season. Your team had been lead by you now for the past two matches so to achieve getting to the final was huge. You desperately wanted her to see you play. Just one time. And a game where winning and losing will literally make or break your career made sense. You'd need her for either outcome. So knowing that some psychopathic serial killer had taken that from you really hurt.

Game day was tricky. You wanted your girlfriend but she'd hardly even sent a text the whole day. But you couldn't let that cloud your head now. You needed to focus on the game, on your team. Emily wasn't with you in person but you had other ways of holding her close. On your jersey you'd gotten special permission to have a small patch with EPLR mixed together on the hem of the jersey. No one knew it was there unless they specifically knew what to look for, but it was comforting for you to wear her initials.

The first half of the match was certainly tricky. Both teams full of energy and ready to fight for the cup, the glory, the win. You led your team with all the dedication and determination that you had. During the half time, you and your team took some much needed rest and time to regroup. You have a pep talk about how you believed in the team and it was all up for grabs with a 0-0 score.

The second half went better than the first, the other team beginning to exhaust themselves, the plays becoming sloppy. That's when you took your chance, dodging their defensive and managing to sneak a shot at the goal, the crowd went absolutely wild as the ball hit the back of the net. You'd scored, if only Emily was here to see it. As your team all crowded around you jumping in excitement, your fingers found their way to the initials on the hem. "It's for you Emi" you mumbled looking out into the crowd.

That's when you noticed them, the BAU cheering wildly, while Emily wiped a tear. She was so proud of you and so glad she didn't miss it. You blew a quick kiss in her direction before continuing the game. Garcia, JJ and Derek teasing your girlfriend over her reaction and that little kiss, you knew how your fans would interpret it for them, but Emily knew that it was just for her.

The game finished with your team winning thanks to that goal you'd scored. As soon as you could, you made your way off the pitch and into the arms of your girlfriend. "Emi! You are here?! You saw! How!" You sobbed so happy that she'd seen you play. "Angel, I'd do anything to support you and seeing you score that goal was absolutely incredible. We just landed before the game was due to start." She explained before Derek chirped up, "Prentiss here told us you were playing and we couldn't help but all come and see you."

"You were amazing kiddo" that was Rossi and Arron smiling at you in Emily's arms. Garcia and JJ were almost fan girling over you and how well you'd played. But Emily's reaction was all you needed or wanted. Her hands found the initials on your jersey before coming down to kiss your lips. "Well done Angel, I'm so proud of you." She murmured against your lips. "You should come to my games more often Em" you sighed happily before inviting the BAU to join your team in celebrating the win.

Word count~ 1066

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #anon requested

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sleepingdeath-light · 1 year ago

Text

relationship hcs ; kikimora

requested by ; anonymous (26/05/23)

fandom(s) ; the owl house

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; kikimora

outline ; “can we get uhhh kikimora relationship hcs? i think shes cool but no one likes her 😞”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

because she’s so devoted to her role in the coven, the two of you rarely have the time to go out on any proper dates — which makes them all the more special

she does try and carve out at least one day a month to spend with you to keep your relationship alive, though, and she does everything she can to make that day special

cloud gazing, picnicking, going to a new restaurant, a walk in the park, a spa day or going star gazing at night — something that you can both enjoy

either calls you your name or ‘dear’ — occasionally using ‘sweetheart’ if she’s absolutely run ragged and you’re taking care of her

panics whenever you’re sick and will call you throughout the day and ask your neighbours to take care of you (she doesn’t have the time available to take off of work)

she’s a better cook than she lets on and loves making home cooked meals for you both on days where she isn’t working — including breakfast in bed when you’re having a sleep in

kiki cannot bake, however, do not let her near the equipment because she will break it (she gets frustrated)

perpetually exhausted but always manages to smile and laugh at your jokes (even if they’re really not funny)

rants to you about her day when she comes home: resting her head against her shoulder as she animatedly gestures with one hand and holds a cup of tea in her other hand — so expressive through her exhaustion that you can’t help but engage her

you also have matching mugs with ‘1# girlfriend’ and ‘1# spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner’ on them

her love language is quality time and she loves spending as much time with you as she can outside of work, even if it’s really inconvenient to do so (e.g. trying to cook together in your cramped kitchen) because being around you makes her feel better

loves forehead kisses but is also partial to pecking your fingertips and knuckles (they’re the only things she can reach)

claims to be the big spoon but she’s 100% the little spoon — she just loves being held

she’s shockingly good at doing your hair and skincare — styling and caring for your skin and hair in a way that suits you, including always keeping your preferred product stocked up at home and helping you on wash days if you’re too stressed and achy

let’s out a sort of purring/humming sound when she’s content — which is usually when she’s in your arms and starting to drift off to sleep

the only thing that could break her away from the emperor’s coven (and belos’ control as a whole) is if the emperor started to personally threaten your safety — that is when her loyalty and her love would come head to head and her love for you would win out (though she’d still find the situation incredibly difficult)

she never means to hurt you but occasionally she has been known to forget just how sharp her claws are whilst cuddling and has scratched you up quite a bit

your contact on her phone is just your name with a single heart emoji next to it — simple and on the nose

not one for grabs romantic gestures and prefers to go the simpler, more personal route

has an excellent memory when it comes to important dates (she still remembers the birthdays of her family after not speaking to them for years, even) — so you’ll never forget another holiday, anniversary, birthday or appointment so long as she has a say

she struggles with giving compliments in a written or spoken way, but might just cry if you praise her too earnestly or too often — in a positive way, of course, the poor thing just gets overwhelmed

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #toh fluff #toh x reader #the owl house x reader #the owl house fluff #kikimora fluff #kikimora x reader

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madame-fear · 2 years ago

Note

Thsi the request:

Gotham!Scarecrow with a pregnant s/o ?

(If youre taking emojis anons could I be 🐰?)

Hello 🐰 anon! Of course, I loved your request. Hope you enjoy it! 🥰 and remember that if you liked it and want to make another request feel free to do so 💞

• The day you decided to tell Scarecrow that you were pregnant, he was completely over the clouds, the moon, and everything beyond this world ♥️

• He was so excited that he spun you around and filled your face with tons of little kisses🥰

• Despite obviously being overjoyed by what you just told him, deep down inside his mind couldn't help but race through several anxious thoughts.

• First, he never really thought about being a dad, so he really wants to be a good parent for your child...and that makes hin anxious! 🥺

And secondly, he's also worried not just for your safety, but for the safety of your baby as well. Him being a well-known criminal in Gotham, doesn't want somebody taking revenge on him and injuring you & the baby 🙏

• You ease his thoughts telling him that he's going to be the best dad that child could ever had, and if there was something that could possibly endanger your safety, you already know where to go and who to reach.

• He's now extra overprotective to the maximum. He was already overprotective of you before, but now he is more than ever! He absolutely WOULDN'T leave you home alone, no matter what.

• If he had "villainous duties" to do and obviously can't take you with him because of the dangers that implies, he would take you to the base where his gang is located at, and would leave you with a gang member who stayed behind.

• His mind would be more at peace knowing that someone he trust is taking good care of you. (Actually he threatened that person with his scythe and fear gas to take care of you...😅)

• He would already have everything prepared for the baby to arrive. He would've already bought the crib, diapers, baby clothes, toys, etc 🥺♥️♥️

• He has 3 wide name lists for your baby. One list is for boys names, the second list for girls names, and the third one are gender neutral names. He would happily bring those lists to you so you can give him suggestions and add any name of your liking🥰

• I feel like he would assign Jervis and Jerome to be uncles of your child😆

• When he hugs you from behind he absolutely LOVES placing his hands on your belly 🥺 Same thing when you both go to sleep. He sleeps next to you placing his hand on your belly ♥️

• He prepared a full stock of sweets & random things for you to eat if you have cravings!

• He loves lazily laying in the bed or in the couch with you. You would probably either read together, or talk, or watch movies and series 💕

• He would be even softer, gentler, and more delicate with you than he already was before 🥰 He treats you very softly and tries to make you as comfortable as possible, and would also make sure you have everything you could need. 🙏

♥️ BONUS PART ♥️ I decided to add this part because I thought it may fit. Hope you like it!

• When you went into labour he felt like he was going to faint any moment! His heart beated fast and he was sweating a lot. He didn't know what to do!

• The only thing he felt he could to support and help you was staying by your side, holding your hand and giving you soft kisses on your head 💗

• And when he finally saw his baby come out...oh boy. He immediatly forgot about the world surrounding him.

• He literally melt at the feeling of holding his baby in his arms...the first thing he would do is softly caress the babys cheek with his thumb, while he whispers sweet things to him/her 🥰

• The whole situation and the emotions he felt would make him tear up a little bit. He would quickly wipe that tear away, but you saw him. 🥺💕

• After you left the hospital and came back home, he would spend all the day long near your baby, just admiring his/her cuteness🥰

• Would LOVE to be the one who rocks the baby to sleep. If you're the one rocking the baby, he would be next to you, stroking the babys cheek 💕💕

• I feel like he would talk to his baby, and say sweet things to him/her. Calling the child "mummys and daddys little crow" 🥺♥️♥️

• Also would call him/her his "precious little baby boy/girl", his "prince/princess", "my little crow", etc💞

• Would definitely show the baby off to his gang! His gang loves you and the baby, so they would protect the two of you 100% 😍

• He is truly happy and proud with the family he formed with you, the love of his life. Nothing could make him any more happy than he already is! He's willing to protect you two, even if that means killing people to ensure your safety. 🥰♥️♥️

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years ago

Text

Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

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quirklessthot · 4 years ago

Text

kinktober: day 3 | nudes [dabi]

warnings: 18+

word count: 1.1k

a/n still going strong with day three! (p.s. you canNOT tell me dabi wouldn't pull this shit)

⤿ kinktober masterlist

You’re sleeping peacefully in your bed, dead to the world, until the loud ping of your phone receiving a message wakes you. Groggily, you crack open your eyes and feel around blindly for your phone. You bring it to your face and turn on the display, instantly regretting having the backlight on so high. After nearly getting blinded, you can make out the words on the screen.

[unknown]: u up?

The contact might be listed as ‘unknown’, but you know exactly who would wake you up with a text like this at 2 am. Your phone pings again.

[unknown]: its dabi

You know.

Heaving a tired sigh, you roll your eyes but answer anyway, thumb lazily tapping on your onscreen keyboard as you yawn and hug your pillow.

[You]: I am now. What do you want?

His reply is almost immediate.

[unknown]: my dick is so hard right now

Seriously? Could he be more of a fuckboy right now?

Apparently, he could, because his next message is a shaky picture of his hand wrapped around his hard dick. It’s a terrible quality photo if you’re being honest: the lightning is bad, there’s no finesse and most importantly, you didn’t ask for it. A 3/10, overall.

[You]: That’s rough, buddy. Goodnight.

The next few pings come in quick succession. Great, he’s double-texting.

[unknown]: babe

[unknown]: c’mon

[unknown]: dont b like that…

[unknown]: pls?

Your eyebrows raise almost to your hairline. You didn’t Dabi even knew the word ‘please’ existed. He must be really desperate.

[You]: Well I’m not sure what you want me to do about it? I don’t even know where you are…

The next message almost has you throwing your phone.

[unknown]: send me a pic of ur tits

“You’ve got to be shitting me…” you mumble into the quiet darkness of your room.

[You]: I’m not giving you nudes Dabi.

[unknown]: i gave u sum!

[You]: I didn’t ask for a picture of your dick!!

[unknown]: :(

Such a simple emoji shouldn’t fill you with so much remorse but a part of you knows how hard you find it telling Dabi ‘no’.

One picture and that’s all he’s getting.

You hike your shirt up to tuck it under your chin, nipples instantly pebbling under the cool night air. You angle your phone and snap a picture, making sure to keep your face firmly out of the frame. It’s a little dark – you’re too tired to get up and turn any lights on – and it’s not exactly the sexiest pic you’ve ever taken but he’ll have to make do.

Your thumb hovers over the send button before you take the leap and press it, wondering in the back of your mind just how much you’re going to regret this.

It takes a while for him to respond and you hate how antsy it’s making you. You’re on the metaphorical edge of your metaphorical seat as you wait. Does he like it? He’s the one begging for nudes at two in the morning, he’d better like it!

[unknown]: fuuuuuk babe

[unknown]: wish i was thr

[unknown]: hav u suck m e off

[unknown]: cover thse perfct fukin tits in my c um

That’s more typos than usual, and it’s probably not because of his usual laziness. You greatly suspect he’s multitasking.

The thought of Dabi pleasuring himself to a picture of you has warmth spreading through your body. You squeeze your thighs together as you type.

[You]: Yeah? What makes you think I’ll let you

[unknown]: u’ll let me

[unknown]: cuz ur my prefect lil cumslut

[unknown]: isnt that right ?

You mutter a curse under your breath as your hand finds its way between your thighs. Images of you gagging on Dabi’s cock flash in your mind, the most recent rendezvous – from about a week ago. You can almost feel the heavy weight of his girthy cock on your tongue. You subconsciously lick your lips as your hand speeds up.

Another message.

[unknown]: busy?

You can almost feel the smugness radiating from that single word. Groaning, you ignore his taunt and put your phone down to continue rubbing yourself over your underwear, making sure to put most of your focus on your little clit.

Your phone pings again.

[unknown]: i kno ur touchin urself

[unknown]: u wet for me baby?

You whine and nod your head before remembering that he can’t actually see you.

[You]: Yeah, I think I soaked through my panties

[unknown]: hm not sure i believe u

The horny haze you’ve unexpectedly found yourself in has you thinking you need to send him proof and you reach over to flick on your bedside lamp, bathing the dark room in warm, artificial yellow light. Settling back down, you quickly snap another photo and send it to Dabi.

This one is focused between your spread thighs, underwear pulled taught over your mound and leaving little to the imagination. The sizeable dark patch is hard to miss.

[unknown]: fuck i wish i could call u right now so i can hear those cute little noises you make when u play with urself

[unknown]: guess I’ll have to make do with pics huh?

Taking the hint, you quickly roll down your underwear, discarding it somewhere onto the floor, and take a picture of your cunt, lips slick and shiny with your arousal.

As you wait for Dabi’s reply, your hand slowly slides between your thighs. A shiver runs through your body at the feeling of your slippery, heated skin under your fingertips. Focusing tight, slow circles over your clit, you begin rocking your hips, already lost in pleasure. Too impatient for anymore teasing, you slip two fingers inside, arching your back and gasping at the delicious stretch.

You alternate between fucking yourself on your fingers hard and fast and feverishly rubbing your clit, sometimes giving your pussy a firm, teasing spank – just the way Dabi likes to do when he’s knuckles deep in you. You’re so wet you’re beginning to make a mess but at this moment – right on the precipice of pure bliss, you don’t care.

It only takes a few strokes and you’re falling over the edge, entire body spasming as you cry out. When you fall back onto your pillow, you let out a deep, pleasured exhale, fully satiated.

The last photo you send is of two of your fingers inches away from your bare cunt, glossy with your slick - a few strands are connected from your soaked digits to your puffy, swollen lips. Seconds later you get one of Dabi, shirt pulled up and spent cock lying on his stomach, white traces of his cum all over his stomach and chest.

Still on cloud nine from your orgasm, you get up to clean yourself up. When you lie back down in your bed, you pick up your phone to shoot Dabi a quick text.

[You]: Ok, I have to admit that was fun but you’re going to delete those, right?

Read 2:27 am

[You]: Dabi?

Read 2:28 am

[You]: Dabi. That’s not funny…

Read 2:28 am

[You]: DABI!

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #kinktober2020 #qt.kinktober2020

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mashep23 · 4 years ago

Text

Traffic Jam Session

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Word Count: +1.5K

Warnings: Nat being ridiculously confident and flirtatious? I think that deserves a warning. This is just pure self-indulgent fluff.

Summary: Stuck in a traffic jam, another commuter requests that you turn your music up

Inspired by this meet-cute prompt:

We are caught in an extreme traffic jam and have been sitting next to each other, parked, for the last five minutes. Your radio is playing my absolute favorite song so I ask you to turn it up. We spend the rest of the slow traffic aggressively singing along to the music at each other.

Prompt list found here

A/N: I tweaked the prompt just a little, hope it's still enjoyable. This was so much fun to write!

Thank you to @river-soul for her incredible beta skills and endless patience 😭❤️ and @whisperlullaby for workshopping with me 💗

Disclaimer: gif not mine

It's a decently warm day, sunny and clear, and the azure blue sky is dotted sparsely with clouds. A breeze blows through the car windows, playing with the feathers on your dreamcatcher hanging from the rearview mirror while you're stuck in traffic. You had been creeping along for the better part of 20 minutes, but you've been at a standstill now for almost five.

Typically one to drive home in silence to decompress, today the stillness and lack of road noise makes you want to turn on some music instead. Since nothing playing on the local stations feels right, you sync your car Bluetooth with your phone and scroll through your music streaming apps. A playlist you made simply entitled "Happy" seems to fit your mood and the gorgeous weather so you press Shuffle All and settle back in your seat.

The soothing, light-hearted Put Your Records On filters through the speakers and you can't help the smile that curves your lips as you close your eyes. Propping your arm on the window, head on your hand, you bask in the sun's warmth. You periodically crack open an eye to check on the car in front of you but there's no change. Everyone on the road has parked and resigned themselves to the long wait.

Your playlist contains a wide variety of genres, cherry-picked songs that unfailingly lift your mood. They're radio hits, usually well-known songs, and easy to sing along with. You happily bop your way through your playlist, getting a little more energetic, singing along to each song.

Walking on Sunshine just finishes and the next song is cueing when you hear a sweet voice ask lowly, "Do you mind turning it up a little?" You grin and twist the volume knob so I'm Gonna Be (500 miles) plays louder before looking to the eavesdropper that's enjoying your tunes.

Holy shit. How did you not notice the car next to you? There is no way they were there the whole time. They're all beautiful. Two men, two women - blondie is driving, two brunettes are in the back seat, and a redhead is in the passenger seat. She was the one that spoke and she grins gratefully, leaning closer, head tilted out the window. You turn it up a little more as she starts singing along.

You grin widely and start singing with her. Her companions in the car laugh and join in good naturedly, cheering as the two of you belt the call-and-answer part of the song.

When the song ends, you're both breathlessly laughing, smiles wide. You turn your stereo volume down even as the next song starts to play and stretch out for a high five. She gives your hand a satisfying slap as she laughs joyfully.

"That was so fun! Thank you so much, I love that song."

"I do too! You're a great partner! And the back-ups were awesome!" You playfully finger-gun point at the driver and backseat passengers. They cheerfully laugh and thank you. You don't remember the last time you smiled this hard.

"I'm glad you didn't mind - I could barely hear it. I had Steve try to get closer but that didn't really help much, so I just decided to ask you." She gives you a sheepish but pleased smile and you return it.

"Oh no I don't mind! I haven't had this much fun in ages!" You can't seem to stop smiling but maybe it's okay because she's smiling at you, too.

"I'm Nat," she says suddenly, and you don't hesitate to tell her your name. She repeats it quietly, still smiling softly at you.

There's a stretch of silence, you're both just looking at each other and one of her friends clear their throat, causing you both to blink. You think maybe you should be embarrassed but she doesn't appear fazed in the slightest.

"In the spirit of introductions, hello beautiful. I'm Sam." The male brunette sitting behind Nat says smoothly after his light cough. "This is Wanda, up there is Steve." He gestures to the woman beside him and to the driver, respectively.

Your gaze never leaves Nat. You can't tear your eyes from her even as Sam speaks, catching the quick tightness around the edges of her mouth before it relaxes again as you smile and respond to her rather than Sam.

"It's nice to meet you," you say sincerely to Nat. Her answering pleased expression as she returns the sentiment warms you. A pleasant tightness fills your chest as her lips quirk at something Sam mutters under his breath. The woman next to him, Wanda, laughs quietly.

"So, you know, we're gonna be here for a while. Let's see what else you got to listen to." Nat grins expectantly at you with a raised brow and you mirror her expression as you turn the knob.

You're pretty sure you've found your soulmate when her eyes spark in delight and she belts along effortlessly to Sweet Caroline, arms spreading dramatically as she almost nails the driver, Steve, in his face with the back of her hand. Sam and Wanda cackle as he shoves her arm away in mock affront and she sticks her tongue out at him.

You can't help but laugh at their antics, watching her perform, directing her friends' involvement ("bah, bah, bahh") before she turns to you ("so good, so good, so good!"). This is quickly becoming one of the best times you've ever had.

The song continues, both of you sharing the lead, absolutely ridiculous and uncaring of the scene you're making. If anyone in the surrounding cars felt disgruntled at the impromptu concert, you'd never know it. The girl in the car next to you has your undivided attention.

You're not sure how long it's been, how many songs you've played and sang along to, but after a while, traffic slowly creeps to life. Steve taps Nat on the arm during a lull between songs and you lower the volume as she turns to him. He gestures at the line of cars ahead, the ones directly in front still unmoving but in the distance you see brake lights releasing, vehicles rolling forward.

She turns back to you, chewing the inside of her lip as she looks at you thoughtfully. She seems to make a decision and reaches her hand out to you.

"Here, let me see your phone real quick." She makes a single gimme motion, fingers flicking closed then open as you hand the device over. Your lips spread into a wide smile at the triumphant look that crosses her face.

She beams at you before dropping her gaze to the phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen. You hear an unfamiliar notification tone and she pulls a phone from her lap, holding it up to show you.

"I text myself from your phone. Now we have each other's numbers. I wanna be able to call you later." She's unabashedly smug as she hands your phone back and you wonder if your face shows just how pleased you are.

You look down at the message thread she left open for you, the unsaved number displayed at the top.

"Traffic Jam Hottie 😍"

The single line of text and emoji sent from your phone to the number makes you bite your lip and shyly cover your smile with your fingertips. You look at her with raised eyebrows and she correctly interprets your unasked question and shrugs.

"That's your contact name. I'll probably never change it, not even after we get married."

It's sly and nonchalant, how she slips that in there, smooth as you please. Your jaw drops and her friends all seem to choke on air but her gaze, locked on you, is unwavering. The flirtatious expression on her face is simultaneously sincere and mischievous as she watches for your reaction.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, your chest feels tight and pleasantly warm. Your smile stretches so wide your cheeks hurt as she winks and you're so giddy, you don't care how eager you look in this moment.

You quickly save her contact information and smirk, wiggling your phone at her.

"I'd hope not. I think having matching contact info is pretty cute and kinda romantic. A fun story for the wedding toasts." You grin cheekily.

Her expression shifts, full of mischief, a quirk of her eyebrow that makes your breath hitch and sets your heart racing as her friends whoop with glee at your banter. Her lips spread in a sly smile and you can't help but return it. You're positive you've never smiled this much in your life.

Too soon, the gridlock lets up and you both start moving with traffic. The cars in front of you begin to roll, the lane speeds varying enough to cause you to separate. She's still grinning at you as they get further ahead. You can faintly hear their teasing and you catch a glimpse of her profile, smiling and laughing, before she's no longer visible.

They take an exit as you continue on and you barely have a moment to mourn that they're out of view before your phone vibrates in your lap. Picking it up, you grin madly at the screen, the contact "Traffic Jam Hottie 😍" scrolling across the top.

Accepting the call, you hear it connect through you car speakers, her friends still audible in the background. Your heart stutters when she purrs her greeting.

"Hey hottie."

-----------------------

Tagging some of my amazing discord family: @buckyownsmylife @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

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toloveawarlord · 2 years ago

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Ch. 1

♥ Pairing: Kumi Hirayama x Kazutora Hanemiya (Eventual) & Kumi Hirayama x Ran Haitani

♥ OC Summary: Kumi thinks she understands love. Her relationship with Ran Haitani is exciting, thrilling, full of luxury, and occasionally, a little bit frightening. But as her relationship takes a turn, testing her so called love, she meets Kazutora at her brother-in-laws pet shop. A boy who challenges her definition of love and self-worth.

♥ Overall Story Warnings: 18+ Sexual Content; Themes of Manipulations; Dubious Consent; Unrequited love; Gang Violence;

♥ Chapter Warnings: 18+; Smut; Fingering; Exhibitionism; blowjob; Degradation; Sexual and Mental Manipulation; Dubious Consent

♥ wc: 2.2k

♥a.n: This is one of my favorite ocs. I really wanted to explore the universe and make some content that uses the darker side of tokyo revengers.

Dark clouds littered the sky above, blocking the sunlight, and bringing in a soothing wind. The sweltering heat of summer was lessened on days like this, which the girl liked. Tokyo could use a little rain to cool it off, but at least the clouds brought some comfort.

Kumi sighed, tugging the door open to the small pet shop. She didn't like coming here. The stench of animals was overwhelming. And her mood was sour since she hadn't heard from her boyfriend all day, only her annoying sister blowing up her phone.

"Do you need some help?"

The boy slouched over the counter with an open magazine looked like he wanted to be here about as much as she did. It was his striking golden irises that caught her attention. Her heart may have flipped in her chest. Just once.

"Oh, Kumi. Thanks for bringing it." Chifuyu emerged from the back, always being friendly to her regardless of her brash attitude towards him. They were family, now. He'd never had a little sister before, but he hadn't imagined that it would be this hard.

"Not like I had a choice. Kana wouldn't stop calling me." Kumi checked her phone to no notifications. She was getting antsy, waiting for him to be home and invite her over. It had been a few days and she was missing him so badly.

Chifuyu took the bag from her, laughing softly. "Oh, this is Kana's little sister." He spoke to the other boy as if she were a common topic of conversation. "Kazutora is going to be working here now."

Meeting those golden eyes again, Kumi felt heat flood to her cheeks. He wasn't... like Chifuyu's other friends. She disliked all of them. So, why did this one make her whole body hot? "Cool, I guess."

God, did her voice always sound like that?

She was relieved when her phone buzzed in her hand, giving her the opportunity to look away.

Ran: Come by the apartment, kitten. I need to see you so bad.

"Kana's sister. I think we met once. A long time ago." Kazutora had a vague memory of a little girl who resembled her. Kana was best friends with Baji, and he'd surely met her sister back then.

Kumi typed out a response with a kitten emoji and turned on her heel. "I don't remember. I'm leaving. My friends are waiting." She couldn't let news of her having a boyfriend reach her sister, otherwise, Kumi would have to answer so many prying questions.

But she wouldn't so easily forget those golden eyes.

Outside, her skirt swished against her thighs with the wind. Getting from here to his place would be tiresome, but by the time she reached the corner, Kumi was met with a sleek, black town car.

Even knew where she was, which was terrifyingly hot. He spoiled her.

Ran's penthouse was breathtaking. Expensive decor, an amazing view of the city. She always felt like a modern-day princess, and not just because he bought her luxury clothes and jewelry.

Her heels clicked on the marble floor as Kumi entered the large lounge. Her lips tugged up into a beaming smile at the sight of Ran waiting for her on the couch. Maybe she was being too needy, but she rushed over to where he sat.

"There's my pretty kitten." Ran adored how eager she always was. It made her all the more pliable to do whatever he wanted. He pulled her down to sit sideways on his lap, kissing her glossy lips. What a little pleaser.

Kumi melted against him. His hand rubbing up her thigh sent a shiver down her body. It had been too long since he'd touched her. "I missed you." She'd never been so desperate to be with a man before. He simply drew her in and made her feel things no one else had.

"I've been neglecting you. Work has taken up all of my time. My poor kitten." Ran pushed her legs apart, rubbing her clothed cunt. Ah, she was already wet from a simple kiss. He liked that it didn't take much work to get her in the mood.

She wanted nothing more than to give in to whatever pleasure he was about to give her... but they weren't alone. It wasn't unusual to find Rindou in the penthouse. He was around a lot. He watched without any shame.

But the moment she showed any signs of being uncomfortable, there was Ran, whispering in her ear. His voice sugary sweet. "It's alright if he watches, isn't it? I want to show him your pretty pussy." He adjusted her to have her back against his chest, legs spread across his thighs to put her on full display.

Kumi shifted in his hold, cheeks heated when Ran easily cut her panties off with his pocketknife. Matching violet irises were staring at her. "Ran-" She wanted to close her legs, embarrassed at the position.

"Good kittens do as they're told. And you're my perfect kitten, aren't you? Sit still. I'm going to make you cum." He pressed kisses to her neck, long fingers slipping through her folds and slipping inside. It had taken such a fuckin long time to get her to this point. That's why he'd been the one to approach Kumi.

Rindou would have been much less gentle with her. Impatient.

Was it wrong to keep looking at him? Her line of vision was perfect to see the younger Haitani in the chair across from them. Lazy violet eyes focused on her lower half, almost bored with watching her get fingered.

But it felt so good. Ran was a good with his hands.

And his mouth.

Especially his cock.

There wasn't anything he couldn't do.

Kumi couldn't hold back her voice, whimpers and moans escaping her parted lips as Ran curled his fingers into her sensitive spot. "M' so close. ah-"

"That's a good kitten. Squeezin my fingers so tight. Such a good girl." Ran's praise was paired with rapid thrusts. Her pussy squelching sinfully loud. It was amusing how easily she'd agreed to letting Rindou watch. He'd get her to do all kinds of things, eventually. More lewd and depraved things.

Because he'd worked so fucking hard to get her to be his kitten. His obedient, malleable kitten.

And her feelings were so genuine for him that he almost felt bad.

Kumi squirmed on his lap, knees bending and legs quivering as she succumbed to her orgasm. Her teeth sank down into her lip, too lost in her pleasure to care that she'd squirted all over the couch and floor.

"Do you see what you've done?" Ran asked, lips ghosting against her ear. He nodded towards his brother, who clearly had a hard on from the performance. His tongue traced the shell of her ear. "He thought you were so pretty cumming like that."

Somehow, it did feel kind of good that she'd gotten that kind of reaction out of Rindou. He tended to be quiet and uninterested in her as a person, even though she was in love with his older brother. "Yeah?"

Ah, how innocent. How simple. All he had to do was give her a little boost in confidence and Ran was confident that she'd obey his next suggestion. "Why don't you fix that for him, hmm?"

Her head swiveled around, sky blue irises wide with surprise. "What? But he's-" Your brother. That's what she wanted to say, but what did that matter after he'd seen her half naked?

Ran raised his eyebrows with a slight frown. "Are you telling me no?"

"No- I mean- maybe-"

He kissed her softly, cutting off the incoherent response. And to shut her up for a few seconds while he thought. Maybe he was moving too fast. "It's alright, kitten. If you really don't want to, then don't. But I'd be much happier if you'd do this for me. You only have to use your mouth."

Give her an out and see if she takes it.

Happy. It would make him happy if she did it. Kumi's gaze fell to her lap as she considered it. It's just a blowjob. And Ran wants her to do it, so that makes it okay, doesn't it?

Kumi stood on shaky legs, crossing the small space to where the younger Haitani sat. He hadn't said a single word to her, even as she was on her knees between his legs. It was almost like she'd forgotten how to function.

It wasn't that Rindou was unattractive. Both the Haitani's were gorgeous men. It was his reserved, quiet side that was frightening. She could never tell what he was thinking. With Ran, he was charming and sweet.

The blaring sound of Ran's cellphone ringing startled her, causing Kumi to jump. Her eyes followed her boyfriend to the edge of the lounge, where he winked at her with a smile, as if saying to continue.

But she was too nervous to move.

"Do you always take this fuckin long? I'm gonna go soft before you even try." Rindou spoke with muted interest, elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. He rested his chin in his palm. "It ain't gonna suck itself, kitten."

Her nickname sounded sour coming from his mouth, like a dirty insult.

"Sorry." Kumi muttered the apology as her shaky hands unbuckled his pants. It was just a blowjob. Nothing more. Ran would praise her afterwards, and everything would be fine.

His dick was thicker than his brothers, but not quite as long. Kumi rubbed her hand up and down his length a few times, working herself up to actually putting it in her mouth.

"For fuck's sake," Rindou complained, roughly entangling his fingers in her hair. He scooted forward on the chair, glaring down at her. "Open your fuckin mouth." He hardly waited for her to do so, shoving his cock past her lips. "Jesus, do you make my brother wait like this? How useless are you?"

Kumi choked as he pushed her head down his length, nose brushing against his well-kept pubes. It strained her mouth to take it all, throat constricting from the lack of air. He was so rough.

"I ain't gonna tell him you did good. I'm havin to do all the fuckin work just to get a measly blowjob from you." Rindou rolled his eyes. Despite the way he degraded her, her mouth felt so damn good. He'd been waiting weeks to get a chance to fuck Kumi. "Should bend you over this chair and stuff it down your cunt. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

The tears that had welled up in her eyes spilled over, both from the abuse to her throat and his mean words. It was so different from the way that Ran treated her.

And she hated that she liked it.

Kumi could feel each thrust into her mouth in her stomach. If she wasn't gripping onto his calves so hard, she might have been rubbing herself to another orgasm. It made the girl conflicted. Was this cheating? Would Ran be upset with her for getting so horny from his brother?

"A fuckin mess." Rindou laughed, nearing his own high. "Disgusting. Mascara running down your face. Crying cause of a stupid blowjob. What the fuck does my brother even see in you, huh? Your pussy must be somethin to keep him around."

He nearly ripped out her hair as his grip tightened, hammering his cock into her throat as he finished. Finally, Rindou let go, spilling some of his seed on her face.

Kumi coughed, taking deep breaths. She'd no choice but to swallow what was in her mouth. It would be stupid to spit it out. Probably would make him angry. She sunk down on the floor, knees throbbing from being pushed against the marble floor.

"Be better next time or I'll punish you." The younger Haitani stood, fixing himself before disappearing into the penthouse. He could bust another one out later from the memory of her crying face.

Next time?

"Was he mean to you, kitten?" Ran lifted her off the floor, peppering kisses on her face. He feigned concern. Honestly, she had gotten off easy. With how it had sounded, he'd thought his brother might hit her. "It's alright now. You can rest and take a warm bath while I'm gone."

"Gone?" Her voice was scratchy. A soothing tea would do wonders after that assault on her throat. "You're leaving? But I thought you had the afternoon off?"

That had been the plan, but alas, when the commander called... "I know. But it's urgent. I won't be gone long. Order whatever you want, and I'll be back as soon as I can. I haven't finished with you, kitten." A promise sealed with a kiss. Even with his brother's jizz on her face, he still found her cute.

And after a swift exit, Kumi was left alone in Ran's bedroom. Hours went by and after a relaxing bath and some expensive take out and wine, she was still all by herself. Rubbing her eyes, she resigned herself to crawling into the satin sheets and going to bed, wondering when he'd come home.

But, as she drifted off to sleep, Kumi recalled those pretty golden eyes, instead of the violet ones that belonged to her boyfriend. A strange occurrence. She shouldn't be thinking about the boy from the pet shop.

But it was his name that she whispered in her sleep.

Kazutora.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers oc #tokyo rev oc #tokyo revengers original character #ran haitani #rindou haitani #kazutora hanemiya #chifuyu matsuno #kumi hirayama #kana hirayama #ran haitani smut #tokyo revengers angst #read the warnings

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

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Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for language and blood + references to violence Warning: Lil bit of kisses with dubious consent (initial surprise, then “hmm this is nice, I guess”), as well as a tiny bit of blood. Oh, and, ya know, mild referenced cannibalism. Notes: Still no beta reader, we die like innocent chickens unfortunate enough to be in Ethan Winters’ way. Also, I’m hoping this isn’t too ramble-y, I kinda. Got excited. Maybe sorta stayed up late to write this instead of sleeping, so... PS sorry for the cliffhanger, I could not resist. Next chapter will include the reader earning their PHD in Bullshittery, while also moving us into the, like, actual central plot of Serenade (or at least the part that the romance revolves around). Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne

Chapter 2: Overture

By the time you made it back to the maidens' quarters, it was nearly half an hour after your "shift" officially ended. Daniela hadn't taken up that much of your time, but her words had instilled a vigorous sense of anxiety in you, which had only drawn out your remaining tasks. You also weren't terribly looking forward to being interrogated by your coworkers. What would you even say? "Oh yeah, I accidentally played a note on the forbidden piano but instead of killing me, Lady Daniela just flirted with me and let me go! Haha smiley face emoji!"

Yeah, that would definitely go over great with the others. Maybe you could get away with pretending you hadn't been the one to play? Even though, you know, your daily duties were posted on the same wall as everyone else's, and anyone could see that you were the only person working in the music room today. Damnit, you think, everyone is always a bit tense when someone "gets off easy". Not that it happened terribly often. It simply made people nervous, considering they never knew if the Ladies of the house had been denied the "stress relief" they so desired, and whether or not they would want to take it out on someone else.

Hoping things would sail a little smoother this time, you took a deep breath and pushed the door to your quarters open. As soon as you stepped in you felt a dozen pairs of eyes turn your way. There had been muffled talking as you approached, but now it was silent, a heavy curtain of discomfort hanging over the room. Well, fuck, you thought, struggling to think of how to react. In the end you settled with a slightly-too-enthusiastic wave and a shy smile.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” One of the maidens asks, almost instantly, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed with confusion. If you remembered correctly, her name was Cynthia, and she was one of the (currently) longest running survivors. The two of you hadn’t spoken before, which made her next move all the more confusing. Without much of a warning she moved in front of you, reaching out to grab your hands, before gently holding them in front of her chest. When she speaks, it’s with a hushed voice. “How are you not dead right now?”

“I… have absolutely no idea,” you replied, doing what you could to avoid her gaze, but ending up meeting eyes with the others in the room.

“When you didn’t get back with everyone else… we assumed the worst,” Daphne, the closest thing you had to a best friend, said. She was towards the front of the small crowd of maidens, all of whom were now gathering around you out of curiosity. “You’re probably just lucky that Lady Dimitrescu wasn’t home while you played, otherwise, well, I think we can all guess what would have happened.”

“Thank the Mother for that, literally,” Cynthia chimed, dropping your hands as she did. That caught your interest for sure. Despite being part of an eccentric “extended family”, it wasn’t that often that Lady Dimitrescu actually left the castle to visit the other Lords; or their leader, for that matter. Was something big coming? Or was it simply time for a regular check up? You didn’t have time to ponder that thought, as soon Cynthia was speaking again. “Now, please, regale us with your story, dear. It must certainly be interesting… seeing as you escaped unscathed.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, putting your hands up in a “slow down” motion. Sighing, you moved over to your bed, sitting on the edge, before starting to tell the others what happened. You left out a few details, such as the severity of Daniela’s flirting, as well as the way she touched you. By the time you reached the end of your story, the other maidens had settled in a semi circle around you. A few had started to get ready for the day shift while you spoke, but their movements were deliberately slow, and their gasps let you know they were definitely listening. It was, however, difficult to tell how anyone really felt about what you were saying. Were they looking worried because they were concerned for your safety, or for their own?

Hard to say. All you knew at the end of night was that no one was looking forward to the following night.

------------------------------------------------

Every shadow in the corner of your eyes makes your heart skip a beat. All day (night, technically) you’ve been overly paranoid, expecting Daniela or one of her sisters to pop out at any moment, their sickles raised, blood-stained lips pulled up into a grin, promises of violence dripping from their mouths. So far your anxiety had proven irrational. Experience, on the other hand, was reverse-reassuring you with memories of maidens you had hardly had time to get to know. Who were you to avoid such a fate? Could playing a little song really justify your existence to these people? These mutants?

Distracting thoughts like that swirled around your mind for hours, leaving you feeling faint and dizzy, as you desperately tried to focus on your work. Ironically, it was your tunnel vision on your worries that brought them to life.

“Humph, you should really pay more attention, sweet thing,” a voice whispers, right besides your ear. Immediately you jump, a little yelp escaping you, and whirl around to see who had crept up on you. Your wide open eyes soon settled on the youngest Dimitrescu daughter. A toothy grin lit up her face as she took you in, leaning in just close enough for you to feel her breath. “Missed me?” She asks, words melting into a fit of giggles. One moment she’s face to face with you, the next she’s evaporating into a swarm of insects, moving around the room with frightening speed before settling on a nearby table. Both her legs dangle off the edge, swinging a little in a childlike manner.

“Lady Daniela, I-” you stutter, hardly able to will yourself to speak. You can’t help but glance at the table with a feeling of anxiety, knowing that you had just finished cleaning it, and wonder if your work would be for naught. But it seems that Daniela doesn’t appreciate you focusing on something other than her. Again she buzzes into a cloud, this time coming closer to you, the insects circling you, occasionally tugging at your skin. Fight or flight tries to kick in, yet all you manage to do is freeze in place.

You don’t open your eyes until the sound of hundreds of wings beating dies down. Fresh drops of blood trickle down your brow, as well a few from smaller cuts on your arms. Panic still roots you in place, even as you stare up at Daniela with a frightened expression. At first all she does is laugh. Loudly, with no softness to it at all. This was exactly the sort of thing that you had been afraid of in the first place.

“Oh, you poor little thing… Did that hurt?” Daniela asks, trailing a hand up your arm, pausing just before her fingers touch blood. Then she leans in, once more putting her lips right next to your ear, slowly pulling off one of her gloves as she does. “Good. Maybe you’ll pay more attention to me now. You really should, being in love with me and all.” She says it so casually, and with such conviction, that you almost wonder if she knew something that you didn’t. Though you try to turn to look at you, you find her gloved hand holding your head in place. The other moves so slowly that you almost don’t notice it until her thumb is sliding across your forehead. Blood smears as she does this, but she doesn’t bother trying to be neat about it.

Instead she simply brings the finger back towards herself, her other hand turning your face as she does, so that you could make eye contact as she licks her thumb clean. As soon as the blood hits her tongue her eyelids flutter and a soft moan rises in her throat. Astoundedly the sound brought a strong blush to your cheeks. It was less about attraction per se, more about the inherently intimate nature of the moment. Daniela was so close, her hand resting on the back of your head, her eyes slowly returning their focus to you. When she sees you she can’t help but don a prideful grin.

“You taste even better than I expected, sweet thing- what a fitting nickname, mhmm?” Another giggle, another rush of blood to your cheeks. In the rush of the moment you found your fear fading out, slowly, gradually being replaced by a mix of confusion and… warmth? What is wrong with me, you think, mind racing with countless half-thoughts.

Suddenly, as quick as the strongest of impulses, you found yourself being pulled closer to Daniela, her bare hand moving to rest on your waist. For once her eyes left your own. Now they drifted lower, to your lips, giving you a single moment to realize her intentions before she acts on them. Your lips collide with hers before you can even think to protest. It’s a million times softer than you would have ever imagined- not that you had imagined. But now that you had felt this… damnit, you know you shouldn’t enjoy it, yet you found yourself kissing back nonetheless. It wasn’t like it meant anything, right? Not like you’d have a chance to kiss anyone else around the castle, either.

Within a couple moments you realize two things: One, Daniela was smiling into the kiss. Two, by Jove (by Miranda?) was she seemingly inexperienced. Based on how much flirting she had done, you had naturally assumed that she was in no way, shape, or form new to this. The kiss was a bit sloppy, although passionate, and Daniela seemed quick to mimic your movements. More than that, it seemed like she was unable to catch her breath (did she even need to breathe? Or were the movements more out of habit than anything else?). By the time she pulls away she needs to gasp, and you’re left absolutely reeling, unsure how to process any of this. On the other hand, Daniela was softly grinning, gently resting her forehead against your own.

“Delectable, darling,” she murmurs. There’s a softness to her voice that you simply cannot fathom is real, at least not entirely so. Then a pause, with her gently running her fingers through your hair, before she gives you one more little peck on the lips. When she pulls away, just far enough to really look at you, you see something in her eyes that fills you with dread: Hunger. “I think I know what you want, what you need. You want to be with me, forever, a part of me, don’t you? They always do, in the end…” Her eyes shift to your neck, and suddenly her grip on you is dangerously tight.

Instantly you shift into panic mode, trying to squirm out of her grasp to no avail. This seems to irritate Daniela, who digs her nails into your waist, making you gasp. Without hesitation she seizes the opportunity to push you against the nearest wall, the hand that had caressed you so gently now pinning you down. Your thoughts are racing, desperately searching for anything that might buy you some time to get away, or even dissuade her entirely. But seconds tick by with nothing coming to light, your hope quickly fading. Gulping, you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to accept your fate.

And then… it hits you. An idea, maybe, that might just be stupid enough to work. Here goes nothing…

“Wait! Don’t you want me to show you my love?” You ask, somehow managing to mask the pure terror you were feeling. Hell, you slipped in a bit of confidence, sounding far, far more sure of yourself than you really were. Apparently it was enough to give Daniela pause. Her teeth had been mere inches from your neck, but now she was watching you closely, head tilted at a slight angle. “I can hardly do that if you kill me so soon, love. Don’t you want to see everything I have to offer? To know me truly, fully, before we become as one?” Another pause, a little hum from Daniela, then a slow, spine-chilling smile.

“Go on, then… show me.”

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #yes every chapter will be named after a musical term #what can I say I gotta put those 8+ years of piano lessons to use #not like I've released two albums or anything #that was sarcasm #anyway please enjoy

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little-smartass · 3 years ago

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THE VAMPIRE LESTAT COVER ALBUM - the legendary Vampire Lestat is back and bigger and badder than ever, this time bringing a whole album of song covers ranging from classic bangers to newer fresh takes on chart hits! get your copy now, complete with a transcript of the artist's commentary on each song!

(songs I think Lestat would cover and release as an album in an attempt to re-kickstart his career and/or make some sort of dramatic statement to Louis. tracklist and "artist commentary" under the cut)

Survival - Muse

“And I’ll reveal my strength, to the whole human race, yes I am prepared, to stay alive, and I won’t forgive, and vengeance is mine, and I won’t give in, because I choose to thrive! Yeah I’m gonna win!”

Oh, I wish this song had been around back on that opening night at the Cow Palace - how apt that would have been! What a fucking anthem! They would have been rioting all night. I mean, they already were, but, like, because of the music. Not because vampires were being immolated in the middle of the crowd. Different kind of riot.

The Bitch Is Back - Elton John

“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh the bitch is back, stone cold sober as a matter of fact, I can bitch, I can bitch, ‘cause I’m better than you, it’s the way that I move, the things that I do!”

One day I want to have this play as I walk into Night Island. I’ll time it perfectly so that I throw off my coat - my denim jacket, or- oh, no, a fur! Maximum drama! - just as the chorus starts. Armand will know that I’m coming of course, but I think that’ll just make it even better. And I have good memories to this song... [muffled question] Sorry, gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, bébé. [laughter]

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

"Oh my, feels just like I don’t try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me, head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me”

Look, do I even need to explain this one? Didn’t think so.

Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

"I don't give a damn ‘bout my reputation, I've never been afraid of any deviation, and I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change - and I'm never gonna care bout my bad reputation"

This one's fairly self-explanatory again. It could have been my personal anthem when I was mortal quite honestly. And it's an awful lot of fun to jump about and headbang to, don't you think? That's a new thing I've found out about, headbanging. People have been hopping about to music looking like fools for centuries but now there's a name for it. Fantastic.

bad guy - Billie Eilish

"I’m that bad type, make your mama sad time, make your girlfriend mad type, might seduce your dad time… I’m the bad guy. Duh.”

Creepy? Check. Sexy? Check. Tongue-in-cheek? Check check. This song was great and a lot of fun to cover.

Lover to Lover - Florence + the Machine

“I believe there’s no salvation for me now, no space among the clouds, and I feel I’m heading down, but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright”

I don’t know, this one just felt very relevant. Also the piano was great to do. You might have noticed that I’ve picked a lot of songs with piano, and that’s because I bullied the studio into getting me a goooooorgeous grand piano for the recording space and I wanted to use it as much as possible!

Feeling Good - Muse

“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel, scent of the pine, you know how I feel, oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel”

I just really like this song - I’ve done a cover of an excellent cover! Can- can you put emojis in this? Do people still use emojis? Well imagine I’ve put the shrug one. Wait, isn’t there- Daniel, Daniel, come here, isn’t there a shrug emoji made up of keyboard- [muffled words] yes! The shrug one! Yes, put that in the transcription. [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] I just like this song.

The Man - The Killers

“I got gas in the tank, I got money in the bank, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man, I got skin in the game, I got a household name, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man”

I feel like this one speaks for itself too. Can you put that shrug emoji thing in here again? [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] Yes!

J'ai Pas Envie - MIKA

J'ai pas envie, de faire comme si, comme les maris, qui disent oui, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie d'te faire plaisir, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, si tu m'aimes viens me le dire"

Look, I'm not going to translate the whole song for you, because it has all this clever wordplay you just totally lose in english… but the gist of it is that these two lovers are… at odds a lot. It's… it's maybe a little spiteful [laughter] but in a fun way! It's a fun song! Louis won't even be mad about it, it's MIKA.

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

"When I'm not with you, think of you always (I miss those long hot summer nights), when I'm not with you, think of me always, always"

[Long pause] God, I miss Freddie.

Let 'Em Talk - Kesha

Ah, full disclosure - I put this song in purely because of the expression Louis made when I played it in the car and it got to the line “can suck my dick” and she did that popping noise… it was incredible, and I just knew I had to cover it so I could see his expression when I said that. I can’t wait to play it to him. [laughter]

So What - P!nk

"So so what, I'm still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you, and guess what? I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm alright, I'm just fine, (and you're a tool, so)"

I'm actually a big fan of nineties and noughties female stars - all that grrrrrrrl power, it's great fun, you know? I'd say this one is fairly self-explanatory, because I am still a rockstar! This is my new album! Fuck you EMP and your sniffy little article calling me "washed up"!

Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons

"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line, I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"

This one could be self-deprecating, but it's also very vindictively angry at the same time, and that's a combination I definitely get. Like, oh, it's my fault, isn't it? It's my fucking fault again, what a surprise. Perhaps "learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck" is a little on the nose… [muffled words] you've read my books, right? [muffled words] Good, good.

Missy - The Airbourne Toxic Event

"But I swear there's still some good in me, I think if you'd stuck around you'd see, all the botched attempts at integrity I once had"

Oh, I was feeling philosophical when I picked this one. No, philosophical isn't the right word… melancholy? Do people still use that word? "I swear I swear I swear I'll never get sad" is both furiously defiant and yet so self-defeatingly ironic. [Exasperated noise] Enough of that. Next!

Please Don't Leave Me - P!nk

"I don't know if I can yell any louder, how many times have I kicked you out of here, or said something insulting? I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of nearly anything, when my heart is broken… (please, please don't leave me)"

Oh, we’re… we’re getting to this section now. [clearing throat] Well, I have to make up for that sucking dick line, don’t I? Get a bit vulnerable. Oh God, why did I decide to do this bit? [muffled words] [bad chicago accent] But why buy the cow? Because you love him, you really do. [sigh, laughter]

Next To Me - Imagine Dragons

"Oh, I always let you down, shattered on the ground, still I find you there, next to me, and oh, the stupid things I do, I'm far from good it's true, still I find you, next to me"

Why did I- I don’t remember putting so many of these ones in.

Run To You - Pentatonix

"I've been settling scores, I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone... how shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes, I've run out of time"

[Sigh] [clears throat] Yeah. I think we can move onto the next one.

Love of My Life - Queen

“Love of my life, don't leave me, you've stolen my love, you now desert me, love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me”

I play this one sometimes on my baby grand when we've had a fight, and it's impossible for him to stay angry. He's a sucker for this sort of… formality in romance. God, I wish I'd realised that earlier. If I'd written him a letter in fancy copperplate script with scented paper and enclosed rose petals politely requesting him to bend me over his desk back in the day, it might not have taken two centuries of mutual blue balls for us to figure our shit out. Ah well, live and learn… as it were. [muffled words] Look, I did a whole bunch of vulnerable songs! Now I get to make sex jokes! [laughter] oh fuck off.

#Lestat de lioncourt #loustat #vampire chronicles #dead disasters #my mixes

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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You just had to bring the symbol of Victory into this didn't you?!???? Is this some sort of euphemism I should look forward to or!??!?!?????

Yes!! Let me “paint you a picture” (groan)... Also, I sat down to draft my response and it's somehow *gestures at this whole mess* 2300+ words!?? And confession time! I’ve never even SEEN "The Mentalist"! Everything I know about Marcus Pike has come from cute GIFs and the Internet and fanfics… so… I don’t even know what’s going on with me today. But thank you! :D

(This is leaking over from this post if anyone needs to play catch-up)

Paris

Word count: 2300+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Marcus Pike x “You” in Paris, reader is an Art History Professor (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow burn; cute Marcus Pike; coffee and pastries; kissing and stuff; public-ish sex in the Louvre after hours; spontaneous P/V sex (probably unprotected, idek) we're all adults here, wrap it before YOU tap it!

It’s like, you and sweet Marcus have definitely hit it off and you’re really into each other after that field trip meet-cute and your date, but you haven’t slept together yet. He gets called away for a case, so you wish him good luck and hope that you can see each other again soon.

A few days later it’s spring break and you have a trip to Paris planned to complete some research for your next publication. You email Marcus while you're waiting to board. You let him know that you’re going to be out of town for a few days, but that you hope his case is going well, and maybe when he's back you two can pick up where you left off?

You land in Paris and check your messages, and you see that Marcus has replied to your email. He says he can't share the details of his case, but that he hopes he'll be wrapped up by the end of the week, and that he definitely wants to see you again. He asks about your research trip, so you shoot a quick email back to fill him in on the details.

You get to your hotel and sink into a hot bath with your phone. You open your emails, and your brain tells you that you're just checking to confirm the details of your appointment with your research contact in the morning... but the little uptick in your heart rate tells you that you're actually looking for another reply from Marcus. And it's there. He says that he loves Paris and that your research sounds exciting. He asks where you’re staying? You give him the name of your hotel, and tell him that you haven't stayed there before, but it's cute.

Before the water even gets cold you have another reply, sending the butterflies behind your navel into a tizzy. He says that he's stayed there once or twice and that the café in the lobby has excellent pastries. You smile and let yourself imagine a vacation with Marcus, here in Paris, sharing pain au chocolat over a little table in the café. You refill the tub with hot water and sit daydreaming for so long that your fingers prune up.

You get out of the bath and wrap yourself in a plush robe, and sit on the edge of the bed. You email Marcus back, wishing him a good night and telling him that it's late where you are, but that you promise to try one of the pastries in the morning with your breakfast coffee. By the time you're in your nightgown and ready to sleep he's responded, wishing you sweet dreams and hoping that your research goes well. You smile and reply, "Thanks," and then drift down into pleasant dreams.

The next morning you take yourself to the little lobby café and treat yourself to a café crème and an almond croissant. Marcus was right, and you nearly moan aloud as you wrap your mouth around the flaky pastry. You open your email and send him a picture of your croissant with one bite missing, and you joke that you blame him for ruining you for any other boulangeries you might visit during your trip. By the time you're done with breakfast he's responded with a wink emoji and a quick "Sorry I ruined you," and you desperately want to email him back and boldly ask him to ruin you in other ways. You stop yourself, and your brain can't think of anything appropriate, so you just don't respond and you leave to go to your research appointment.

The day is long, and the dusty archives and a few misfiled papers cause small irritations. But you find a few of the things that you needed, so you call it productive enough. You break at 3 p.m. and decide to start again fresh in the morning. Maybe an early dinner and another scalding hot bubble bath will set you right. You decide that the weather is nice, and that your hotel is close enough that you can stroll back and people watch, disconnect your brain from your work and transition into relaxation mode along the way.

You arrive back at your hotel and go to your room to change. There is a card slipped under your door, the front desk letting you know that you have a delivery of some kind to pick up. You try to remember if any of your colleagues or your boss mentioned that they would send you anything? Is it paperwork? Some kind of file for your research? You decide to shower and change into a nice dress to lift your mood, and then head back out for dinner.

You take the card to the lobby desk and hand it to the desk clerk and he disappears into the back office. When he returns you're surprised to see that he's holding a floral arrangement, not huge or ostentatious, but lovely and cheerful and somehow your favorite color exactly. The clerk sets the vase on the desk. You reach for the card and open it.

"Good luck on your research. -Marcus"

You break into a wide grin and you practically float back to your room. You set the flowers on the room table and open your email to thank him. You send him a photo and an effusive "Thank you!" and a winky kiss emoji. Is that too much? No - if one little emoji scares him off then he's not the guy you thought he was.

He responds within minutes, a quick "You're welcome. Glad they arrived in one piece." and his own winky kiss emoji. Your heart flutters and you reply immediately, "They're really lovely. Thank you for thinking of me."

A moment later his next email pops up: "Can I take you to dinner and pick up where we left off?"

You reply: "Absolutely! I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in town!"

He responds: "No, I meant tonight."

You hesitate, does he want to call you and chat on the phone while you eat dinner? Some kind of video call, like a virtual date? Before you can type your reply, a new message pops up: "I'm actually in Paris. My case is here and I arrived a few days before you did. I didn't want to scare you off or come to your hotel unannounced, but I'm free tonight and I'd love to see you."

You throw your head back and laugh. This is definitely way more fun than eating alone and people-watching. You message back an enthusiastic, "Yes! I'm ready when you are!" and he emails you and says he'll see you in 30 minutes in the lobby. When you get downstairs he's waiting by the front desk, all soft scruff and loosened tie and warm brown eyes, just as you remembered. You smile and hug him, and in that moment you feel like a fairy-tale princess meeting her prince, being swept off your feet in the most romantic city in the world.

You have dinner at a cozy bistro around the corner, Marcus making you bubble with laughter as you talk. He listens to you moan about the missing pieces of your research, your pressing need to track down a letter from one artist to another that was mentioned in an old diary but which hasn't yet surfaced. You're sure it's around the archives somewhere, just waiting for you to piece it together with the rest of your project. Marcus tells you that his case is almost wrapping up, and if you want he can arrange to catch the same flight home as you. You smile and tell him that would be nice.

You finish dinner and he asks if you want to go to the Louvre, and you check the time and say that they're almost closing. Marcus smiles at you and says, "Don't worry about it," and he looks a little mischievous. You tell him you're up for an adventure, and he takes your hand and ushers you into a taxi.

When you arrive he asks the desk staff for someone he knows, and you make a quick run to the restroom. When you return, Marcus has two laminated badges, special access for professionals and visiting staff that allows you to stay for a few hours past closing. You can't believe your luck, being allowed to spend extra time in one of the most special places in the world, not to mention that your escort is the most handsome and charismatic man you've ever met.

You start in the Denon wing and wander through the museum, talking and laughing quietly, enjoying the opportunity to see things that you would normally have to fight hordes of tourists to see. And maybe "enjoy" isn't the right word, because if someone asked you how you were feeling right now, you would say you were "on cloud nine" or "elated" or "floating." It feels like a dream, and you're not sure if you're going to remember all of it later, but you desperately want to, and you're trying so hard to file every sight away into your brain.

When you reach the Mona Lisa, an odd hush falls over you, and you realize it's the first time you've ever seen it without a crowd twenty deep in front of it. Marcus seems to know what you're feeling, because he takes your hand, almost shyly. And he keeps holding it, warming your fingers as the two of you walk on. You stop in front of Delacroix, "Liberty Leading the People," and you tell Marcus that it's the first painting you ever fell in love with, a million years ago in high school during your very first art history class. You look at the painting and he looks at you, and when you finally turn toward him he captures your mouth in a warm, urgent, soft kiss. You can feel your eyes sparkling at him when he pulls away, and you don't say a word, you just smile and hold his hand as you walk through doorways and up and down stairs.

You come around a corner and there it is, probably the most famous statue in the world: the Venus de Milo. She takes your breath away, and then Marcus does, too, stealing a kiss when you least expect it. And you're torn completely in half, unsure if you would rather keep kissing him or just stare at the curves and planes of her body. So you try to do both; you kiss him and keep one eye on the Venus and you start to feel dizzy, like you've overloaded on sugar, but it's just the impossible circumstances that you've found yourself in.

And you break apart from him, and take his hand again, leading him into a corner that's a little more private. You back yourself against a wall and pull him to you by his tie, and you kiss him the way he deserves, with your full attention and precision. Minutes pass slowly, and you only come up for air because you're afraid you're going to faint. Your thigh is blazing hot where Marcus's hand has raked up under your skirt, and the only reason you don't fuck him right there is because of a security camera keeping watch on the alcove.

You tell him that you both should finish your tour and go back to your hotel, and he agrees. You try to keep your mind on the art, and you tell Marcus about how awestruck you were as a student when you learned about the way that sculptors could depict every curve and dimple of a woman's body through the wet drapery technique; the sensuality of the human form made only slightly more modest when viewed through a veil of fabric; the sheer awesome impossibility of marble carved to look like gauze.

You both get lost in the conversation, and you wander up a staircase and around a corner, and there it is: your absolute favorite piece of art, the piece that you have studied and memorized and dreamed about. And you've seen it before: you've been to the Louvre a handful of times, but this time there are no noisy footsteps echoing off the marble, no tourists trying to capture the glory of it with their tiny and unworthy cameras and phones when there are perfectly good books and postcards available in the gift shop... the Nike to end all Nikes, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. You are, quite simply, blown away.

And if it had been a normal weekend walking tour of the sacred Louvre, if you had been there with anyone else... you wouldn't have ended up wedged against the wall of the archway to her left, skirt hiked up as Marcus pounded into you, one of your bare legs hooked over his hip and your arms wrapped around his neck. If it had been any other day or any other time, you would have stopped him before he unzipped his fly and pulled his erection out; you would have had some remaining shred of propriety, of decency. But it wasn't a normal day and he wasn't a normal man, and you really weren't yourself.

You had gotten carried away by the late hour and the thrill of being allowed to wander the empty museum, and if you were being honest, you really wouldn't have wanted to stop it. You wanted to give in to the romance of the city and the priceless treasures on display and the heady conversations with Marcus. You wanted to be exactly where you were, with exactly who he was, doing exactly what you were doing and feeling exactly how you felt as he thrust into you and grunted your name like a chant while you traced the lines of the Nike with your lust-blown eyes.

You didn't make it to the Richlieu wing until a year later, on a sunny Saturday morning with your new husband Marcus.

--- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Roll call: please message me if you don't want to be on my "all fics" tag list!

@221bshrlocked @danniburgh @starlightmornings @honestly-shite @spacedilf @anaaaispunk @silverwolf319 @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @the-queen-of-fools @driedgreentomatoes @juletheghoul @dihra-vesa @anxiousandboujee

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x female art history professor #idek dude #i just started writing and it all just went blaaaaah #i ain't even sorry

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liquidheartbeat · 3 years ago

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Rainy Dinner For Two

Iris grabs dinner from her and Barry's favorite diner on a dreary, rainy day.

Iris steps out of her car, underneath a dark gray covering of clouds.

They hang low in the sky, rippling past her quickly to the north. She hopes they’re signs of a passing shower, because she has a nice outdoor dinner with Barry planned tonight — and nothing will get in her way.

For the past six months, this has been their routine every Friday. She gets off work, then heads over to their favorite cafe and picks up their dinner. Usually, the weekend crowd has the place packed elbow to elbow, but the impending storm has run everyone indoors.

Everyone but her.

She takes in a deep breath as she walks, reveling in the earthy smell of incoming rain. The diner is nearly empty, except for the older gentleman in the booth, near the back. For as long as she’s eaten at this diner, there’s never been a day he didn’t occupy that spot.

He’s always orders the same thing. Two pancakes, three strips of bacon, an egg and Black coffee. And each time she walks into the diner, he greets her, tipping his hat forward.

Today is no different.

Iris smiles and waves, in return, then heads to the counter.

It’s a rare sight to see it completely empty, and she would take the chance to actually sit at one of the stools, but she’s already running a little late.

And Barry’s waiting for her.

At the counter, Karla, the evening waitress looks up from her phone, surprised to see a patron in this weather. Still, she smiles warmly. “Hi, Iris. What can I get for you today?”

“The usual, please.”

Karla’s nods as she writes it down by memory.

Steak, salad, potatoes au gratin. Fresh rolls. An entire pan of lasagna. And to top it all off, brownie sundaes, ice cream on the side — all of her and Barry’s favorite foods.

“Coming right up.” The woman smiles and heads to the kitchen to alert the cook that his quiet evening at work won’t be so quiet after all.

Iris is sure she hears him groan, but she doesn’t care.

She always leaves a generous tip, so he’ll live.

As she waits for her food, Iris pulls out her phone to pass the time. Her go-to app of choice is Instagram. It hasn’t always been this way; as a journalist, she used to prefer Twitter to stay up on the news and gossip within her industry. But lately, Instagram has taken up special stock in her heart, serving as a living, breathing archive of her and Barry’s relationship.

So many beautiful milestones captured on film forever.

She finds herself scrolling through their years of pictures, at all hours of the day. Late at night when she should be sleeping at work.

Of course, her iCloud holds thousands more pictures than Instagram does, but what Instagram has that her phone doesn’t are Barry’s comments. His weird inside jokes, gentle mocking of her burnt food pictures, his excessive use of heart emojis on the rare selfies she posts, self deprecating jabs on their couple’s photos.

Invaluable expressions of their relationship through his eyes.

She smiles as she scrolls, grateful that her obsessive picture takING has served her well.

When Karla returns, Iris is deeply entrenched in her phone. “Iris?” She grunts as she lifts her huge order, tucked neatly into takeout containers. “I have your food.”

Iris looks up. “Oh.” She laughs and shakes her head, digging into her purse for cash.

The order always comes out to just under $50 bucks, another reason to love this diner. Not only is the food delicious, it’s dirt cheap. Iris always pays with a $100 bill. “Keep the change.” Her usual mantra.

Karla trades the food for the money and smiles. “Appreciate the business.”

“Of course.” Iris slides off the stool gathers the food.

As she turns to walk away, Karls says: “Give my best to Barry — he hasn’t been by in awhile.”

Iris pauses, stops dead in her tracks. “I will.” She smiles brighter glancing back at Karla, then heads for the door.

She steps outside and makes note of her surroundings.

The sky is darker, more menacing. The wind has picked up too. Iris walks in haste towards her car and packs up the food in the backseat, then rounds ducks into the driver’s side just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Revving up her engine, she leaves the parking lot,and heads towards the sight of her and Barry’s weekly’s dinners. Her fingers tap along the steering wheel as she drives, her building anticipation fighting with her nerves.

It’s dumb to feel nervous. This is her husband, afterall. Her best friend. But the venue unnerves her. A large open plot of land, no dinner tables, no guarantee of privacy. Plus, the weather feels especially foreboding today. As she creeps down the road, the sky continues to darken. “God, this is going to be some storm, huh?” She says as she stops at a red light. Rolling her window down, she pokes her head out.

The temperature has dropped considerably and in only a few minutes at that. She glances at her backseat, checking to see if her jacket is still there.

She smiles as she realizes it is. If only she’d remembered to bring her umbrella.

For a moment, she considers texting Barry and asking him to run by the loft and pick it up. But she knows he’s occupied, so she refrains.

By the time she arrives, it’s drizzling slightly. But nothing too terrible. Her hair will be good as ruined, but she doesn't care. Her husband is waiting for her.

She gathers the food and her jacket, which she throws on her shoulder, and heads over to Barry. Thankfully, there’s no one else out, so they can have a private dinner. As she walks, she remembers that she forgot the picnic blanket to lie on the ground.

But it’s too late to turn around.

Guess she’ll have to toss these clothes once she gets home. Grass stains and mud do not mix. Still, she pushes forward, walking over the large plot of land.

“Sorry, I’m late,” she says as she sits the bag of takeout on the ground. “I got a little tied up at work.” Hands free, she slips on the jacket that’s cast across her shoulders, just as lightning illuminates the darkening sky.

She flinches slightly, but kneels to the ground in front of a large tombstone.

It reads: “Here lies Barry Allen. Born March 14, 1989. Died April 7, 2021.”

She shakes her head to herself. Such a piss poor summary of a rich, varied life, full of service. Absolutely no mention of the sacrifices he made as The Flash, the same sacrifices that promised him an early demise.

But she knows that he gave his life for the city. So that the people he loved could live another day. She presses a hand to her heart, eyes welling up with tears.

His death had hit her like a ton of bricks.

But in the months since, she’d forced herself to hold things together and try to get as much out of life as she possibly could, so his sacrifice wasn't in vain. To keep living, to keep running. But once she’s in front of him, it’s hard to keep the promise she made to him.

These dinners are hard on her stomach, and not just because she’s eating enough food for a small family. But because there’s no goofy laughter at the end of her rant about her boss, no consoling breath when she expresses her insecurities about her position at work, no seductive crooning that foreshadows the next part of the evening, once they return home. It’s just her and the fresh air, and wilting flowers and Barry’s gravestone.

Thunder cracks overhead like a whip, pulling her from her thoughts. Lightning blazes across the sky. It’s a terrible day for an outdoor dinner. But then again, every day without Barry is terrible, when she really thinks about it. At least here, she’s closer to him.

The rain picks up, huge droplets pelting the ground. Iris pulls her hood on her head, and lays lengthwise in front of his gravesite. On a clear day, she’d trace his pitiful engraving with her fingers, but the weather has her seeking shelter inside her jacket.

She draws her arms inside her sleeves and holds the fabric together from the inside.

The food she bought is getting absolutely ruined, but truth be told, she doesn't have much of an appetite. Today, a conversation with her husband is the only thing she needs on her plate. “So, Barr,” she says, “I have so much to catch you up on…”

#the flash #westallen #iris west #barry allen

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bourbonbees · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 20- Library Hours

Summary: Sam and Cas are hard at work in the library doing a little research for a case when Sam decides to do a little side research of his own. Sam is not oblivious, he knows there is something going on between the angel seated across from him and his brother, but he doesn't know what. To be quite honest, he's not sure his extremely dense older brother or his best friend with "rusty people skills" know themselves. In classic little brother fashion, Sam decides to meddle and give them both a gentle nudge. Fluff ensues!

Read Below the Cut or on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34628314

“This is pointless, I’ve read the same sentence ten times.” Sam yawns, setting aside the large tome, the title “Norse Mythology and Legends” etched in gold letters on the leather-bound cover. It’s nearing ten o’ clock and they’ve been elbows deep in research for their latest case since around two that afternoon. They’re in some nowhere town in Minnesota, which fortunately happens to have a library with a large Norse Mythology section. Unfortunately, their research has come up dry thus far.

“I think I found something, but I’m not sure. It’s called a Hulder, but it says they have a cow’s tail. Did Dean say he saw a tail? I can’t remember.” Cas mumbles, setting his own book down, a puff of dust rising from the old book and floating through the air in a little cloud. “It’s a kind of forest spirit, says they look for men to marry so they can lose their tail? It’s all a bit ridiculous if I’m quite honest. Bovine faeries, seems far-fetched but not impossible. Maybe I should warn Dean just in case, it might try to take him.” Cas is already pulling his phone from his pocket and texting Dean. He sends the message almost immediately, they do this a lot lately, Dean and Cas. Every time they aren’t together they are constantly texting under the guise that they are “checking in” on each other. It both annoys and intrigues Sam when Cas promptly receives a reply that makes him smile brightly.

“What? What did he say that’s got you smiling like that?” Sam caves, deciding that there is no time like the present to do a little side research into what the hell was going on between his brother and the angel seated across the table from him. Sam loves his brother very much and Cas is easily his best friend, but he’s fed up with watching them dance around each other. The pair have been flirting non-stop for years. Sam is always left to witness it all, like a firey train wreck he can’t quite look away from. Most of the time he tries to stay out of it, he knows better than to meddle with Dean’s, fragile at best and explosive at worst, emotions. Lately, he feels a bit more comfortable poking around. Sam can see things have shifted, there’s comfortable routine settling in with Cas, causing Dean’s defenses to crumble bit by bit. Dean is making more of an effort to try to impress Cas, constantly making terrible jokes just to hear him laugh, helping him fix his truck, and inviting him for movie nights, in his bedroom. The last is the most curious occurrence and vexes Sam the most since he’s no longer welcome to movie night.

“Oh nothing, he’s just, being Dean. You know.” Cas hums, setting his phone on the table, pointedly placing it screen side down.

Sam takes the opportunity to swipe the phone, he grabs it quickly, thanking his little brother reflexes honed from years of living with, and snooping on, Dean. He easily guesses Cas’ passcode, by passing the lock screen. For once he is glad that the angel still doesn’t fully understand human technology. “Come on man, 1 2 3 4 is not good passcode.” He laughs as he opens the text exchange with the contact Cas has labeled “Dean” with a smiling emoji wearing a cowboy hat.

“Don’t worry sunshine, not into chicks with tails. Learned that once when we stumbled across something called a furry convention. Tails are a hard no for me. Now wings, I can get behind that.” Sam reads aloud, crinkling his nose up when he spots the winky face emoji at the end.

“Really a winky face, that’s cheesy even for him.” He mutters sliding the phone back to Cas. “You two are a lot. You know, life would be so much easier if you’d just kiss already.” He blurts out. Cas’ sinks down in his chair as if he would rather disappear, well Sam supposes he can disappear if he really wants to, for entertainment’s sake he hopes he doesn’t.

“What if we already did?” Cas replies, looking down at the table, suddenly very interested in peeling off a little piece of scotch tape that was stuck to the edge of it. He looks sad, a slight wrinkle in his forehead highlighting his worried brow.

“Wait, you kissed? You kissed Dean, on the lips?” Sam is suddenly more awake and invested in what is happening. In all of the theories he’s been tumbling around in his head, never has he guessed that Dean and Cas were already at the kissing stage.

“Yes, it was once. On our movie night, I chose Titanic. It made me cry. It was the scene where she let Jack go. It upset me, there was plenty of room on that door!” Cas pauses here, looking to Sam who simply nods as if to say, you’re not wrong and gestures for him to go on. “Well, Dean kept looking at me and he leaned in to wipe my eyes and I misread the situation. I kissed him, on the lips, fully. It was so embarrassing. He laughed it off and hasn’t mentioned it since.” Cas confesses, scrubbing his hands over his face before making eye contact with Sam.

“But, he kissed you back, yeah? He didn’t stop you?” Sam is sitting on the edge of seat now, he leans forward, resting his on elbow on top of one of the books as he listens. He is working on putting the pieces together, Dean and Cas kissed, but it seems it hasn’t changed much. “Did he say he didn’t want to talk about it? You know Dean, he’s really good at dodging things if you give him an out. But if you confronted him, he’d talk. Maybe.” He encourages, willing his brother to not be a jackass for once.

“I think he kissed me back, it was all so quick. He did lean in and stayed for a bit, but ultimately, he pushed me away.” Cas explains, touching his lips and looking into the middle distance as if he’ll find some answers there. “I tried bringing it up, he told me not to worry and that it wasn’t a big deal. Tried saying sometimes friends kiss and it doesn’t have to mean anything.” He recalls, looking up toward the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“Okay, but did you tell him it means something to you?” Sam suggests, his brother is dense, incredibly dense, so he knows without a doubt that this was a classic case of Dean being absolutely clueless. He also knows that Cas is prone to taking things at face value and not questioning them further, a dangerous game when dealing with a defensive and emotionally constipated Dean.

“No, I’d rather spare myself the rejection.” Cas shrugs, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Sam knows, from the few psychology courses he took at Stanford, that this means he’s hitting a sensitive subject. The subject is one that is making Cas close himself off physically and emotionally. He has to make his next move carefully.

“Hey, sorry you two, but library hours are ten to ten. We’re closing now.” The librarian interrupts them at the most inopportune moment. Cas is thankful for the change in subject, he quickly uses his phone to take pictures of the pages in the book that he thought may help them while Sam calls Dean to pick them up.

“Please don’t say anything to him. About what I told you.” Cas says as they wait outside the library, he’s standing with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, he looks vulnerable and as much as Sam wants to push things along, he nods, agreeing to back off. At least for now.

“Hey geek squad! You find anything good?” Dean shouts out the window, the distinct rumble of Baby’s engine alerting them of his approach. Cas perks up immediately, smiling at Dean when he comes to a stop at the curb.

“Yeah and I’m going to let Cas tell you all about it. I need some exercise, I’ll walk back to the motel. You two go ahead.” Sam makes the snap decision, hoping that it doesn’t blow up in his face. “Talk to him.” He mumbles, gently pushing Cas toward the car.

“You sure, there’s a forest spirit or whatever on the loose. Not sure now is the time for your weird health kick. That shit is supposed to help you live longer, not put you in imminent danger.” Dean points out, eyeing up Sam suspiciously.

Sam quickly tries to think of an excuse, something that Dean wouldn’t question. “Oh well I had that gas station burrito for dinner and I think maybe it’s hitting me now. Thought I’d spare you.” He shrugs, patting his stomach.

“Dude, gross. Yeah, take your walk, those things make you toxic.” Dean easily folds, his face scrunched up in disgust. “Come on Cas, save yourself before it’s too late. You get shotgun tonight!” He adds, waving for Cas to get into the car.

“I will smite you. I swear, if this goes wrong, I will send you right back to the cage.” Cas threatens, earning a chuckle from Sam, who knows fully well that his threats are empty.

“What was that about?” Dean asks once Cas is safely in the passenger seat.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Cas asks, unable to make eye contact with Dean as he quickly works on figuring out how he would address the kiss.

“Yeah, sure buddy. Everything okay?” Dean knows something is amiss, he always knows with Cas. If only he was better at knowing what exactly is amiss, maybe then Cas wouldn’t have to have this conversation.

They drive to a park just down the road from the motel, it’s dark apart from a single light on the picnic shelter. Cas is thankful for the dark, it makes everything a little easier. If he had to actually see Dean’s face, he’s fairly certain he’d chicken out entirely.

“Things are okay, I guess. I just, I keep thinking about our movie night.” Cas starts, looking out the window up at the stars. It’s a cloudless night and with the town being so small the light pollution is minimal, if he looks hard enough he can see the delicate swirls of the milky way.

“You wanna go outside? It is a good night for stargazing. I kinda secretly love doing that. Don’t tell Sammy though, he’ll think I’ve gone soft.�� Dean offers, grabbing a blanket from the back seat and showing it to Cas.

“Yeah, I’d like that very much.” Cas agrees, getting out of the car and following Dean to a patch of grass. The dew is just setting onto each blade, giving it an almost shimmering effect. Dean lays down the blanket and sits down, patting the spot next to him for Cas.

“So, movie night, what about it? You’re not still upset about Jack and Rose, the whole door thing, are you?” Dean chuckles fondly, bumping their shoulders together.

“No, it’s not the door, but it is about that night. Um, when I-the kiss.” Cas fumbles, it’s clumsy, he can’t seem to get the words right and he hopes Dean understands what he means.

“Hey, like I said, don’t worry. I’m not hung up on it.” Dean tries to reassure, pulling a flask out of his pocket and taking a drink before offering it to Cas.

“No, but I am. I’m hung up on it. I can’t stop thinking about it, if I’m honest.” Cas says softly gently pushing the flask away, his hand brushing Dean’s for a moment, his grace causing an almost electric feeling at the contact.

“Woah, that, what was that?” Dean asks, clearly having felt the gentle jolt himself.

“It’s my grace. When I feel something, something big, it sort of comes out in this energy. It’s like static electricity, it’s meant to warn humans. A tactic meant to intimidate them. It’s why the lights all blew out that night we met, in the barn.” Cas explains, gently placing a hand on Dean’s arm so he can feel the slight charge.

“It doesn’t scare me. Just kind of feels, exciting maybe? Is that bad?” Dean tries, blushing slightly, the pink in his cheeks barely visible in the faint moonlight.

“No- and well, that’s how that kiss felt. I felt something when it happened. Something that’s always been there. I have feelings for you, ones that go beyond the usual connection between angels and their charges. It’s all centered here, in my chest. I think maybe, it’s love. The romantic kind.” Cas’ walls are down and everything he’s been feeling comes tumbling out, it’s maybe not as composed as he rehearsed it but there’s an immediate sense of peace in just saying it aloud. He loves Dean.

“Oh. I-I guess I didn’t realize that was possible. I just assumed when you kissed me it was like a profound bond thing. I mean, I really, really wished it was something more, but I didn’t realize it actually could be. Shit, I’m trying to say that I felt something too. It kind of scares the shit out of me, but I feel it too.” Dean, breathes out as he turns to face Cas.

Before Dean can say anything further, Cas cups Dean’s cheek with one hand, his thumb tenderly brushing the constellations of freckles he’s come to love so dearly. He leans in and presses their lips together, the light on the picnic shelter behind them fizzles and then explodes with a loud pop.

“Was that-“ Dean laughs against Cas’ lips, cut off by another kiss, a pleasant tingle running through his body. Cas’ grace envelops him in a warm and safe aura, he feels like he’s floating and simultaneously falling, falling in love.

They spend the next few hours laying on the blanket, exchanging lazy kisses and admiring the constellations made even more visible thanks to Cas taking out the only source of light. When they return to the motel, they find the room dark, Sam is already laying on his bed. Cas and Dean kick off their shoes and slip under the blankets on the other bed. They whisper, talking about nothing and everything all at once, pausing now and then to exchange soft kisses. Dean eventually stops fighting sleep and passes out, his head on Cas’ shoulder while he snores softly. Cas doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t need to, but he stays put. He is content to rest, basking in the calm that’s come with finally allowing himself to have what he’s wanted for years. Dean.

Sam wakes up early the next morning for his run, shaking his head fondly when he spots the pair still tucked into the motel bed that was nearly too small for two grown men. “You’re welcome.” He chuckles, gesturing to where Dean was cuddled up to Cas’ side.

“I didn’t say thank you.” Cas rolls his eyes at Sam’s patent, I told you so look.

“Didn’t need to.” Sam shrugs, snapping a photo of the pair with his phone. “Sorry, had a running bet going with Charlie on when you two would finally get your heads out of your asses. Thanks to you, I won!” He adds before heading out the door.

Once Cas is alone with Dean he takes a moment to close his eyes and maybe he does thank Sam a little, but he doesn’t need to know that.

#suptober21 #library hours #destiel #destiel fic

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sohotthateveryonedied · 3 years ago

Text

Gender? In THIS Economy?

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Duke is questioning stuff and goes to Tim for advice. (feat. trans!Tim and nonbinary!Duke)

“Here you go. One Batburger with extra pickles, extra onions, and extra extra mayonnaise.” Duke drops the paper takeout bag unceremoniously into Tim’s lap. “Your taste buds need a tune-up, bro.”

Tim unwraps his burger and takes a bite. Batburger may be questionable when it comes to copyright laws, but damn if they don’t pile on the condiments better than any fast food restaurant in Gotham. “Sounds to me like you simply haven’t reached the sky-scraping level of enlightenment that I have, grasshopper.”

“Enlightenment would have been going to Red Robin and using your uniform to get a discount,” Duke says. He sits beside Tim on the rooftop’s edge, their legs dangling side by side a hundred feet above Gotham’s plunging gray streets. He digs into his own burger and makes a face. “Enlightenment would also be getting the Robin Nuggets next time. This tastes like dried leather.”

“I like it,” Tim says with a shrug. “It has personality.”

“So does raw sewage, but you don’t see me eating that.”

Tim concedes the point. His communicator buzzes in his belt. He checks the screen and discovers an alert from Cass composed entirely of clown emojis and red harlequin diamonds.

Duke notices. “Should we get that?”

Tim pockets the communicator. “Nah, Spoiler’s got it. We have time to relax.” And he’s not about to pass up quality time with the one little brother who doesn’t hate him. It’s hard enough as it is for Tim and Duke to find the time, what with them being on opposite sleeping schedules and work snatching their attention away with grabby, toddler-sized hands.

“Don’t get a lot of that during the day shift,” Duke says. “Every time an alarm goes off, it’s my business.”

Tim knocks him in the side with his elbow. “That’s what you get for turning to the light side instead of kicking it in the shadows with us. More employees to go around.” He sips his soda for a moment. “Why did you come out tonight, anyway? I thought you stayed in on weeknights.”

“Right. I actually wanted to talk to you about something.” Duke says it carefully, like he’s testing the waters. “I need advice.”

Tim has to admit that his chest puffs out a little at that. It’s not often people come to him for advice when Dick and Barbara are right there, all full of adult wisdom that Tim is too pitifully shrimpy to possess. “What’s up?”

“It’s kind of...personal.”

“Yes, Bruce does have special powder for suit-chafing. It’s in the cabinet under the first-aid supplies.”

“It’s not that,” Duke says, though he snorts in half-hearted laughter. He looks down at his hands like he’s dreading the words lodged in his throat. “What was it like, realizing you were a dude?”

One of Tim’s eyebrows shoots up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s an invasive question.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You just caught me off guard, is all.” It’s not like this is the first time someone has asked. Tim used to be uncomfortable talking about it, but he’s grown up since then. Talking about his trans journey is as normal as talking about what he did yesterday. He eats a fry. “What do you want to know?”

Duke searches Tim’s face for a sign that he’s lying, that he should back off. When he doesn’t find one, he asks, “How old were you when you figured it out?”

Tim thinks back. “Nine, I think? But even before that, it’s not like I ever really felt like a girl. I knew there was something wrong, but I didn’t know what. When I first heard about what being transgender meant, everything I’d been feeling until then clicked into place.”

“What was it like?” Duke asks, “growing up the way you did? Presenting as a girl when you knew you weren’t?”

Tim shrugs. “I don’t know. It was life at the time. I dealt with it.”

“Was it hard? Pretending to be something you weren’t?”

Tim doesn’t know what answer Duke is looking for, or why he’s so interested, but he won’t ask. “My parents always had this idea of me being the perfect daughter, all obedient and graceful and crap. I’m pretty sure their hope was to eventually marry me off to the highest bidder so they could reap the business benefits.”

“That sounds awful.”

Tim shrugs again. “I didn’t start feeling any different than I should have until around six or seven. I was always a tomboy. I liked doing boy stuff and playing sports, but my parents thought it was a phase I would grow out of. They’d make me wear dresses and go to fancy parties with them, all the while I just wanted to claw my skin off and go home.”

He remembers the nights he would lie awake in bed, imagining what it must be like to have been born someone else. Anyone else. To grow up as a little boy who was allowed to run around, to get dirty, to be himself instead of following some arbitrary guidelines someone else drew up the day he was born. He imagined what it would feel like to answer to a different name than the one he’d been given, which grated on his ears the longer time went on, like an itchy sweater he couldn’t shed. It was hell.

He gives Duke a sly grin. “But the upside of having absent parents is that there aren’t as many people watching you. No one cared if I went to school in the boy’s uniform instead of the girl’s. No one was there to stop me from cutting my hair short the way I wanted it.”

Duke's eyes widen. “You cut your own hair?”

“It went exactly the way you’re thinking. I had to go to the barber the next day and have them fix it because it was so uneven. But by the end of the day, it was the way I always imagined it. I was finally starting to look like the person I wanted to be.”

Duke stares intently at the remains of his burger as if the universe’s answers to an unspoken question were written in sesame seeds. “Did it get better after that? Did you feel...at peace?”

“‘Course not. The world wasn’t magically fixed just because I took a step in the right direction. My problems didn’t go away.” When he says that, Duke looks almost...disappointed? “But,” Tim adds, “it was better than it was before. I still had to act for my parents and the rest of the world, but I didn’t have to hide from myself anymore.”

“How did your parents react when they found out?”

Tim grimaces. “They...didn’t take it well.” He can still hear his father’s voice in his memories, bringing up therapy and camps and whatever places he could think of that would “fix” his little girl.

“But, after a while,” Tim continues, “it was clear that I wasn’t going to change my mind anytime soon. I guess they figured it would be easier to go along with it than fight me every step of the way. They still didn’t like it, but they tolerated it.”

Duke is quiet.

“Why do you ask?” Tim prods.

Duke’s expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s nights like this when Tim can see how perfectly Duke fits into this mental institution they call a family. For all that Duke thrives in the light, he keeps his cards just as close to his chest as the rest of them. He gives Tim a half-smile. “Just wondering.”

“Okay.”

They fall into weighted silence, the scales tipping on either side of their post, but never settling. Tim waits. He finishes his burger and busies himself with reorganizing the pouches in his belt, giving Duke the privacy to think.

“I don’t know,” Duke starts after several minutes, “if I’m a boy.” He looks at Tim. “I think I might be something else.”

“Okay,” Tim says calmly. “What do you feel like?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always felt different, y’know? When I was a kid, it was because I was smarter than everyone in my class. And it was fine, because I knew what it was and how it worked and why it was a good thing, being the smart one. It made sense. Time went on, the other kids started catching up, but that mismatched feeling never went away. I never felt right in my skin.”

Duke’s face rises to the dark clouds, the Batsignal shining from the top of the police station like a holy beacon. “Then I met Batman. My powers started to come in and everything clicked into place, all at once. That was why I never felt like I fit in with everyone else, because I was different. I had powers. That must have been it.”

“But it wasn’t,” Tim guesses.

Duke shakes his head. “I thought it would be. I mean, what else could it have been, you know? It should have explained why I never felt at home in my identity. But time goes on, I learn how to use my powers, and it fixes some of it, but not everything. There’s still part of me that looks in the mirror and sees something off. Some detail out of place.”

“Do you feel like a girl?” Tim ventures to ask.

Duke folds over the corner of his straw wrapper again and again in tiny triangles. “Nah, I doubt it. I like some feminine things, but I don’t think I’m a girl. Or a guy. I think...I might be nonbinary?”

Tim does his best to channel Bruce’s “supportive dad” energy and smiles. “Okay. What pronouns do you want to use?”

“They/them, maybe? For a while?”

“Duly noted.” He puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “I really do appreciate you telling me.”

Duke rubs the back of their neck, their cheeks flushing. “It feels good to say out loud. Not just in my head.”

“Do you think you’re going to tell anyone else? You don’t have to if you’re not ready, but our whole family will support you.”

“Yeah.” Duke picks at their nails, nodding absently. “I know they will. I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Duke takes a deep breath in, and Tim is reminded of a balloon close to bursting. “My parents aren’t dead. I’m going to get them back. And when I do...what are they going to think when they wake up after half a decade and find out that their son isn’t their son anymore? What if they don’t like the person they see?”

Tim can’t say that he hadn’t swum with the same thoughts years ago, back when the person who is Tim Drake was still on the drawing board. But there’s a difference between his situation and Duke’s. “Your parents love you, Duke. They’re not going to stop loving you just because you’ve grown up since they last saw you.”

“What if it’s too much? The superpowers and the crime-fighting and the new gender...it’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, sure,” Tim says. “It might take some time for them to get used to it, but this is who you are. They’re going to love it just as much as they love the rest of you.”

Duke smiles, and if their eyes are a little misty, Tim pretends not to notice.

“Besides,” he says. “If I were you, I’d just lead with the superpowers thing. Anything after that sounds perfectly acceptable.”

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