#('they get lost and have to call bones to bail them out'- Four) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jwnchstr · 2 years ago

Text

dare you to doubt me pt. 1

title: dare you to doubt me (part 1)

pairings: you/zahara/zara x daniel ricciardo

summary: daniel got into an accident in 2020. he lost the ability to drive. he lost his seat. he lost his career as an f1 driver. ashamed, he hides himself. until he met you at australian grand prix in 2021.

disclaimer: i changed the actual timeline a little bit to match with my storyline.

other f1 fics | masterlists | my wattpad

dare you to doubt me pt. 2

dare you to doubt me pt. 3

* * *

the australian grand prix has already started for 20 minutes and yet here you are, at the gate of the main grandstand waiting for the staff to check your ticket. it was not on purpose that you arrived late, but you had a nervous breakdown at the parking lot. you almost bailed the race. you almost drove back home until you heard a familiar voice saying "it's okay" that you hopped out of your car and headed straight towards the main grandstand gate.

their v6 engines vibrate in your chest, rumbling like thunder as the drivers change a gear before a turn after a straight line. you hear the ferrari fans cheering as their favourite team and drivers woosh pass them. they raise the italian and the familiar red-yellow flag proudly even though some of them are not originally from there. the roars from other fans and supporters too give you goosebump.

since it is now a ticket with free seating, you are left with no spare seat except the one at the very top of the bleacher, near a railing at the other end. you wonder why no one sits there, at first. then you see a man wearing black from head to toe sitting beside the empty seat. you don't feel comfortable with the thought of him there beside you, but there is another 40 minutes until the race ends and you are not going to watch them on feet.

you had no choice but you slide inside, apologising to other spectators on the way. a relieved sigh escaps as soon as your bum finally hits the plastic seat. your feet finally finding a rest. you adjust your hat a little upward so that you can see the race from the big screen in front of you clearer. there are another 24 laps. the man beside you doesn't move at all.

it can be boring watching the race from the main grandstand. it's a start and finish line. it's a straight line with barely any drama except an overtaking with the help of drs, but it can never be boring when your fiance was around. luke would always have something to talk about even without you asking. he would talk about f1 history over and over again and you're always there to listen. sometimes, people beside him would join. sometimes, they'd snark at luke to shut up. sometimes, they would try to appear smarter than him.

you shifted in your seat. another heavy sigh escape your lips as you tried not to remember that very day when you got a phone call from the police, asking if you are luke's fiance. luke has set your number in his emergency contact list. by the sound of the police's voice, you know it was bad news. luke got involved in a car crash and he died on scene.

going to watch the f1 race live once a year was luke's idea to celebrate your anniversary so here you are. even though you had a nervous breakdown at the parking lot 30 minutes ago, but you have to pat yourself kudos because that was easier than the last two. you didn't even enter back then even when you paid hundreds.

there was a roar at turn four and the man beside you shifted in his seat. at the corner of your eye, it seems that he found a more comfortable position. he pushes himself lower into the seat, sitting on just above his back bone. his arms crossed on his chest. his hood falls on top of his nose, just above his face mask. you get that "don't talk to me" vibe coming from him, but when he pulls himself up, sleeve of his long-sleeved hoodie pulls too, you see a rose tattoo on his skin between his index finger and thumb.

"nice tattoo," you blurt out. blood rush to your face already feeling embarrassed.

the man quickly pulls his sleeve back down to hide his rose. the tension between you and the man in black is heavy that you can feel them in your head. not a lot of people like it when a stranger comments on their tattoo, but then again, it was not a bad one either. you are preared for a snarky remark. when that didn't come, you think it's fair that he ignored you, but what comes after makes your heart pumps faster.

"thanks," he whispers.

"uh... you're welcome... i guess."

he doesn't say anything say anything else after that so whatever that you were rehearsing at the back of your mind for a few seconds that you thought will come, you shoo them away.

you continue watching the race, keeping your eyes on the big screen, feeling your heart skips a beat every time a familiar silver car passes in front of you. you cannot see the number written on the car from your seat, but judging from the crowd who are wearing the dark blue polo t-shirt, you know it's car #44. luke's favourite driver. he could talk about hamilton for as long as the night drags and he would blame you for falling asleep.

another sigh escape and this time, the man beside you chose not to ignore it.

"would you stop sighing? it's annoying."

you blink. "what?"

"i said, stop sighing. it's annoying." he sounds familiar and bitter. "are you disappointed on your life or something? i'm pretty sure no one gives a damn about it."

"it's nothing of your concern."

"then maybe you should stop seeking attention."

your forehead creased as you pull a face. "i am not seeking attention."

"then don't sigh. people came here to watch the race, not to hear you sighing 24/7."

angry, you didn't say anything anymore. instead, you keep your mouth shut before nothing good comes out of your mouth. you know you can be the nicest person on earth, but when there's a person who spoils your mood, you can be the meanest bitch.

"so... which team are you on? is it the mercedes?"

you specifically hate a person who doesn't feel guilty at all after making you hurt. now, you're the one who doesn't want to talk to anyone. you don't want to talk to him but you did give him a hint with the slight shrug on your shoulders.

"it's not the mercedes? so it's red bull then?"

"why people always assume that when you're not a mercedes fan, you're a red bull fan?"

"because they're rivalries. you cannot like mercedes and red bull at the same time just like how you cannot be friends to your friends' enemy."

you snort. "that's bullshit."

"then i guess, you are the ferrari fan."

"doesn't matter which team. my favourite driver is not racing."

you can feel his eyebrows rising. "really?" there is a spark of curiosity behind his voice. "who is your favourite driver?" soon after that he quickly adds "if you don't mind me asking."

"daniel ricciardo."

"daniel ricc--" his breath catches in his throat. "he's a loser. there is no wonder than he doesn't get a seat this year. maybe not forever."

"i still have faith in him."

he doesn't sound like a daniel ricciardo fan, but you expect something more from him especially after what he claimed that ricciardo is. there must be reason why he thinks ricciardo is a loser when it was not his fault for that accident last season. and you wanted to ask him so many questions. you are about to open your mouth to ask one of them when he rises.

"where are you going?" you find yourself asking. your eyes wild as you watch the man in black starts leaving the main grandstand. "there is another six laps to go. you can't leave."

you know something is not right. maybe it's your question. maybe it's your answer. but maybe it was his own question that made him leave but either way, he got you curious. the race is finishing. charles leclerc from ferrari is leading. there is no doubt that he is going to finish first. plus, your favourite driver is not here. there is no one else to support so you start to leave too. you chase after the man in black even though you have no right to chase after a stranger.

"hey, wait!"

he hears you but doesn't listen to you.

"wait! stop! hey!" you groan.

you didn't know you've cooled down from the conversation with him just now at the grandstand. but now that he is ignoring you, you feel a heat rising again in your chest.

his long legs makes his steps wider and harder to catch up.

you hear yourself calling him for the third time. but when he still doesn't answer and doesn't want to cooperrate, you stop.

fine, you thought, about to return to your seat and watch the race until the checkered flag when a memory flashes in front of your eyes.

you were watching an f1 race on the television with luke when you see exact same tattoo on the man's hand. and it's not only that time when you see it but a lot of times that luke thinks it was nice and he almost got one himself. the familiar voice, though muffled behind the mask, you think you've heard it before during countless of interviews online. the trail of his nose outside the mask helps you connect the dot that he is indeed your favourite driver himself!

something about emotion is amazing to you. it is amazing (also strange) how an anger you felt towards a stranger for ignoring you changes in a milisecond. once your head registers that it's ricciardo, your body gets excited. the blood that pumps in your body makes you run after him. you don't care that people are watching you. you don't care that you get their attention as long as you didn't lose him.

by the time you stop right in front of him, you are breathing heavily while he stops abruptly, shocked to see you there. he wonders how you can find him because he thought he'd run far enough from you. he keeps his hands in his black sweatpants, doesn't want to make the same mistake again.

between remembering what happen to him last season and meeting him in the present, you wonder if you're the lucky bitch to meet him first since after he went rogue.

"i know who you are," you whisper.

he pretends he doesn't understand you.

"i know you don't want to be caught after what happened to you. hence, the black attire and the mask. but i know who you are."

something in ricciardo (or daniel?) panics. he is on high alert. he looks around to see if there is anyone nearby who caught what you said. but most people (except those who rather have a smoke than watching the race) are still planted beside the track and watch the race. there is one more lap to go, you bet. and by the sound of the sudden loud cheers, you instantly know that the race has ended. the ferrari flag is raised higher.

but the roar is also a good sign. you see daniel relaxes and sighs before he is on the toes again. as quick as lightning, he grabs your arm, pushes you towards the exit gate. the crowd will be wanting to leave the circuit soon and he doesn't want that.

"please tell me you didn't tell anyone that you see me," he begs.

"no. no. i didn't tell anyone, i promise."

"you promised. tomorrow if i see--"

"daniel, it's okay." you try to calm him down especially when you see him hypervalenting. "i didn't tell anyone that you're here. no one sees you. you're okay. you're fine. trust me. daniel, listen to me breathing."

it is exactly what you had in your car at the parking lot few hours prior. you had nervous breakdown that you found it hard to breathe especially when the race had started. the engine gave "this" familiar yet dark memory even when it should be the best thing that ever happened in your life.

"this is all your fault," daniel says when he's calmed.

"me? why is it my fault?"

"because you caused me a panic attack. i swear to god, if you weren't there and didn't find out i was here..."

"if you don't want to be found out, why were you-- look, this isn't going to go anywhere. i'm sorry for what happened just now, okay. i didn't mean to cause you any trouble. i was just excited when i realised who you are."

"argh, this is a mistake. i shouldn't come here today. i shouldn't--"

"hey, hey. calm down. like i said, it's alright. no one knows you're here except me, i promise. now come on. let's get us something to eat. it's pass lunch already."

daniel doesn't protest. you're a stranger, sure. he should not follow a stranger around and listen to a word you said, sure. but you helped him through his panic attack. you calmed him down. by this far, he is only following his instinct. if it says to trust you, then trust you it seems. and the next thing he knows, he is sitting in front of you in an expensive, private restaurant. his back facing the other tables. the jazz, the romantic yellow light and the cool air from the air-conditioner calms his mind.

it takes you only a few minutes to skim through the menu and order your favourite meal from the restaurant, meanwhile daniel merely tells the waiter to have what you have. he refused to hold the menu himself. you notice how he keeps his whole arms under the table while yours are free to hold and turn the pages of the menu book.

"you're rich."

"and i see you speak the first thing that comes to your mind."

"sorry." daniel smiles guiltily. "guess that's what happens when you have less communication with people lately."

"nah, it's okay. if i remember it correctly, that's how daniel ricciardo is." you smile back at daniel, didn't want him feel more guilty. "anyway, i don't think you should think yourself as a loser." you tried to open up a serious conversation. well, what else would you do if your favourite f1 driver is right in front of you.

"what?"

"just now. at the race. you said daniel ricciardo is a loser."

daniel clicks his tongue when he remembers it. "because that's what i am."

"daniel, you are anything but a loser." your voice is soft and it is not because of the environment of the restaurant.

"oh, yeah? tell me who said that."

"everyone."

"really?" daniel raises his eyebrows at you. "what if after you see this?"

he brings his hands above the table. he opens his hands, fingers expands wide. there, you see what probably not everyone is lucky enough to see---his trembling hands, scars from the countless of surgeries to fix his broken fingers, charred and burnt skin. the rose is the only area that's not affected. and here you are thinking daniel was shy when he kept his hands under the table and you instantly felt bad. daniel retreats his hands back and hides them under the table before you can touch them.

you look up at daniel. there are a lot of questions lingering around your mind at once that you find it hard to utter. which one to ask first? is it "how long were him in a coma?" but you knew that already. is it "what was the first thing that came into your mind when the car was rolling?" again, you know exactly the answer.

"so you see, i get it now. i will never be an f1 driver after this anymore." you hear daniel says even though his eyes are on the empty ceramic plate in front of him.

"have you tried asking them?"

"asking?" daniel is digusted at your question. "i begged them. i kneeled in front of them to give me another chance in f1. the fia, renault team boss, f1. all of them. but they wouldn't let me because of health concern. and even worse, after last season, they changed the team's name. said that they don't want the old name to bring another bad luck. they even signed that fucking alonso to join them."

"i don't get why they didn't want you back," you voice out your opinion. "i'm sure your doctor confimed it, right? that you can get back in the game after a few weeks. i mean, niki lauda took only 39 days to recover." and roman grosjoean took seven months to get back, was what you wanted to add but decided not to.

"that's what i told them. and he was caught in a fire. i didn't. they fixed my broken bones. i undergone into therapy and finished them amazingly. seriously, even micheal said that."

the same waiter comes back with your drinks. when he's done serving yours, he strides away to attend other tables before coming back a few minutes after that with your lunch. he puts one meal in front of you before doing the same with daniel. you smile and thank the waiter even though you probably do not have to do that. the waiter smile back at you before he disappears once again.

you breathe in the smell of the pasta deeply. after what happened at the circuit, it feels like forever since you last had your meal. "bon apetite."

the man in front of you slowly reaches the spoon and fork on the either side of his plates. the same spoon and fork that are light to your normal hands look heavy on daniel's. you carefully watch as daniel dips his fork into the pasta, curl them. you watch as he carefully brings them into his mouth with a vigurous shake but the fork slips from his hand. the pasta spills onto his shirt and jeans. the fork clutters down to the gound. the clinging sound of the steel causes the employees and other customers to turn their heads.

you hear daniel groan. but really, it rather sounds like a mixture of annoyance, anger and shame. he bends down to grab the fork that he dropped. but stops when your hand reaches for his other hand on the table. he watches you calling for the same waiter to bring daniel another clean fork. though the waiter looks annoyed, but as you give him your best smile, he nods and obediently brings a new fork.

daniel comments something on what you did. and he said something about not to do that again for him because he can do it himself even though both of you know that he can't. and you hardly hear him ranting about his life after the accident because in your ear, you are hearing luke's voice saying "you have the prettiest smile i've ever seen." your heart rate speeds up. it has been three years and you can still remember how his voice sounds like.

both of you eat in silent. daniel is taking his time with his pasta, curling them slowly around his fork with his trembling hands. when you are finished with your pasta way too fast (because you're hungry) you order a desert even though you rarely do that because you don't want daniel to feel pressured. and add one more even though you're already full.

your patience makes daniel feels like he owes you big time that he pays for your meals at the counter. "please don't tell anyone that i paid our lunch. don't tell anyone that this is a date. i'm not dating anyone. i'm not even in a position to be loved--"

you laugh at him. "i got it, daniel. but okay. if it makes you feel at ease... i promise i won't tell anyone about today." you sort of make a pledge. "and you have to promise me that you will go out and meet people again."

"what?" daniel throws his head back laughing hard at your condition. "you do know what happen to me when i meet people, right."

the image of daniel having a panic attack flashes in front of your eyes.

"look, thank you for bringing me here. i had a geat lunch. they have nice pasta. but don't look for me anywhere anymore. good-bye."

"wait!" you stop daniel when he's about to turn and leave again.

"what again?" daniel sounds annoyed.

"you haven't promised me to meet people again yet."

"do i have to?"

"yes!" you beam. "people miss you a lot, daniel ricciardo. they miss you as much as they miss michael schumacher."

"i think you're living in your own world, miss."

"well, i work with people from the media and paparazzi myself so i know it's not that hard to tell them that daniel ricciardo is at australian gp. i'm sure some people have your pictures at the circuit. maybe they just couldn't confirm it."

"you know, what. fine," daniel finally says though he knows that doesn't mean he has to keep that promise... right? he knows you are no longer with him once you part with him after this so how would you know that he's going out and meeting people?

"or... wait, i might have a better suggestion."

the invisible dance he had in him stops as soon as when you said "wait."

"how about you be a coach?"

"to whom?"

"my fi-- adam."

"adam?"

"i know a kid. adam. he is a go-kart driver at our local go-kart circuit. he's still young. four. but i know that he has a potential. maybe not yet as an f1 driver. he's still a long way to go, but... c'mon. tell me you're game."

"and who's going to pay me?"

"you think i'm offering you a job?"

daniel raises his eyebrows.

"well, if you need that money so bad... i will pay you."

"you?" daniel snorts. "you can't afford me."

"funny. because looking at you right now? low motivation. love self-esteem. patience as thin as a thread. lost. your rate could be as low as 2% cut from my salary."

daniel put his hand on his heart. "ouch. that hurts."

"so. you game?"

when you come to pick daniel up from the melbourne park, he was not alone. it seems that daniel is smarter that he looks because he brings one of the person that he trusts the most and that is michael italiano. you know him as daniel's performance coach, someone who was responsible for all his physical trainings but now that he is here with him with you, you can see that michael is much more important to daniel than you think.

after a brief greeting, the car is silent for a few minutes. the only noise comes from the music that you put on until michael tells daniel to look at something to their left.

daniel doesn't stop talking with michael around. it makes your head hurts. your brain is pounding every time his voice hits your eardurm. maybe it's your perk but you'd rather drive in silence. but some part of you are grateful for his extrovertness because he makes the journey less awkward than it originally is. though through the rear-view mirror, you catch a glimpse of michael shaking his head at daniel's silliness. you bet he's used to it.

the familiar narrow road finally makes its appearance after 45 minutes of drive. you turn off the air-cond off and roll down your window, letting the fresh breeze of the outskirts hits your skin. and you smile. it's only yesterday that you were here yet you missed this place as if you haven't visited it for a long time. wanting to see if you're not feeling this alone, you glance at the person right next to you.

"wow!" you hear, not only one, but two men mutter.

"it's pretty isn't it?"

"yeah," both of them answer you at the same time. again.

you glance at the rear-view mirror again. the reaction michael has on his face is almost identical to daniel's. it looks as if they're twins instead of friends. you laugh at both of them. you remember luke had a twin even though not his identical twin. adam has adopted many of luke's facial expression and personalities even though he was barely one year old at the time.

the canopy trees finally welcome you as you enter the main entrance of the go-kart circuit. the sound of motor engine that came from the right side of the circuit tells you that the race already started. but it's still early. maybe they're only three laps in. you slow down your car as you drive straight until the grand building comes into view. there are already a lot of cars at the public parking spaces. finally, you pull your car at a space where it is reserved for "zahara hugh."

"come on, boys. we have a race to watch," you say as you gather your belongings.

both michael and daniel are looking at you in surprise. mouths agape.

"what?"

"you have your own parking space? reserved for you?" daniel asks.

"yeah, well. the family who owns this place knows me so."

"the family who owns this place knows you?" for some reason, it doesn't sound correct to daniel's ears. daniel looks around to find your name that was written on the tarmac. "who are you, zahara hugh?"

"zahara hugh? that's your name? you're the zahara hugh?" michael's eyes bulge out of its sockets. "oh my god, i can't believe it! miss hugh, i'm a big fan of your work! your writing. your book. they're-- they're amazing!"

you spontenously take michael's offering hand. it's the second handshake. while the first one was firm and 'made for business' but this one feels funny. but a good kind of funny. like business michael is replaced with a fan michael. the fan michael is more outgoing and fun. you almost feel like he is your friend.

"wait, wait, wait. what? who is she?"

"the writer of my favourite book," michael answers proudly and excitedly, letting go of your hand that you quickly retract. "remember the one that i made you read during the winter break? and you said that it makes your feelings haywire but a good kind of haywire. yeah. that's her. that's she."

"oh... wow..."

"so if you're zahara hugh--"

"please just call me zahara."

"so if you're zahara and you said that the family who owns this place knows you. and that you were once engaged to luke hampshire who died in a car crash and who had a go-kart circuit... that means that this is the hampshire go-kart circuit."

"bingo," you say.

michael is overjoyed. like a boy who sees his favourite playground, he hops out of you car and practically runs towards the front entrance of hampshire go-kart circuit. luke was the official owner of the building. his love for f1 didn't stop at his knowledge and the tv screen. he was willing to do anything to make himself close to f1 so he invested his own money to build a go-kart circuit. but after he died, the building is taken over by his family and his cousins.

you watch as michael disappear into the main building before your eyes snap at daniel's. "what?"

"why didn't you tell me that you had a fiance?"

"i don't remember you asked."

"and he died in a car crash?"

"it was three years ago, daniel. i've moved on."

no. you haven't. you haven't moved on from it. not a single step forward. you still remember him in every way possible even though three years has passed. but what you had luke wasn't just a relationship. there were more than just that.

"that time when you helped me calm down from my panic attack. you experienced that too, didn't you?"

you nervously laugh at daniel. you heard it everywhere. that people say mental health is important, but no matter how important they make it sound, you never felt comfortable sharing it out loud especially not to a person whom you just met.

you didn't let daniel ask you any more questions regarding your life so you hop out of the car and walk straight towards the stairs, into the main entrance of the circuit, into the main building. there are already people there, enjoying the race from the air-cond cool breeze. if this wasn't a kid's game, you're sure that there were champagne in their hands. daniel follows you until both of you are back outdoor, standing just outside the track. a stack of tyres up to daniel's waist separated the audience and the track.

"tell me. which one is adam?"

it doesn't take you long to recognise which one is luke's nephew even though from afar, these kids look the same. "the one in black helmet with purple stripes."

"is that hamilton's inspired helmet?"

adam was only two when luke bought that helmet for him. but the helmet luke bought was too big for adam's two-year-old head so his mother kept it somewhere safe until adam is big enough to fit.

"and he's at the back?"

"ever since luke died adam has been struggling to drive."

"what?"

you didn't understand what daniel was so confused about because you forgot that it was michael who knew about you and luke hampshire. but once you realise that, you brought daniel elsewhere. somewhere quieter. a place where there are less people to hear a conversation about your family. you cannot risk anyone at the side of the track to hear it. one of them could be your rival.

you bought two bottles of sprite before you ended up bringing daniel to adam's garage. this little garage where you first met luke years ago. you barely remember which year because everytime you spend the time with luke it feels like forever. you grab two plastic chairs from inside of the garage and set both of them just outside of the garage. here, you can see the race more clearly.

for some reason, the smell of burning tyres is even sharper from the outside than the inside. and, instead of coughing like what you did, daniel breathes in deeply as if he misses it so much. and you hated the smell of oil when you first came here but you get used to it now. after almost a year, you would think daniel doesn't like the smell of oil and gas, but to your surprise, daniel doesn't look bothered at all. if anything, he looks more relaxed.

"when adam first got involved in go-kart he was only two years old. luke was always there with him. inside. outside. in the garage. and being two, he learns everything fast. he was very good at karting. seriously. he awed a lot of team managers until eventually one of them signed adam to an academy."

"at two?"

"yeap. at two. trust me, i didn't even believe that either. we thought adam was too young but luke makes everything real and easy. until he died later that year where everything changed. adam didn't understand, but we know he missed his uncle so much. that's the reason why he's been performing badly. at first, we thought it's only for a few days or maybe weeks but--"

"it has been going on for three years..." daniel finishes my sentences. "have you tried to talk to him?"

"i did everything. just like what you did to get yourself back into f1." you feel daniel tenses, but you choose to ignore it and continue with adam's story. "his family and i even brought him to a vacation. his coach suggested that."

"did it work?" daniel struggles to take a sip of his sprite, but he manages well.

"for a few races, yeah. until he understands that luke will not come back and he lost every strength in him. sometimes, we think adam does this only for luke, but we don't know for sure. he might love go-kart personally, but maybe it's difficult without the person you trust the most with you."

daniel takes another sip of his sprite as he watches the race unfolds in front of him.

you are back inside the main building, came to meet luke's family who are talking amongst other parents and other guests and visitors who came for fun. the hampshire go-kart circuit is not a private circuit, neither it is a public one. not many people knew the existance of the hgc, but those who came are welcome to mingle to anyone they'd like.

when adam finishes his race, he quickly rushes out of his car. he doesn't care that he finished last. he takes off his helmet later when he runs out of the track then into the building, searching for you. daniel and michael were reunited somewhere after you excused yourself to meet adam's family. when adam finally found you, hugging your thigh with sweats still running down his forehead, both of the men are there to witness it.

everyone else are smiling as they watch a kid giggling and hugging an adult's thigh. but daniel's heart warms with the scene. there is a small smile at the end of his lips that he didn't notice he does that himself. it seems that daniel has been watching you and adam playing around for too long that michael nudges daniel's rib to get his attention.

"you're drooling, man."

daniel quickly wipes the side of his mouth but confused when his finds out that his hand is dry. "you cunt!"

and that is one of the reasons why daniel doesn't want to go out yet. it looks like everywhere he goes, he will always attract attention even when he didn't mean to. but out of the things that got people turning heads towards him, why must when he's cursing at his best friend in a place that is full of kids?

daniel is lost for words. but he particularly more ashamed of himself when he notices that you are looking at him. you have a smile on your face. it looks like you just had a joke with adam or something. and adam is on your hips. your arms around adam's back, holding him so he won't fall. daniel doesn't know where did the image of you holding his (his and yours) kid come from.

"come on. i want you to meet someone," you tell adam.

the meeting with adam was fun. all of you--you, daniel, michael--enjoyed it. what's more surprising is that adam enjoyed it. and you haven't told him that it's daniel ricciardo, one of the f1 drivers. although it weird to see adam having a good time, but you wouldn't ask for anything else if it takes an f1 driver and his coach to make adam smiling again.

"thank you for today," you thank daniel after michael left your car.

"no. thank you." daniel smiles. and it doesn't take a psychologist to see that it's a genuine, honest smile. "i had fun today. thanks. again."

"it feels like forever since we genuinely had fun, isn't it?" you laugh when you remember the struggle daniel is facing and the one that you're facing. both of you might have different reasons to your grieves, but the main core is still the same.

"but just to be sure, please don't--"

"the guests at the hgc just now were a bit special today. most of them are invited personally by me. and to be sure that your existance are not to be spoken by anyone out of the circuit and after today, i made them sign an agreement."

"you really did that?"

you nod your head. "so don't worry about it, okay? i know what it feels like. and if you still haven't figured out what i do for a living. yes, i'm a writer. not many people know, but it still can get overwhelming when people recognise me in public. and yes, i get some 'i'm sorry your fiance died'. still affects me though."

"i'm sorry."

"yeah, it's three--"

"you cannot lie to me. your face tells me everything i want to know. you haven't moved on. it still affects you. and i'm going to be adam's coach."

hearing that, your eyes open wide. your jaws hung low. you almost could not believe what you're hearing. "are you serious? you want to be adam's coach? seriously? oh my god-- wait, you're not doing this because you feel bad towards adam, are you?"

daniel laughs at your reaction. "it's not because of that. no. i do it because i think you're right. that it's time for me face my fears. go out. though rules still apply, but maybe this is a start."

"oh! thank you much, daniel! thank you! thank you! thank you!" you hug daniel tightly. the tremble on daniel's body is mild but you can still feel them especially when it is pressed tightly against your body.

daniel tenses. he doesn't move his arms around your torso to hug your back. and that's when you realise what you have done. you're probably the first person he lets himself acquinted with after months in hiding. and you hugging him like he is your long-time friend, breaching his personal space, definitely doesn't help it.

you quickly pull back. "sorry."

both of you ended up exchanging phone numbers so that it will be easier for you text daniel adam's karting schedule. though daniel makes it clear that he won't be around all the time and that adam's schedule might need to change so that both of them can make it. either way, you're excited to see adam and daniel working together. and you already see the success daniel brings to the team.

* * *

part ii.

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciado x you #honey badger #f1 fanfiction #mental health

72 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 4 years ago

Text

Sixty Six Percent [Spencer x fem! Reader]

A/N - This is for my “girls night out” square on my CM bingo card for @cmbingo, which you can find the masterlist for here. Also loosely based off this prompt I’ve been wanting to write for a while - Our best friends are that awful “cute” couple that make out in public and call each other “sweetie” and “sugar” and god they’re awful, let’s talk about how awful they are – develops into “oh we’re that awful couple now”. Includes some Galvez and is set circa season 14 ish. Bottom right image taken from Kirsten’s Instagram.

CW - not much really - just drinking and fluff.

In which girls night takes an unexpected turn when it coincides with boys night.

WC: 2.2K

Find my full Masterlist here.

Western’s bar in DC on a Friday night had been a must for girls night out. It was known for its cheap drinks, loud music and packed dance floor. Everything you and the girls were looking for.

When your closest friends worked for the FBI, arranging girls night was always a near impossible feat. You’d lost count of how many times Penelope, Emily, JJ and Tara had to bail on your plans because another case had come up.

You understood, you’d been best friends with Penelope for years now and you appreciated their schedules were hectic but you were always left downtrodden when they’d had to cancel again.

But finally after weeks of cancellations and rescheduling, tonight they had been free for girls night.

Shots were flowing and you all showed off your moves on the dance floor. You and Tara being the only single ones of the group danced with a few men but it was all harmless flirting, nothing serious.

You weren’t looking to take someone home tonight.

It was nearing midnight and you had all taken a break from dancing to rehydrate with vodka. You noticed Penelope’s eyes shift away from the girls across the room and her perfectly sculpted eyebrows knitted together.

“What is it, Pen?” You asked her, having to speak loudly to be heard over the music.

“We can’t just have one night.” She rolled her eyes but then her face broke out into a large smile. “Excuse me.” And with that she sauntered off.

Your gaze followed where she had gone to see her throwing herself into the arms of her boyfriend, Luke Alvez.

You chuckled to yourself, nudging Emily in the arm.

“They just can’t stay away from each other can they?” You laughed.

“It’s disgusting really.” Emily also laughed.

“Looks like they're having a boys night. We should probably go and say hi.” JJ shrugged.

“I suppose it would be rude not to.” Tara agreed.

The four of you followed in Penelope’s footsteps across the room. You’d met most of the team over the years thanks to Penelope and you said your hellos to Luke, Rossi and Matt.

The last man you came to had incredible hazel eyes, which even in the dim lighting of the bar you could see were flecked with gold. He had a light stubble on his cheeks and untamed curls you had a sudden desire to run your fingers through.

Spencer Reid, you assumed. You’d heard of him countless times but for whatever reason the two of you had never met. You got the impression he avoided social situations in lieu of more academic pursuits.

You’d heard stories of his time in prison and looking at him now it struck you that there was a hint of sadness in those hazel eyes and you assumed that must be why.

“You must be Spencer.” You smiled a little shyly at him. You had no idea he’d be so attractive. “I’m Y/N.”

He smiled at you but you noticed it was stifled. Like he knew the fact you knew his name meant you knew what had happened to him.

“Yes, I’m Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you Y/N, I can’t believe we’ve never met before.” Despite the sadness about him, his eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked at you and it made you feel hot under the collar.

“Me either.” You couldn’t help but beam, had Penelope been hiding him from you? He was just your type.

You turned to look at your friends briefly but were surprised to find them gone. Tara, Emily, JJ and Matt were now dancing in the middle of the floor while Rossi propped up the bar, sipping his single malt.

A few feet from where you were standing with Spencer, Luke and Penelope were swapping saliva in an extremely NC-17 fashion.

He had his hands on her voluptuous backside and her fingers were clawing at his shirt.

“Are they always like this?” You turned back to Spencer with a grimace.

He shrugged.

“Not always but often enough not to be phased by it anymore.” He chucked a little.

“Young love.” You laughed too.

“They’re actually pretty cute when they aren’t pushing the boundaries of public displays of affection.”

“Pen always refers to him as bunny, it makes me sick.” You laughed harder.

“Oh gosh.” Spencer pulled a face. “They flirt over the phone on cases all the time. It takes forever to get an answer out of Garcia because they have to flirt in every single call.”

“I bet he hasn’t described to you their sex life in graphic detail. Because Penelope has.” You shudder a little. “I know more about Luke’s anatomy than I ever needed to know.”

“That’s...that’s unfortunate.” Spencer laughed.

“Yeah that’s one way to put it.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” His smile was much less sad now, and more genuine as he looked at you. The way he was smiling at you made you feel weak.

“That would be really nice.” You nodded.

You followed Spencer to the bar where he ordered you both a drink and paid. He then led you over to a small booth away from the chaos where you sat next to him to allow you to be able to converse over the music. At least that’s what you told yourself.

It had nothing to do with the fact you wanted to be close to him. Absolutely nothing.

“One time we were on a case in Boston and I called Garcia and for whatever reason she thought I was Luke and she started graphically describing what she was going to do to me, Luke when I got home. It was...disturbing to say the least.”

“Oh wow. That sounds...horrible.” You laughed.

“I’ve not been able to properly look her in the eye since.” Spencer pulled a face.

“They are the definition of sickening. But they’re happy. I guess that’s all that matters.” You shrugged, sipping your drink. “They’re lucky, one night stands have never worked out that well for me.”

“No?” Spencer looked inquisitive. “I’ve never had one.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought everyone had had at least one.”

“Statistically only sixty six percent of American’s have had a one night stand before.”

“I forgot Penelope told me you were a genius.” You laughed again. “That’s a surprisingly low number.”

“It’s still over two hundred and sixteen million people.” he didn’t even look as though he had to think to know something like that. You were impressed and felt slightly inadequate in comparison to him.

“Oh, in that case I suppose it is a lot.” you didn’t really know what you could say to that. “Can I ask why you’ve never had a one night stand?”

Spencer contemplated his answer this time. Facts and statistics rolled off his tongue but when he had to speak of personal things it often took him a moment to find the right thing to say.

“I suppose I’m a romantic at heart. One night stands seem kind of...disheartening to me. I’m not saying never but I’ve never felt the need thus far in my life.”

“See I don’t agree.” you turned in your seat so you could look at him properly. This close you could really see his incredible bone structure, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. You wanted to run your fingertips over the delicate curves of his face, kiss the stubble on his soft skin and make your way to those plump lips of his. “Being single is hard, especially when your best friend is Penelope who is and is all loved up with Alvez. One night stands provide a little solace from the loneliness I guess.” you shrugged, trying not to sound like you were throwing a pity party for yourself.

“But isn’t it just lonely all over again when it's over?” Spencer leaned closer to you and your eyes were fixated on his lips.

“I don’t know.” mirroring him, you leaned closer. “We could always find out.” you smirked at him. You had just met him and you knew being so brazenly flirtatious could be dangerous territory. But you’d gone all these years without ever crossing paths so you supposed if this went south and Spencer rebuffed you then avoiding him wouldn’t be that difficult.

His facial expression didn’t change so you had no idea what he was thinking or how he had taken your advances. He leaned even closer and your eyes were still locked on his lips.

“Are you asking me to come home with you Y/N?” his eyes were dark, lust perhaps?

“I’m asking you to join the sixty six percent Spencer.”

For a few long seconds neither of you moved or spoke. Spencer eyes fell over you, lingering longer on your lips. You shifted a little in your seat feeling hot under his intense gaze. He leaned even closer and you thought he was about to kiss you, but just as he inched towards you, a voice snapped you back to reality.

“Y/N there you are!” it was Emily. “And Spence, hey.”

“Hi Emily, what’s up?” you would never forgive her if she had gotten in the way of Spencer kissing you.

“Come and dance, it's girls night!” she tugged your arm, pulling you so you were on your feet.

Spencer shuffled out of the booth behind you. As Emily started dragging you towards the dancefloor, he came close to your ear and whispered “I’ll come and find you later.” and then he headed over towards Rossi who was still propping up the bar.

You danced with the girls for hours, even Penelope when she came up for air and pried herself away from Luke for more than a few seconds. The drinks kept flowing, laughter was aplenty; it was a great night all round. It had been worth waiting for.

Around three am you and the girls decided to call it night. You were a little tipsy and your feet hurt from all the dancing. You had lost track of Spencer earlier in the night, you were a little disappointed but it was probably for the best. A one night stand with your best friend's colleague would no doubt only end in disaster.

You said your goodbyes outside, hugs and cheek kisses were dished out and they all promised you would have another girls night as soon as their schedules allowed. You lived on the other side of town than the girls so you waved off their cab from the curb and awaited the next one. It wasn’t long before another cab pulled up and to your confusion the rear window rolled down as it came to a stop.

“Told you I’d find you later.” Spencer smiled at you from the backseat.

You tried to hide your blush as you slid in next to him.

“I thought you left.” you buckled yourself in and almost immediately Spencer took hold of your hand.

“Not without you.” he leaned closer and then his lips pressed against yours in the backseat of the cab and you felt your whole body turn to jelly at the sensation. He used his free hand to cup your face as he deepened the kiss.

You felt a jolt of electricity coarse through you, something you had never felt before. Your lips moved in such a synchronized fashion it was crazy to think you had never done this before. You felt as though you’d waited your entire life for this moment.

The kiss lasted a few minutes and when it ended you both panted slightly, trying to grasp at the air that had escaped your lungs. He kept his hand on your cheek, stroking small circles on your skin with his thumb.

“Are you ready to join the sixty six percent club Spencer?” you smirked at him in the dark.

He kissed you again, softly this time, more cautiously.

“I’m quite comfortable in the minority. And I already know I am not going to be able to settle for one night with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, and the loving look he was giving you. You squeezed his hand, kissing him once more.

“If you take me for breakfast in the morning, you can have as many nights as you like.” you winked at him which made him blush a little.

“I’m sure we can arrange that, my love.”

“Thirty four percent it is then.” you laughed, settling your head on Spencer’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed your head.

You would have to berate Penelope for not introducing you to Spencer sooner. But you might also need to cut her and Luke some slack, because you had a feeling you and Spencer were going to become an awful, cutesy couple just like them. But when it was happening to you, you didn’t mind so much. Maybe you’d even let Spencer call you bunny…

...On second thoughts, maybe not. Somethings would never change. You’d leave the cringey nicknames to Penelope and Luke. At least for now anyway. Tomorrow was another day.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #cmbingo21 #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #penelope garcia #luke alvez #emily prentiss #tara lewis #jennifer jareau #david rossi #matt simmons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

484 notes · View notes

nickcarr-scoutstories · 2 years ago

Photo

I step into the small corner store and the smell of boiling peanuts floods my nose. It’s a pulpy, soggy odor, wasted of anything identifiable as a peanut. I find it more sickening with each visit.

The market is small. Candy bars are locked behind protective glass. Only a few of each item on the shelves: three boxes of spaghetti, four cans of chicken noodle soup…

I locate the owner in the rear of the store. He hunches over pots of boiling peanuts, stirs them slowly.

The man is ancient. He might be in his 80s, or he might be well past 100. He is bent and rigid, skin taut over bone, yet still wrinkled like worn leather.

I have a check to give him for $5,000. We’re filming on his block for two weeks, and he’s allowed us to use his rear parking lot for staging.

Throughout the shoot, I’ve made it a point to show this man the utmost courtesy and respect. Though I don’t know his history, it’s clear that he has lived a hard life, and my goal is for our production to be an experience he looks back positively on.

And yet, at every point, his manner has confused me. He speaks in short, curt sentences. There’s a bitterness to his voice. His eyes remind me of unlit coals.

The man sees the check. He motions for me to give it to the woman at the register, then returns back to his pots without a further word.

The woman at the register is his literal opposite. She’s about half his age, likely in her 40s. She’s obese, barely able to fit in the small space behind the counter. Where he has been steadfastly quiet and emotionless, the woman is loud and adversarial.

“That’s it?” she asks, eying the amount on the check. “Feels like you’re taking us for a ride.”

“In fact, you’re actually getting more than most business owners on the block because you have such a large a lot,” I explain.

She “hmmphs” me skeptically, resumes painting her nails. Like with the owner, the conversation ends abruptly.

I leave. The smell of the boiling peanuts trails me out, soaked into my clothes, my hair, my skin. I turn back to stare at the store for a moment, perplexed by an encounter that mirrors every previous encounter.

Then, I hear a voice behind me: “You actually gave money to that piece of shit?”

I turn. It’s the owner of the hardware store further down the block, who I’ve come to know during our shoot.

“Bet you think he’s just a kindly old man,” he says. “That man destroyed this neighborhood. For real.”

I ask him to tell the story.

“Back in the 80s, when crack first hit this area, that man’s son, a teenager at the time, became a dealer for one of the gangs. One day, a deal went bad, there was a shootout, and his son was gunned down. Dad over there swore he’d get revenge.

“So he started his own drug operation. He hired everyone that used to work with his son, paid them double what they were making to switch crews. He sold crack for cheaper than anyone else in the hood, because he wasn’t in it to make money. He started taking over the entire game.

“And his ace in the hole? You meet his old lady?” I ask if he means the woman behind the register. “Yeah. That’s his wife. He had her open a bail bond place. So anytime his guys got pinched, they’d call her and she’d have them back on the streets the next day selling.”

“The other gangs started getting mad over the lost business. That’s when the violence started. The killings. People were dying all over the place. Kids in his gang, kids in rival gangs, kids who were using his drugs. It went on long after all the people responsible for his son’s death were taken care of. It was like he couldn’t stop.

“Eventually, they got him. He was given 25 years. Been gone ever since. He only got released last month.

“That’s the man you’ve been so generous with,” he says with a laugh. “Just a kindly old man.”

I later confirm the story with a police officer assigned to our production. For the rest of the shoot, I avoid the owner and his store as much as possible.

But I can’t help notice each morning as the man hobbles to his store at 6AM and begins the process of boiling his peanuts, which he tends to unwaveringly throughout the day until he closes the store in the evening.

And not once in the entire two weeks of filming do I ever see a customer buy a bag of his boiled peanuts.

Please share/follow/like if you enjoyed.

More stories: nickcarr.com

4 notes · View notes

goodlucktai · 4 years ago

Text

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just…”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen ning #wen qing #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #it was only a matter of time fellas #the ship sways

96 notes · View notes

cumbercookiebatchs · 4 years ago

Text

Everything was going well until it wasn't anymore.

It's not like Enjolras wasn't expecting it; there's always the possibility for a paceful march to spiral down into chaos and violence.

That's why they always have a plan.

That's why every single one of them knows what to do and where to go, where to meet and when.

That's why Enjolras is so fucking worried rignt now, fingers trembling and huffing breath, heart stuck in his troath.

And, it had happened before, for one or more of them to make it late at the meeting point, or not to make it at all, calling either to get picked up from hospital or bailed out of jail, but it's been four hours already and still there was no sign of Grantaire.

No call, no nothing.

Even Combeferre was starting to look worried.

Enjolras, on the other hand, was starting to look hysterical, his blond curls tragically tangled from his hands running through them continuously.

There was a light murmuring going on around the room;

Cosette shooting Marius'pain with kind words while disinfecting an open gash on his arm, Eponine talking quietly on the phone, everyone moving around either helping someone else or looking for medical supplies.

He checked his phone, still silent, and wrenched it back in his pocket, turning toward Combeferre, pale and trembling and fucking worried because damn it all where the hell was Grantaire? Why were them all so calm and collected when he could be everywhere?

What if something had happened?

What if he was hurt?!

What if, what If-

Enjolras felt tears well up in his eyes, both from worry and frustration.

He wiped them away with an angry wrench of his hand and looked up at his friend, taking in the slight turn of his lips. Combeferre was worried, too.

Then why where they doing nothing?!

"Combeferre, what if he's hurt? What if he's lying somewhere, bleeding out or already dead and we're not doing anything to find him?! What if he's lost? What if he's got a concussion?! Combeferre why are we not doing anythin to find him?! If something happens to him I- oh God, please."

Hands fluttering, Enjolras' breath stuttered even more, coming in shallow, fast little huffs.

Combeferre laid his warm palms on Enjolras's shoulders and fixed their eyes, grounding him down." Enjolras, you need to calm down"

"But what if-"

"We'll give him half an hour still. If he's still not here, then we'll start looking. Okay? C'mon, let's get on the balcony, you need a bit of fresh air."

"But I-"

"No questions"

So they go, and when they come back inside, after what feels like hours he's there, right there in the middle of the room, his face is bruised and there's a gash on his eyebrow but he's there and he's alright, he's fine and Enjolras can't really stop himself, when he strides the few steps that still separe them to hug him, burying his face in the croock of his neck.

Grantaire is surprised, Enjolras can tell. He's stiff and unmoving, but Enjolras doesn't really care that much. He's vaguely aware that he's crying, relived tears falling down his cheecks and he slaps Grantaire's back, hard, still hugging him.

"Never do this to me. Never again."

Grantaire's hands flutter for a spare second, then his arms close lightly around Enjolras' waist.

Someone clears their troath, somewhere close to his left, and Enjolras hears muffled footsteps as their friends leave the room. He catches a glimpse of Courfeyrac giving him thumbs up before disappearing out the door. He hides his smile in Grantaire’s neck.

Grantaire is hugging him fully now, and Enjolras draws back a little; just a little bit, enough to look up at him and brush the tip of his fingers on Grantaire's cheeck, tenderly tracing the bruise there.

Grantaire blinks and blushes, a timid smile on his lips.

"Enjolras?"

"You're hurt"

"It's nothing-- he says, palms encircling the fine bones of Enjolras' wrists -- were you worried?"

Of course he was.

He was so fucking worried that just thinking about it has his breath speeding up again. He buries his face in Grantaire chest, hugs him even tighter.

" I didn't know where you were. Grantaire I didn't know if you were okay, I couldn't breathe."

Grantaire's arms tightens around him, "I'm sorry"

Enjolras shakes his head stubbornly, still hidden away in Grantaire’s chest.

"You're not forgiven" - he says, or grumbles, more like. Grantaire chuckles, the rumble of it reverberating through Enjolras' whole form. He nudges their heads together, "I'm not?"

"No"

"Will I ever be?"

"Maybe."

"Alright then, what do you say if we stay like this for a bit, mh?"

"... It would be a good start on your way toward forgiveness. It's an uptilt road that includes you going on a date with me."

Grantaire laughs again, full and loud and happy, and Enjolras smiles too, close to his heart. Grantaire tips his chin up,

" Enjolras, are you saying what I think you're saying? "

Enjolras blushes, he nods.

Grantaire kisses him then, slow and tender, a smiling bursh of lips and tongue. They part, and Grantaire wipes away his tears, kisses the tip of his nose.

Enjolras kisses him again.

And again.

#enjoltaire #grantaire #les miserables #les mis fandom #enjolras #les mis #Enjoltaire drabble #Enjoltaire one shot #Enjoltaire #Riri's writing

69 notes · View notes

occassionalfanficwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Unyieldingly Yours,

Summary: Mammon had always been used to having pacts masters that never treated him kindly. He figured that the new human exchange student was the same except he's been recieving gifts for no reason at all and his new master treats him like he's the favorite among his less troublesome brothers. And now there's another ring on his finger and suddenly his master isn't his master anymore.

Or a love story that happens out of sequence.

A/N: The story is told in medias res. I wish the keep reading option was fucking available on mobile.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Fake Relationship, Slow burn only because Mammon and Mammorons are two halves of a whole pining idiota, local oblivious insecure demon in love with his sugar guardian human who pampers him to spite the world, Pretend Marriage up until it becomes the real deal, Hurt before Comfort, Intimacy disguised as helpfulness that would make Jane Austen proud, Love Words are: praise kink and acts of service, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence e.g. we went back to the orginal timeline, Through Love Miracles Happen

Rated: E for explicit descriptions of cock sucking (and emotions)

The facts of the matter are this:

He, the Avatar of Greed, is the first demon to get married.

His spouse is the human exchange student.

They are married in Devildom, the Human World, and the Celestial Realm.

His marriage is a sham.

Of the four facts about his current life, the fourth one is the one that bothers him the least. He knows his worth and it isn't much. He's happy enough that his Human was sparing his pride and dignity. That he doesn't have to worry that one day he'd go home and see someone else with them or have to go and stake his claim loudly and over and over again.

Everything was still the same as before they married. He invests and it fails, his Master/ Spouse/ Human bails him out. He has no money to spend and Blackie is out of the wallet and in his hand to use. His brothers gang up on him and his Human/Master/Spouse is there to save him even if sometimes he did whatever crime he was being accused of.

Mammon is used to being treated unkindly because that's what you get when you failed a rebellion. What he isn't used to was this:

"Mammon, can you get my book from the table?" accompanied by a sweet, pleading smile he couldn't resist.

"Darling, come with me to check out this new café?" said with a loving look and an arm hooked to his.

"Hello Love, your tie is as crooked as always!" a complaint without any bitterness or dislike and was instead said with great care as hands slid to his neck to redo the tie interspersed with quick and short kisses to his exposed collar bones, neck and finally his lips.

In short Mammon isn't used to you or your tender affections or your niceness or you being kind to him. Because it isn't really real when you have this gleam in your eyes that he knows all too well. It's defiance of what is expected and he knows it won't end well if he really goes and let himself believe. Defiance is what led to him being a demon. Love was what made him Fall and he doesn't want to do it a second time.

Except...

Except that he was greedy for the things no one could have easily.

Except that you were the exception to his rule and you had made him the exception to yours.

You'd made yourself a home in his heart in a place where their Father once was, branded him as yours in a way no one would ever be able to do. Your love was not a finite source and you forgave him for his sins far more easily in a way Father never would.

You had made him better...good in a way that a demon shouldn't be and you had accepted all of him, flaws and all and still proclaimed him beautiful, eyes shining as if you were seeing who he was before the Fall, before the Celestial War and it makes it harder for him to resist.

To believe that this marriage meant more than a way to spite Lord Diavolo and his schemes, to spite his brothers, to spite their Father, and to spite every human that called him as he was a Greedy Bastard.

He muses all of this as he watched you putter around your home in the human world. One that both of you had bought and registered as shared property. He looks at the homey but extravagant decorations at the wide windows that let the sun in and how it reminds him of his former home.

"Mammon! Where did we put the liquid polish?!" You whined and turned to him.

He moves away from his place on the wall and guides you to the cabinet tools and teasingly said,

"Jeez, what would you do without me?"

"Well, good thing we'd never have to found out!" You retorted as you pulled him towards the loveseat and instead of the sensible option of the L-section.

His traitorous heart stutters.

And he knew that he was destined to Fall again. As you gently removed your wedding bands, hands tenderly holding his, and with your lips kissing the spot where his wedding ring would have been resting...he wishes that you'd catch him if he did Fall again. That his lungs would not hurt from the impact of landing on the cold hard ground, that he wouldn't be left to remake himself once more stained with mud and dirt.

He kisses you softly, tenderly in a way that he once used to before the War. When softness was not a death sentence and a crime. He holds you close and tight in an embrace that demons aren't supposed to do.

Here are the things Mammon doesn't know:

That somewhere between forming a pact with him and late movie nights you had seen him.

That you had never meant for things to end up like this, a complicated mess of emotions.

That Love was a choice and you had chosen him.

You had arrived in Devildom not knowing what to expect beyond the worse and Mammon on your first meeting had done nothing to prove you wrong.

Until that moment in the classroom. When he had told his story about helping that child in the hospital. You had taken one look at him and you knew he was telling the truth even when Levi said differently.

You knew best on how to make a truth sound like a lie afterall.

Somehow from that point you paid a closer attention to Mammon. Silently observing him and noting what he likes and dislikes. Piecing together who he was beyond the Avatar of Greed, beyond being the Second Brother, beyond the demon who you had a pact with.

It was a like a puzzle whose entire picture was discordant. He was a demon capable of ruthlessness, and yet he was an emotional mess. A demon that empathizes deeply. He was smart and yet he could be an idiot sometimes.

He was perhaps the most humanlike among them, in a way that never ceased to surprise you.

"Oi! Why are you staring at me like that?" Mammon complained.

And you kept your smile before looking away from him.

"!"

"You-you've been hanging out too much with Lucifer and Satan!"

"Oh? Have I?" You teased him.

"Yeah! You've got the same evil smile as them now!"

You laughed softly and beckoned him to come close. And Mammon, never one to deny himself of a chance to plaster himself unto you, leaned over. Your voice softly whispering unto his ear,

"I just wanted to look at my favorite demon."

And then a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth which Levi saw as he entered the Common Area. And it started from there, tender touches whenever one of the other brothers were present.

A hand on his shoulder, or using his body to lean on, a gentle tug of his hair to keep him quiet during a marathon sometimes with a kiss to his head to pacify him.

If you were feeling bold and particularly touch starved you'd watch a horror movie with him and be the big spoon just so he can hide his face on your chest and you'd kiss the crown of his head until the scary moments passed.

And if you were lucky you'd get to sleep with him. (If you were extra lucky he'd sleep naked and let himself be held and then you'd wake up in a tangle of limbs ,and Mammon would take your breath away with the way the moon shines on his sleeping visage.)

In rare moments, when it was just you and him, you'd look at him and try to see past who he was now to catch a glimpse of the Angel that was. And you like to think that you do see what he was as an Angel.

It was in the gentle way he'd somehow look when lost in his thoughts, a private moment within his mind that he'd let you see sometimes. It was in the way he'd touch you on the days were being a human was hard. It was the way he'd look at you when you'd give small trinkets that now decorated his room.

In the way his face lightened up when you'd place a spare toothbrush on your bathroom for him to use.

It was in this small moments where the two of you integrate each other into a routine that was slowly being shared between you two. Sometimes you loved him too much that it hurts.

In between the small gifts that reminded you of him, in the stolen glances, and pretending like everything wasn't a calculated dance between the two of you...foolishly you realized that you had already loved him. There was no grand epiphany or the feeling of time stopping.

There had only been you and him, in the music room. Teaching him how to play Tchaikovsky, laughing along and smiling at his antics. He was talented at it and you had wondered if it was inherent or it was due to his long lived life.

As quick as the notes that the two of you began to play, you realized you had fallen in love and you continued to do so, following his lead and not regretting it for a single moment.

"You're just like this piece" You thought as the tempo changes from fast and playful into slowing down into a gentle playful beat, and as the piece ended and the notes lingered in the air you knew in the very depths of your heart, you would never be able to love anyone the way you came to love Mammon.

"Mammon, marry me?"

You asked, impulsive but certain.

"I'm a demon!" He blurts out, cheeks red.

"And I'm a human."

"I'm drowning in debts—"

"I'm rich."

"Well I'm poor!"

"How can you be poor when my assets are yours to spend?"

"Yo-you can't just do that! What if a real scum emptied out your bank account?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you're the only one who'll get this treatment."

He chokes on air and flails about.

"Those aren't good enough reasons!"

"Then what about this: I love you."

He stops and blinks and covers his face with his hands, "That's not fair..."

You smile and kiss him softly on his forehead.

"I love you," You repeat "in ten thousand realities I'd choose you and love you."

"Just me?" He asked with a small voice, vulnerable and yet filled with uncertain hope.

"Just you."

And he smiled at you so brightly it felt like seeing the sun for the first time. He never stopped surprising you.

"Mammon, be my only man."

"Okay."

The thing is that its easy to forget that love was a choice. That no matter how many times you've used a spear as a walking stick it didn't change the fact that it was still a spear. That in the euphoria of love, of being human, you forgot that they had to shed what made them an Angel.

The thing is its easy to get wrapped up in your hurt and drown yourself in it to avoid the uncomfortable truth of the matter:

You were just a blip in his long life, and yet he would have loved you with the entirety of his being.

Loved you without leaving some for himself. And you had selfishly decided to carve out his last remaining hope because you had made your decision long ago.

Your Mammon over everything else. Not even a version of him could compare to the one you held on the palm of your hands. So you had closed your eyes and turned around, went back and ignored the pleas of staying and heart broken sobs as he begged you.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't leave me, please..."

"You have questions." You state, as you cleaned your wedding ring.

The light catching the engraved words inside the ring.

"Why me?" He asked and hugged you tighter, clinging and drowning himself into the sweet scent of your shampoo.

You stayed silent, unsure with how much of your heart you wanted to bear. Afraid of being known and found wanting.

"Sometimes...I dream of him...the one you didn't choose..."

"The one I abandoned" You thought bitterly.

"He...he just went and lived in the human world...in the place you used to lived in..."

You kept silent and played with the ring in your hand.

"Did you know that he had planned on confessing...? He wanted to give her one of his rings..."

"Mammon..." You begged him.

"Tell me...why come back when the outcome would have been the same?"

"Because he wasn't you. He isn't my Mammon, I had no presence in his life!" You turned and glared at him, unwilling to shed tears, and reveal how the thought of losing him hurt more than leaving a version of him behind.

You didn't want him to know how you've grown used to him in your life that even if you had stayed back there you'd end up searching for the traces of him in that Mammon.

"I love you, this you that married me! I'm in love with you! Beyond reason! Beyond everything the world can offer me!" You cried at the unfairness of him asking this of you as if your love that was blatant to the world was not real.

"How am I supposed to believe you?" He asked.

Hurt and fear etched in his blue and gold flecked eyes.

"With the way that I am here, in this moment with you, in your embrace, cleaning our wedding rings together." You answered as you cupped his face and looked at him in the eye and let him see the depths of your love for him.

"This is real" You say kissing his forehead, the gap between his eyes and then his lips, softly and sweetly as if he was the most precious treasure on all three realms.

And he was.

"I am in love with you, the angel that fell, the demon that rose from the ashes of who you used to be. I am in love with the you who trips over his words, the you who loves your siblings. I am in love with you who is more human than me."

You confessed, "How can I not come back to you? When you are my home? Mammon, we could divorce and undo our pact and even so I would still love you and no one else would be able to fill the hole you'll leave in me if our love fades..."

"I'm scared that one day I'll have nothing left of you. That I wouldn't have any way to prove to myself that you were real."

He whimpered.

"Then let's find a way."

"What if we fail?"

"What if we succeed?"

He looked at you, tears in his eyes and it reminded you of that Mammon you had hurt so cruelly for the sake of the one you held carefully on the palm of your hands.

"The truth is that I have loved you from the start, in that classroom as you confessed your kindness."

"That long?!"

You smiled through your tears, "Do you understand now? I'm only kind because you are, you can be greedy of me, covet all of me. You can want all of my kindness because it was all for you."

You wiped his tears and kissed the corners of his eyes. Kissed his lips deeply and tasted him.

He held you closer to him, chest to chest as his hands moved to your hips. You rutted against him lost in the sensations of his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your now bare open chest.

He presses harder against you, giving you the friction to heat up your insides and you moan when his fingers enter you and he begins his ministrations. You miss his lips against yours even if your hands had traversed his chest and was now fumbling to unzip his pants.

The sex this time would be different.

"Let me worship you" You asked with a dazed look in your eyes from the love and lust you felt for him.

He laughs softly as if he had never known you were not the most devout of believers.

"Turning away from your God now?"

You smile enticingly, kissing him on his cheek, resting your entire weight on him.

"One cannot serve both God and Mammon," you whispered in his ear "Therefore I will serve you."

And Mammon feels the heavy weight of your words, clutches you tighter as your words settle between the two of you and lingers in the air.

"You can't," He paused to exhale "you can't take that back."

"I'd never."

He takes you into the bedroom and you worship him. You leave a trail of kisses across his muscular and toned chest, leading downwards to his thick cock standing at attention.

You paused for a moment to admire him.

"Why did you stop?" He whined.

"I think I am starting to understand what Theresa was on about."

And Mammon snorts and looked smug up until you take his whole cock into your mouth and start blowing him.

"Fuck!" He curses hands curled into your hair as he thrusts into your mouth. You take more of him in letting him fuck your mouth while your hand teased his balls.

He looked at you and saw you look so smug even when your mouth was getting fucked.

"Why did I ever—" He moaned "think that you were innocent—"

You take him deeper and as your gag reflex went away and Mammon comes down in your throat and you let out a pleased hum that made him come harder.

"Because I'm good at being a real hedonist~"You teased him and you pushed him back down gently on the bed and climbed on top of him.

His hands rests on your hips

You think back on all the names and endearment you've called him as you idly traced upon the white markings on his skin. His cock was already twitching in interest.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, gasping as your right hand played with his nipple.

"What I would I name a painting of you" You replied before sucking on his other nipple and lightly biting it.

"And?"

You looked at him and smirked,

"Chamahel."

There is power in naming things.

He had fallen for so long that he had forgotten what he used to be before being Mammon. Before turning a word into a name and owning it.

In the place in his heart where their Father's Grace used to dwell, in that place in his mind where the name he had been bestowed was forcibly crossed off, becoming unutterable in his tongue something had changed. He had been redeemed.

And it had come in slow and almost unnoticeable small increments with each passing moment he had shared with you. Briefly, he wondered if it was because of your love.

And then he discarded that thought because nothing was more important than knowing that he was—is loved by you.

Here are the things that both of you have come to know:

That through love a demon, even an Avatar of Sin, can be redeemed.

That long lasting love exists only because both of you kept on choosing each other.

That a marriage can last through several lifetimes because the soul never forgets.

And that Paradise was not where Heaven was but instead in the time shared with your lover.

#obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #mammon x mc #R-18 #im on mobile so forgive me for the mistakes #will crosspost this on ao3 once i get an access to a laptop #one shot #might expand later on but who knows #not me definitely #fanfic

188 notes · View notes

captcas · 5 years ago

Text

illicit affairs

illicit affairs by capthamm

They’ve talked about it at nauseum, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The set-ups and glares from their friends at the constant “not interested”s. The fake first dates and the constant sneaking around… she wouldn’t trade a second of it.

part two of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series / read invisible string

Hoping for any reprieve from the cold, Emma pulls down the ends of her ¾ length sleeves and tucks her fists into her elbows. Bouncing lightly on her toes she curses him under her breath, “Killian, where the fuck are you?” She turns to her left mid-pace and slams into something solid.

The overwhelmingly familiar scent of saltwater and vanilla body wash overcomes her.

Before she can think, two rough hands are grabbing her cheeks and she’s melting into a kiss that feels more like home with every second. All traces of the cold she was so desperate to rid herself of are forgotten, heat sinking to her bones.

When they come up for air Emma speaks first, “You’re late.”

She knows he probably has a good reason, but sometimes their situation makes her act childish.

Killian as chuckles softly, the warmth of his breath tickling her lips where she can still feel the remnants of his kiss. “I know, love. I’m sorry. Liam he–”

She cuts him off with a kiss, “I don’t care. How long do we have?”

His shoulders sag beneath her hands and she knows she isn’t going to like the answer. “Not long, darling.” He steps back, only a few inches, but enough for the chill to return ever so slightly. He brushes the hair out of her eyes and she can see the pain in his.

She hates this too.

Liam had a strict no fraternizing among employee policies. He hired Emma on one condition– Killian was not allowed to fall in love with her. Liam made one fatal error in his offer that day– he didn’t account for the fact that Killian was already in love with Emma.

A loophole KJ points out to Emma every chance he gets.

A secret loophole they spend every single day in.

Their loophole.

Emma met Killian by pure coincidence. Ruby begged her to go to some charity gala and Emma went because she’s pretty sure she owed her one. Killian hating stuffy events as much as she did had them spending most of their night in the same corner… together. Everything after that felt like fate.

She had recently quit her bail bonds job (a skip kicked out one of her teeth and she did not get paid enough for dental surgery) and Killian’s brother was opening a new boat rental company. They needed an office manager and Emma talked up her stapling and faxing skills.

“Do people still use fax machines, Swan?”

“No but I still know how to use one… just in case.”

“Fair enough. For the record, if it were up to me, love, you’d start tomorrow.”

But it wasn’t up to Killian. Liam was guarded (protective) and didn’t like the idea of letting Emma into their small operation. It took four months of her sticking around before Liam even entertained the idea– Killian and her falling into a best friendship as though they’d known each other their whole lives.

Emma didn’t learn about Liam’s one condition until over a year after Killian called her telling her that she got the job.

He asked if she wanted to grab drinks after work and one shot led to another. Soon they were spilling their darkest secrets, both of them blushing when they admitted growing feelings for one another, and Liam’s ultimatum sort of slipped out.

Emma found the loophole.

Now here they are next to a dumpster in the middle of November hoping Liam doesn’t have some huge change of character and actually take the garbage out for once in his life. They’ve never discussed what happens if– when– they get caught.

Emma moved her way up to an event manager and Killian is officially a partner– Liam touting that Killian has to fight for what he wants despite every single one of their clients and friends knowing Killian would be there in no time. They’re both killing it professionally and a lot of that thanks goes to Liam, but their schedules are completely opposite one another.

They don’t have to be, but complaining about it would mean telling Liam about the loophole.

Their loophole.

Them.

And they just aren’t ready to do that… right?

He kisses her one more time, “I’ll come over tonight, love.” Emma nods before pulling herself tight to his chest, letting go only when she feels his Apple Watch buzz against her hip signaling his impending meeting.

She isn’t sure when the official shift happened, but she’ll never forget the first moment she laid eyes on Killian. Something in her gut told her to walk towards him and sit in the empty chair beside him. (Maybe there never really was a shift.) She’s let her gut lead them the rest of the way to where they are now.

Her gut tells her they should come clean.

She doesn’t want to listen this time. As much as sneaking around gets old, Emma’s always held her cards close to her chest. The fear that opening up their relationship to the rest of the world will ruin it is so tangible that it drives Emma to keep up their charade.

Just a bit longer.

Killian has insinuated that he’s following her lead– even offering to march into Liam’s office and confess it all on multiple occasions– but Emma’s not ready.

She’s not ready to risk losing him.

Emma heads up a few minutes after Killian and catches his eye as she enters the small office. He smiles softly and the ache for more is palpable.

She’s not going to lose him.

This moment, one of a million stolen glances between the two of them, isn’t unlike any other, but it brings her an epiphany all the same. Somewhere in the routine of secrecy, Emma grew comfortable, but suddenly it feels like 1,000 needles are pricking every inch of her skin. The comfort vanished and with it came a wave of realization, no matter what Liam says, Killian isn’t going anywhere.

Her feet move before her brain can tell her it's a bad idea. Killian is talking to Liam about the upcoming rental schedule when Emma walks into their shared office, “The Larson’s are taking out the Roger on Tues– Emma, what’re you–” She interrupts him with a kiss for the second time today.

Emma can tell he’s stunned at first but it doesn’t take long for him to smile and kiss back. She probably kisses him longer than appropriate due to the actual fear of what Liam is going to do– technically any kiss is inappropriate but that’s not really the point.

Killian breaks from the kiss first.

“Finally.”

The voice is British, but it isn’t the one she'd recognize in a crowd of thousands.

Killian breaks first again, “Pardon?”

“Bloody took you two long enough! I’ve lost enough money on Ruby’s blasted pools.” Liam points a rolled up piece of paper, previously tucked beneath his armpit, “Just keep it PG at work. I don’t need some HR nightmare.”

Emma is still stunned when Killian speaks again, “Brother…”

Liam looks up, and Emma could swear his eyes are slightly glossy, “Killian, who am I to keep you two apart? Company policies shouldn’t come between what could be a real second chance at love for you both. It’s been painfully obvious you two are into each other. I’m just glad you’re finally acting on it so I don’t have to watch you make eyes from across the office all day.”

Emma flinches at Liam’s casual mention of their pasts, but soon her hand is in Killian’s and she’s reminded her demons can’t hurt her anymore. She beat them, she’s stronger than them, and she shares them now.

It’s then that she finds her voice, “Thank you.”

Liam nods (the only sort of affirmation she’s ever received from the older of the Jones brothers), “Don’t mention it. Just tell Ruby it happened yesterday, then at least she won’t win.” Emma nods in response, and can’t help but glance up at Killian– every trace of pain in his eyes has been replaced with what Emma can only describe as love.

She’s sure her eyes are mirroring his perfectly.

As it turns out, glances are even better not stolen and lunch breaks are much more enjoyable spent far away from dumpsters and cold parking lots.

#cs ff #CS modern AU #Emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #secret dating #capthamm #folklore #Taylor swift #captain swan's folklore

75 notes · View notes

i-make-questionable-choices · 4 years ago

Text

Couldn’t Help It

Dean Winchester x Younger!Reader

Warnings: Angst, depression.

Word Count: 1,069

Summary: Despite the age gap, the reader and Dean can’t help but love each other, no matter what.

For: Anonymous

Request: Do you think you could possibly write a Dean Winchester x female! reader where she is 18/19 and she is insecure because she’s younger, then they get cuddly and fluffy? Sorry if this is weird 🥺

A/N: So, this is long overdue, I got this request like two months ago and I am SO SO sorry for keeping you waiting. I know I originally said I wanted to write something light and fluffy, and there is fluff at the end, but it kinda took on a life of it’s own...

You knew your relationship was unorthodox, he was a whole ten years older than you for goodness sake. But you couldn’t help it, neither of you could.

It was only meant to be a one-night stand, but the angels on Micheals side had been growing desperate in their attempts to get the righteous man to say yes, and so, they had turned on you. It didn’t matter to them what your relationship was, so long as you had one it was enough, it had very nearly been enough for Dean.

Had it not been for Castiel’s impeccable timing that night, Dean, who could not bear to have an innocents death on his soul, would have undoubtedly said yes to Michael. The four of you had barely gotten out of there by the skins of your teeth.

Determined to avoid another scenario like that, the boys had taken you along with them, leaving you with Bobby most of the time, but still keeping you safe.

And in the end, you were the one there for him.

You were there for him when he turned away from Lisa, the changes to a so-called normal life to unnatural for the seasoned hunter. You sat by him as he mourned for Sam, distracting him from his pain.

You knew it was cliche, it could have been the plot of a movie for goodness sake. But you couldn’t help it, neither of you could.

It started out small, a reassuring squeeze of a hand, a small kiss on the forehead after a particularly tough hunt, gestures so soft no one batted an eye.

Slowly those touches became more frequent, those kisses lingering on cheeks, then lips.

There were small moments of doubt about your difference in age, but those that mattered didn’t seem to care. Bobby had hardly batted an eye when he found the two of you sharing a heated moment in his guest room, merely telling the two of you that dinner was on the table.

But it couldn’t stay perfect, of course.

When Sam came back, not even he knew his soul was gone, but that didn’t make the comments hurt any less.

More than once he had scolded Dean for showing his affection in public, whining that he didn’t feel like bailing Dean out of jail should he be arrested for having relations with a minor; regardless if you weren’t, in fact, underage.

You knew you shouldn’t feel so hurt, he didn’t have a soul for goodness sake. But you couldn’t help it, neither of you could.

You had drifted apart during those months, on more than once you had took to sleeping on the couch during hunts.

When Sam got his soul back you could tell he was regretful, you could feel his awkwardness whenever you and Dean spoke, your clinical words hiding your sorrows. He had tried, on more than one occasion, to apologize, only for either of you to tell him not to stress and that your relationship was fine.

But everyone noticed. Bobby, Sam, Cas, hell, even Crowley noticed, but both of you continued to deny their words, assuring them that your relationship, whatever it had been reduced to, was fine.

When he got blasted to purgatory, your world shattered.

At first you could barely leave your bed, refusing to eat, failing to sleep, and barely talking. You had lost thirty pounds in but a month before you got back on your feet.

After your breakdown, you threw yourself back into hunting, chasing down steadily more vicious monsters with steadily less regard for your own health. When Sam told you he wanted to settle down with Amelia, you had snapped; cursing him to hell for giving up on his brother.

You knew he had a point, no human had ever entered Purgatory before, let alone escaped for goodness sake. But you couldn’t help it, how could you?

When you weren’t hunting, you were researching, trying everything from spells, to pleading demons for deals.

Nothing worked.

As months passed, you grew increasingly desperate. There were bags under your eyes from going days without sleep, and you ate barely enough to keep you going. The lack of food combined with the brutal work of hunting meant you lost weight at an even faster pace than before.

You were but skin and bones.

With the lack of food and sleep came a lack of energy, and you had to drag yourself around to hunts. Hardly daring to try and consult people in your state, no professional would look like you.

Instead, you ran in head first; with but a guess as to what monster you were facing. You weren’t sure you cared if you died anymore.

Until one time, you almost did. The demon had had little trouble with you, throwing you around the room until your head hit the concrete floor of the warehouse with a sickening crack.

You thought of Dean before you blacked out.

When you finally came to, wrapped in blankets in a warm bed, you thought, for a moment that you were in heaven.

But the room was too clinical for it to be your heaven, too empty.

When the door clicked open softly and you tensed, waiting for the intruder to come in, ready for whoever took you to taunt, and tease, and beat you.

You didn’t expect green eyes to widen at the sight of you, for the glass he was carrying to shatter against the floor.

But it happened.

His approach was slow, as if you were a frightened rabbit, ready to run a a breaths notice; you felt like one anyways.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached, barely daring to breath as he took a knee beside the bed.

“Hey sweetheart,”

Your hand, trembling with emotion, reached tentatively towards him, and he leaned into your touch.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart, it’s me,” you could see the tears gathering in his eyes, tears mimicked in your own.

Where your newfound strength came from you would question later. You launched yourself towards him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him with all your might.

There was no stopping the tears as he returned the kiss, matching passion for passion.

You knew all wasn’t back to normal, you hadn’t seen each other in nearly two years for goodness sake. But you couldn’t help it, neither of you could.

Supernatural Tags: (open)

Dean/Jensen Tags: (open)

@akshi8278

21 notes · View notes

xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Note

Ooh I just read through the smut prompts and this one made me giggle thinking about it - 15. Forced to stick chest/crotch in the other’s face (while trying to reach something?). It made me think of Finn, trying to be gentlemanly, getting flustered. 🤭

Bit of a twist, but this is what the muse came up with. Hope it’s okay!

Smut at the end ; )

* * * * *

“Come on, Y/N! We have to GO before the cops get here!”

“There’s no room!” you panicked as you eyed the already full backseat of your brother’s car.

“Just get in!” he yelled with a push that sent you sprawling, face first into Finn’s crotch.

“Gah!” Finn cried, his hands helplessly flailing as he looked for a way to politely move you out of his lap, but after landing with an oof, your brother shoved your feet the rest of the way into the car and slammed the door, leaving your body sprawled across the three, oh my god, FOUR bodies crammed in the backseat, your face still planted in Finn’s crotch.

Of all the ways you imagined letting Finn know you were into him, face planting into his crotch had never been one of them.

You whined as you turned to the side and tried to sit up, but you ended up elbowing Benny in the gut.

“Sorry Benny!” you yelled into Finn’s hips.

“No big,” he grunted as he worked to push you forward, which was immediately countered by your idiot brother stomping on the gas.

You were flung back against the wall of squished bodies and you could hear Finn sputtering as he tried to extract your face.

With a growl of frustration, you pushed slightly upward so that your ass was now in Benny’s girlfriend’s face as you tried to wriggle into a sitting position—or at least onto the floor.

“Roll over!” she shouted as the car’s tires squealed around a tight corner.

The momentum of the tight turn actually helped you flip over and instead of being facedown in Finn’s lap, you were now left to stare up at his flustered face; his cheeks were pink and his lips were open in an oh of surprise and his hands had still found nowhere safe to settle.

Finn cleared his throat and moved his arm so that it was behind Benny’s shoulders, then allowed his other arm to rest on the door next to the window. He was able to angle his body a bit so that his back was pressed half into the door and your head was now resting more on his thigh.

“I am going to fucking kill you!” you shouted at your brother, furious at him for getting everyone into this mess.

“Let me drive!” he shouted back, a grin on his face as the sirens in the distance grew louder.

Jeff, the guy at the end of your row of human car seats turned to look out of the back window.

“I can’t see any lights—take the next left. Then right!”

Your brother followed Jeff’s directions and soon the sirens grew obsolete.

“That fucking worked!” he shouted with a fist pump, almost punching the nose of his girlfriend who was awkwardly straddling the console like it was one of those kiddie rides outside of the grocery store.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m gonna kill him first,” she growled, eliciting a booming laugh from your brother.

Maybe it was that the danger had passed, or maybe it was that your brother had an infectious laugh, but soon the car was full of the sounds of mirth, and even you felt the upturns of your mouth into an exasperated grin. You looked up at Finn and he was looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

Before you could say anything, Jeff stated, “My grandad’s house is just up here on the left. We can pull into the garage.”

After your brother cut into the driveway, Jeff lifted your legs and managed to extract himself from the backseat. As soon as you were safely in the garage, Finn bolted out of the back, his eyes downcast as you flailed your way out of the backseat without kicking Benny or his girlfriend.

“Does your grandad have beer?” Benny’s girlfriend asked.

Jeff grinned in response, “Keg hookup right here!”

He opened the fridge in the garage, his face beaming with pride while you punched your brother’s arm with as much force as you could muster.

“The fuck, jerkface?!”

You thought about biting his arm for good measure but rolled your eyes and let the others start in on chastising him for almost getting everyone busted.

Finn was still oddly quiet and refused to look at you despite trying to catch his eye; in fact, as soon as you started to approach him, he bailed, slipping out the side door of the garage.

Frowning, you followed him.

“Hey,” you called, causing him to look up from his phone.

He gave you a glance and a half smile before returning to his phone. “Getting a ride. Want a lift home?”

“Thanks. This day kinda went to shit, didn’t it?”

“Love your bro but sometimes . . .”

“Try living with him.”

Finn shook his head, chuckling as he put his phone in his pocket.

“Listen. About earlier—”

Finn shifted his feet uncomfortably, then put his hands on his hips before deciding to cross his arms. His reply nothing more than a nervous, tittering laugh.

“That was not how I ever imagined getting close to your, uh . . . self.”

Eyebrows contracting, Finn looked at you in confusion.

“Imagined? You think about . . . me? Like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He looked dumbfounded, which let you know that it was not obvious.

“I really like you, Finn. Have for a while,” you said, fighting the bumbling bees of nerves that suddenly made themselves known in your gut.

“Oh, uh, I . . . I didn’t. I mean, yeah I thought about it but I didn’t really think about it—”

Closing the distance, you were standing face to face with him so he had nowhere to look other than into your eyes.

“But you’ve thought about it?”

“Yeah I’ve thought about it,” he said quickly and quietly.

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

“O-Okay.”

And with a soft smile, you waited, letting Finn step toward you, his hands lightly resting in the dip of your waist as one of your arms wrapped around his upper arm and came to rest on his shoulder while your other hand settled lightly on his chest.

Your eyes slipped shut as his lips pressed against yours and after a moment, you moved the hand on his chest up to his face and pressed your body flush against his. Finn’s hands tightened and his fingers gripped into your lower back.

When he licked at your bottom lip, you opened for him, his tongue entering your mouth and sending a rush of warmth to your center.

You hummed low in your throat with pleasure, and Finn tried to pull you even closer. Your hand that had been splayed over his jaw and cheek, traveled to cup the back of his head.

The kiss picked up speed, becoming heated and sloppy and the only thing that ran through your mind was a quiet chorus of yes, yes, yes.

When a horn sounded, you jumped apart, both of you more than a little lustdazed.

“Must’ve been close by,” Finn breathed, adjusting himself and looking at you with wide eyes.

“Too close,” you answered, swiping at some excess saliva around your mouth.

“I should tell him I’m leaving,” you said as you motioned toward the garage door.

“Text him later,” Finn answered, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward your ride.

You grinned and figured that would be good enough.

* * * * *

Unable to wait another second, Finn had you against the wall as soon as the door to his house was shut. His mouth was hot against yours, his breath coming in little pants as you pushed your hips into his, and cupped his ass with both hands, giving it a solid squeeze.

“Fuck me, Finn,” you mumbled as you nipped at his earlobe.

He answered with an incoherent squeak of a noise and cupped your pussy over your jeans.

“Right now?”

You placed your hand over his cupped hand and pressed him into you, hard.

“Right now.”

He stepped back and started undoing his pants, and you shimmied out of your jeans and panties, kicking them to the side. Before he dropped his pants, Finn pulled a condom out of his wallet and held it between his teeth as he shuffled out of his pants and boxers.

You pulled him forward by his dick, and he moaned so loudly the condom tumbled out of his mouth. Giggling, you bent to pick it up, then opened it and rolled it on.

After a searing kiss, Finn hoisted one of your legs up by grabbing underneath your knee. You were pressed tightly against the wall as he easily slid into your opening and both of you gave a sighing groan when he was fully sheathed.

“Fuck,” he hissed before he kissed up your neck.

Your eyes were shut as you fisted his hair and arched your back to meet the rhythm he began to set. His arm flexed as he held up your leg and his other hand tangled itself in your hair.

He fucked you hard and steady, only picking up the pace when you demanded it.

“Gonna come,” he groaned, his forehead falling to your shoulder as he lost his rhythm and thrust into you as deeply as he could.

“Ahh fuuuck,” he moaned, his body quivering as he came inside the condom.

His breath puffed out hotly against your neck, and despite coming, Finn continued to fuck you softly. He released your hair in favor of reaching between your legs to work your clit.

Just as his dick began to slide out of you, you came, abdomen twitching, your hands clutching his shoulders over his t-shirt and your face twisted into a silent oh of ecstasy.

When Finn released your leg, he leaned into you as you caught your breath, your thighs trembling as they sustained your full weight again. Finn pressed sweet kisses against your collar bone, your neck, your cheeks and your chin while the haze of your climax dissipated.

“Oh my god,” you finally articulated.

“Uh huh,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to yours.

“Imagine how good it’ll be when we take our time.”

Finn laughed, and his voice filled with gratitude as he said, “Really glad you faceplanted into my crotch today.”

Your laughter was high and sweet as you answered, “Me, too.”

#Finn #Finn x Reader #female reader #Finn smut #Rami malek smut #rami malek #rami malek character

91 notes · View notes

florenceandthemachine · 5 years ago

Text

that original lifeline

chapter 3 / 4 - “there’s a hole where your heart lies” - 3.5k

in which things get worse before they can get better, even if they don’t get better.

read on AO3

“Firefighter Diaz, do you copy?”

Eddie tried to smile as he grabbed the mic hanging from his shoulder, but judging by Buck’s face, it was little more than a grimace. “Five by five, Cap. Over.”

“Alright, Chimney, report?”

“So... you’re sure none of them can see you?”

While there really were no ideal times for Eddie and Buck to talk in the station, the radio check proved to be as good a moment as any—sure enough, Eddie was already tuning out the static that was Hen making fun of Chim for his coffee order (not that he blamed her).

It felt… weird, to say the least, to be back at work less than twenty four hours after his son had lobbed the second biggest bombshell Eddie had ever had to deal with right into his lap, but after the theatrics they had gone to the night prior to try and act like everything was fine, Eddie didn’t have the energy for another weird day in him.

“Honestly, Eddie, I don’t know. You being able to see me, that’s already rare, but not impossible. But Chris seeing me? There are no records of a guardian being seen by anyone other than his or her charge—none. Honestly, the only way I can tell I’m still not here is because the rest of your team hasn’t tried to say hello.”

And thank fuck for that. Eddie had absolutely no idea how he would explain away Buck’s presence if the others started to see him, or at least, no idea how he would explain it and not wind up in a straight jacket. Like he could sense Eddie’s frustration (which, he probably could), Buck punched his shoulder lightly, smiling.

“But they haven’t, so stop worrying, Eds. I’ll figure something out, okay?”

Eddie only let out a laugh, looking up as the siren started to wail, only barely louder than Hen and Chim’s bickering. Going for his gear, he looked up to Buck before climbing the truck, voice pitched low. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

It was a missing kid.

Eddie hated missing kids.

It didn’t matter that his son was in school, it didn’t matter that the kid was three years younger than his own, it didn’t matter that he had a mother and sister all waiting for him to turn up—in the back of Eddie’s mind, right at the corner of his vision, his traitorous brain tried its very hardest to supply all the ways that Chris could go missing.

Even when he more or less found Hayden, it was a hollow victory; Eddie couldn’t see how it was anything close to a win when the kid was still trapped in a pipe forty feet below the ground, unable to do more than move his head. It was all he could do to ignore the low level of terror that pushed through his own stomach, and how fucking helpless he felt while they had to wait—for hours, fucking hours—to get a drill up and ready to go.

He had gotten close to having to step away more than once throughout the day, and now, the night, the only thing anchoring him to the present was Buck’s hand, on his shoulder, gripping his arm, pressing against his side. Chris was right, Eddie thought, Buck would be a good firefighter—he was calm under pressure, for one, and right now he deserved all the credit for keeping Eddie’s head on straight, especially when he stepped up to take the palm mic from a mom who was pushed well beyond her breaking point.

Yeah, Eddie could relate to that.

“Hey Hayden, my name is Eddie. I’m a firefighter, here with your mother and a whole lot of other people.”

He felt Buck’s hand on his shoulder again, and he took a breath, steeling himself.

“We’re all working to get you out of there, so stay calm, okay? It might get a little... noisy. Don’t be scared. We’ll be there soon.”

His smile was thin as he handed the radio mic back to Chim, swallowing heavily as he excused himself, making his way into the house easily. The mother had wasted no time in telling them to help themselves to anything that they had needed, and Eddie made a beeline into the bathroom, gripping the sink as he hunched over and tried to get a grip on his breathing.

He really hated missing kids.

“Eddie, you’re okay.”

Buck. Of course Buck was there, hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. “Chris is okay, he’s still in school, Carla is bringing him to Abuela’s after, and you know you’re going to get bombarded with pictures.”

He was right, of course he was right, but that didn’t make it suck any less. Eddie opened his mouth to respond before motion in the mirror caught his eye—the house was still full of cops, firefighters, and now, drill operators. Buck didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling at Eddie’s reflection anyway.

“You want me to go check on him? It might take me a bit to track him down properly, but—“

Eddie shook his head sharply, moving to grip the hand Buck had on his forearm. God, no, he couldn’t imagine being alone right now, couldn’t imagine the idea of sending Buck away to settle his own paranoia. He would be fine. He just needed to splash some water on his face and move on.

He did splash some water on his face, more frequently as the night dragged on. Those were the only moments that he let go of Buck’s hand, but that was a whole other story. Buck remained silent about it, after all, even if Eddie caught him smiling a few times as they watched the drill go down. He wasn’t even sure when it had started to rain—the 118 had basically been blocked off from all other calls until they could finish their day here. Eddie was getting antsy; honestly, the fact that Eddie was unwilling to let go of the hand of his guardian angel said more about his abandonment issues (after being on both sides of that story) than an hour of therapy could bring up.

Buck’s presence was always welcome, of course, but it could only do so much to calm Eddie’s nerves. The longer the night dragged on, the more Eddie felt like he had to do something, had to step up, and Buck started looking at him like he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

Which, well...

“Cap, I’ll go in.”

“Edmundo.” He had never heard Buck use his full name before, had never heard the other sound so pleading; but while it definitely was enough to get him to pause, it would take more to get him to stop. “I was talking to him on the radio. He knows my voice. It makes sense.”

“Like fuck it does.” Buck snapped behind him, but Eddie couldn’t turn around to gauge his reaction even if he wanted to.

“Suit me up. I’m going down.”

It was almost too easy to pretend that Buck wasn’t mad at him while he was getting ready, strapping on oxygen tanks and harnesses, was easy to pretend that the only reason Buck hadn’t smacked him upside the head was because they weren’t alone, but Eddie knew that was all it was.

Before he knew it—far too soon, honestly—he was ready to sink into the fucking earth.

Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to Eddie that going down alone really and truly meant that he would be going down alone. He had gotten painfully used to Buck being within arms distance of him, no matter where he was, so when he poised himself over the hole, strapped to a rope as wide around as his thumb—

“I can’t go down with you, Eddie.”

—well, he at least had an excuse as to why his face fell.

“No one can see me, but… but I still take up space. I can’t go down with you, what if there’s no room? What if I block you in, or block you from getting to the kid?” Buck sounded completely fucking wrecked, and Eddie swallowed as he looked around, painfully aware of all the eyes on him when all he wanted to do was bail out. He couldn’t do this on his own. He fucking couldn’t.

“Alright, Cap. Let’s go.”

He felt the winch start to wind up as Buck moved forward, and it was killing him to have to fight off any responses when Buck leaned forward and kissed his forehead, the brief contact sending a warmth through his bones that he wasn’t entirely sure was related to Buck’s angelic being.

“For good luck.”

Honestly, Eddie really needed to rethink what constituted ‘rock bottom’. Sure, okay, cutting his own rope had been stupid, but he hadn’t given it a second thought—if he had been pulled out, the kid would have drowned. Hell, Eddie was close to that himself, taking several hits off of the tank Bobby had given him whenever he needed a breath that didn’t taste like mud or metal.

“This is Diaz.”

Because he stayed down there, he was able pull the kid out of the pipe and at the very least, give him some freedom to take a deep breath in the tiny little aquifer that Eddie had dug into.

“Can anyone hear me? This is Eddie.”

He was absolutely clinging to that justification, too. Sure, he had no way of knowing how fast the water would rise, but the water in the pipe had surpassed where the kid was before Chim had made his appearance. Eddie cut his rope, the kid got to live. Hooray.

“I’m alive. I’m still alive down here!”

Handing the kid off to Chim had been cake. It probably didn’t hurt that when Eddie looked up through the hole, all he saw was light. Somehow, knowing that Buck was going to be pissed off at him gave Eddie hope.

“I’m still alive down here!”

And then the drill had collapsed, and any light, any hope that Eddie had, had been snuffed out just like that.

“Anyone?”

There was nothing. No light, no sound, nothing. Eddie went from the sound of pounding rain and muffled shouts to inky blackness and the sound of his own racing heart, and he couldn’t do much more than shout, hands dug into the dirt beneath him as he started to shake.

He had gambled it all—everything he had, his life, his job, his family, and he had lost. His family, fuck, how was Chris supposed to handle this so soon after Shannon’s death? How could Eddie have done this, how could he have stepped forward when he had so much of his own shit at risk, how—

“…idiotic, arrogant asshole…”

Eddie had to shy away from a sudden burst of light behind him long before he heard any words, covering his eyes with a gloved hand.

“Buck?”

“…completely moronic, you—you cut your own fucking line, Eddie! What the fuck were you thinking, you could have been crushed—“

“Buck.”

Eddie hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn’t bring himself to particularly care—not when the result was Buck’s hands on his shoulders, the light dimming enough that Eddie could see properly. Buck was pissed, no doubt about it, but the emotions took a side step to a look of concern, of worry, and just like that Eddie was gone, voice tight as tears carved new tracks in the mud on his cheeks.

“I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so sorry I put you in this situation and—and Chris, god, I’m such a terrible father, and—“

“Woah, woah, calm down, we’re not going to go down that road right now.”

It took some awkward repositioning on Buck’s part but they were both able to face one another, water lapping at their legs as it slowly rose. “You’re reckless, sure, but you’re not an idiot. Being stuck down here doesn’t make you stupid, as much as I hate to admit it. Now, what do we know?” Buck’s tone was bitter, but there was no mistaking the earnest truth in his voice, and Eddie felt his face crumple when Buck looked back to him.

“Well, we’re... about thirty five feet down. One primary entrance and exit point, now blocked by the drill. There’s no radio communications, no way to send a message, and if I had to guess, no way my GPS is picking up anything.” Eddie said, smacking the useless unit on his wrist. “The water is rising, slower than it was before now that the pipe is mostly flooded, but it’s still rising, and I.... I really hope you have some magic up your sleeve.” Eddie’s voice was mostly joking, but the look that Buck shot him quickly crushed any shadow of humor he was reaching for.

“I mean, the fire truck was easy. It’s a movable thing, it’s not fixed, it’s small in the grand scheme of things, but this... Eddie, even if I could move enough earth to get you out of here, I’d be just as likely to crush you. There has to be another way out.” Buck said, his hand easily bringing Eddie in closer, tendrils of warmth creeping under his wetsuit.

There wasn’t, and every soldiers sense in Eddie’s body was urging him to scream that truth at the top of his lungs until Buck understood it, but they had come too far for him to break down now.

Well, to break down again.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Eddie asked after a long moment, face buried in Buck’s shoulder, Buck’s returning sigh more of an attempt at some levity than anything else.

“Because you’re an asshole with free will, and I can’t stop that. Your specific blend free will is just a little more self sacrificing than others.”

Eddie gave a short laugh, the sound weak and mostly humorless, allowing himself to settle into a moment of silence.

It was easy enough to be quiet when he wasn’t alone with the sound of his own breathing—Buck was still holding him close, his body alight, and Eddie let his breathing time to the pulses radiating off of Buck’s taller frame. The light seemed to dance along the walls of the cave, bouncing and refracting off the water, sinking beneath the murky depths. Buck’s focus seemed to stray to the water as Eddie felt his mind wander, but it was different now—the panic of the moment had given way to a heavy fog, starting to dull just the edge of his senses.

Honestly, the moment was kind of... peaceful.

It might even have been pretty, Eddie thought, his brain becoming a little more addled as he burned through the pocket of oxygen they had in their hidey hole.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a bad way to die after all. As long as he suffocated before he drowned, anyway.

“Buck, I need you to listen for a second.”

His words were slow, spoken between splashes of nasty water as he turned to look at Buck, who was still intently focused on the water, which was easily lapping at their shoulders.

“Eddie, shut up.”

“You—you have to tell Chris—“

“No.”

“Buck, I can’t, I—“

“No, Eddie, you don’t get to tap out right now. This is my job, it’s my fucking job, and I am very, very good at what I do. Even if my fucking charge cut his own fucking lifeline.” Buck snapped, voice deadly calm, and Eddie flinched back. “Now, I think—I think I have a plan. How’s that tank that Bobby gave you?”

A brief glance at his wrist confirmed what he already knew. “It’s yellow. Two minutes, tops.”

“That’s all I need. Come on, put the mouthpiece in. Close your eyes until I let you go, then we’re gonna have to swim for it, okay?”

“Buck…”

“Now, Edmundo.”

If Eddie had the energy, he might have felt afraid in the moment, but when he looked back at Buck all he saw was angel—in the semi-sacreligious, biblical sense. The glow under his skin, which had been growing all evening, was almost blinding now, the very air cracking around him. His eyes were alight like coals and his skin seemed to match the temperature as he grabbed Eddie, arms around his waist. Eddie hardly had the time to put his mouthpiece in before Buck slid them under the water, and then they were off.

The deeper they went, the more Eddie found himself wishing he had suffocated—especially if drowning was the only other option. He could feel everything, every rock scraping against his suit, every tear at his harness, and the pressure, fuck, the pressure, he couldn’t tell if his ears had popped or if the drums just burst entirely. He kept his eyes shut, as he promised, but by that point Buck was so bright that his flimsy eyelids couldn’t keep the light out, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing steady.

If he had dared to peek, he probably would have seen the indicator on his wrist start to blink red, but it wasn’t like that mattered. The air in his mouth had gone stale as soon as Buck let him go, eyes snapping open, trying to tell which way was up as he started to kick wildly. He made quick work of everything weighing him down—the harness, the helmet, the tank, the air long since bad anyway.

He could only barely register Buck’s light in the murky water, legs moving sluggishly beneath him, a stream of frustrated bubbles leaving his lips. His legs were starting to give out, each kick toward the surface weaker than the last, darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision even with the lake being lit up like a beacon.

Suddenly, Eddie was eleven again, and Buck was pulling him out of the swimming hole behind his parents house—only now, he wasn’t sure if he could make it, wasn’t sure if he would be able to surface before the darkness ripped his vision away.

He choked out another mouthful of bubbles as the water around him pulsed with light, and with a sharp tug around his waist he was suddenly launched forward, the cold water slicing across his cheeks like liquid daggers. The closest thing he could compare it to was being thrown from the truck, after the bomb had gone off—one moment, he was choking on his own exhalation, the next, he was hitting the shore, hard, sputtering and coughing even as he continued to drag himself away from the water.

Somehow, the worst part of all of this was the fucking rain—relentlessly pounding down on him, drowning out the sound of his own ragged breathing, his footsteps, he couldn’t even hear Buck stumble behind him anymore. His attempts at encouragement had just turned into ragged sounds, barely there words as he struggled to suck in another breath, blindly staggering away from the water and toward the steady pulse of red lights.

Back toward home.

Eddie could hardly believe it.

He wasn’t sure if it was the last kick of adrenaline or the afterglow of Buck’s warmth holding him up, but he started moving faster, feet scrabbling for purchase on the slick terrain as he stumbled. His breathing had started to become ragged as he dragged himself along, but he still felt his heart start to pound as he heard voices—Bobby’s voice, the familiar tone of orders being barked out, vaguely hearing his own name over the roar of the rain.

They hadn’t given up on him.

He heard more than he felt the moment his legs finally gave out, stumbling face first into the huddle of first responders, the burning feel to his skin finally ebbing into something more pleasant, more bearable, even as the rain started to sink into his bones. He wasn’t in great shape, to say the least; the only reason he remained upright for even a moment was because of the quick thinking of his teammates, reaching out for him as he stumbled.

“I’m—I’m pretty cold.” He got out as he went down, the sudden loss of warmth from Buck’s hands forcing him to focus on the present, even as the touch lingered, skin warm where Buck had pushed him forward.

Things moved pretty quickly after that. He was half pulled, half walked into the nearest rig, foil blankets tight around his shoulders as an oxygen mask was forced over his face and a blood pressure cuff started to cut off circulation to his arm.

He couldn’t tell where Buck was anymore, and how was that even possible? Buck had lit up the tiny-ass cave they were stuck in like a beacon, he had made the entire lake glow like a lighthouse, he had burned like—

Like a flame, Eddie realized, burning itself out.

No sooner did he make that connection did his entire body go cold, the lingering warmth from Buck’s touch snuffed out like a candle, and Eddie felt a noise he couldn’t own up to rip itself free from his throat as he started to shiver.

Fuck.

“Hen, he’s—he’s gone, fuck, I have to—“

“Eddie, stop, we got the kid, he’s okay, you—Eddie!”

His entire body was shaking as he tossed his mask aside and tore himself from her grip, making it only a few steps before he fell to the ground, tears mixing with mud as he cracked his nails trying to dig. “No! No, no, I can’t leave him—I have to get him, he’s—no, fuck, no!”

He only vaguely registered Hen calling for help over the sound of his own crying, voice broken as he continued to wail, the noises coming from his body sounding like something ripped from the depths of hell. Suddenly multiple sets of hands were pulling him back, wrapping him in shock blankets, strapping him to lie down on what he thought was a backboard.

There was already darkness starting to creep in at the edges of his vision, even as his eyes spun wildly in his skull, taking in Bosko, Hen, Chim, Bobby, Kinard...

No sandy hair. No pink lips. No blue eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he couldn’t see Buck, but this was different. He could still feel him, could still feel his presence, the good that he put into the world, and now…

He was gone.

Buck was gone.

And as Eddie finally gave in and passed out, blackness swirling out from the corners of his vision, he thought he would never be warm again.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #evaneddie #911 #hurt/comfort #Eddie begins #guardianangel!Buck #fic #buddiefic #911fic #evaneddiefic #flospeaks

35 notes · View notes

hencethebravery · 4 years ago

Text

>> 01.13.21 • Ao3 • “Me & Magdalena”

me & magdalena always leaving early and sleeping late secluded in the canyon lost within a turn of fate

“me & magdalena,” the monkees

>> The two of ‘em establish the somewhat rude habit of bailing during get-togethers without telling anyone. They stop answering their phones at any point before noon shortly after that. He’d call it a side effect of New Couple Syndrome (NCS), but it’s something they continue doing long after any reasonable person would call something “new” (and honestly, he’s not even sure you could say it was “new” when it was new, technically).

The only way he knows how to explain it is like this: Like driving through a darkened neighborhood at night and seeing light emanating from behind the curtains. The flashing of a television—an understanding that there are people in there and they are probably half-asleep on their couches. Hopefully they are not alone (and if they are, that they are not lonely). When Dean was still too small for the passenger seat of the Impala, he would stare out the window and be overcome with a fleeting sense of absolute certainty. It didn’t matter that he’d never meet them. Didn’t matter that he couldn’t knock on their doors and make sure. He just knew—especially on those dark, late night drives out of some other town—that they were safe and warm in there. The Impala was home, sure, but it wasn’t as if he had entirely forgotten what it had been like before. With the roof and the walls and the doors and the smells. That was home too.

Being with Cas is like being one of those imaginary, comfortable people tucked safe in their beds with their TVs on low. It’s like—like in the middle of a frigid, fucked-up-kinda-cold winter and you’re driving home late and you know how cold it is out there and there’s an unforgivably tender part of you that feels joy for those people who have something that you might never have. And sure, it’s bitter but it’s joyful too, and ya know, one day? That’s gonna be you.

It’s not as if he doesn’t enjoy being with everyone (’course not). Sittin’ quiet in the corner of this new bar in downtown Lebanon; with Cas perched on the arm of an oversized armchair—half-listening to whatever the fuck Claire is talking about. Doesn’t even wanna know what a “TikTok” is at this point, to be quite fucking frank about it.

It’s just that it’s so much easier to be sure when it’s staring him right in the freaking face. That everyone is here and they’re fine and maybe they don’t need him? At least not right now. It’s why he can grab Cas’ hand halfway through Quiz Night and head out the back door with minimal guilt. He even stopped making eye contact with Sam beforehand (eventually).

“Everyone gets it, ya know. You don’t need like... permission.”

It’s mid-February and Dean can feel it in all of his old, multiple-times-broken bones. There isn’t much he’d change about the Impala (she’s damn near perfect as is), but as he’s gotten older he has silently wished she’d heat up just a little bit faster. Especially in the Midwest in February. Maybe he should invest in one of those long, stupid coats that look like a sleeping bag.

“That’s one of the perks of getting older,” Jody laughed into her beer, “my desire to be comfortable has come to outweigh my need to look cool.”

“Man, I’m always cool,” he mumbles, the two of them watching Claire and Alex shiver out by the fire in their denim jackets and leggings and nothing else. “I’d look cool in a freakin’ poncho.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

“Shit,” he hisses, sliding behind the wheel. “Fucking freezing.”

“Mm,” Cas grunts in agreement, grasping both of Dean’s dry, cold hands between his own. "We’ll be home soon.”

“New rule,” he huffs, “when shit drops below 30, we stay in.”

“Deal.”

Cas plants a final, warm, breath-filled kiss to the top of his hands before letting him pull away to start the car, and he shivers goddamn again.

“We really should get you a scarf,” he suggests, eyeing Dean’s exposed neck.

If it was possible to pop his collar with an even greater air of defensiveness, he absolutely would have, but it’s pretty well and good stood up at this point and he knows when Cas knows that he knows.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The heat finally starts to rattle through the vents as they drive down a darkened suburban street a few minutes before midnight. He wonders briefly whether he’s got an internal alarm clock about Midnight at this point. Clock’s about to strike. Don’t wanna be caught with your pants down.

In the periphery of his vision he takes note of two things, one of which is not unusual but pleasant all the same. First thing being the way the shadows from the streetlights fall over Cas’ face—eerie and beautiful and familiar; the second being the glowing, almost-light of what looks to be a Christmas tree that someone’s left up way, way too long. Come on, people, it’s almost Valentine’s Day. He slows up at the four-way stop in front of the house, and it strikes him all at once. Like Midnight. The dark streets; the being too small for the passenger seat. Hell, if he lets himself he’d probably be able to smell John’s cologne or hear Sammy’s snuffling.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice resonates in his chest; beneath his sternum somewhere like it always does, and there’s an awareness of his hand resting on top of Dean’s achey knee. That small, tender part of him? The part that he’d tried to be rid of only to have it grow and change and become even painfully more? The part that sits in big soft armchairs and surrounds itself with the voices of people he loves? That part is is absolutely ecstatic to find that all the other warring, disparate pieces inside himself have fought an incredibly long, hard battle in order to become one of those safe, warm people he used to make-up inside his head. Figments he had envied. People who keep their TVs on too late or their Christmas trees up way, way too long. February. Jesus.

“Yeah,” he chokes, rolling slowly through the stop sign towards the highway.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he says again, lighter, “Yeah, totally. Just cold.”

“We’ll be warm soon,” Cas replies with a gentle squeeze. “I’m exhausted.”

He’s not totally sure if Cas is ignorant of whatever just happened or if he’s giving him a pass, but he’s grateful either way. Sometimes you’re just too tired to talk about the heavy stuff (and besides, there’s always coffee in the morning). He is fully aware that his extraordinary lack of being willing to share has been something of a significant problem over the years. But that’s kind of the beauty of Cas, isn’t it? The Knowing Silence that has somehow gotten even more knowing over the years. Fucking blessing and a curse.

So, yeah, he’s sure they’ll return to this moment—not a doubt in his mind. He’s sure that he’ll reveal something that Castiel has always suspected. Something that has pained him for a stupid number of years—like a splinter that you can’t find. But sometimes there’s nothin’ for it but to give it up and get into bed. Especially once the all-consuming power of Midnight has come and gone and it’s too cold to turn your key in the ignition. No, sometimes you gotta crawl into bed (with the expensive memory foam topper) and sleep until the sun comes up. Maybe even a few more hours after that.

And hopefully you’re not alone.

#@hencethewriter #spn #deancas #destiel #destiel fic #y'all it's about home being other ppl #oof em dash fever #*ask me about my deancas spotify playlist*#growing daily

3 notes · View notes

incorrectsdkquotes · 4 years ago

Text

AU--CEO AU

(Warning--Long Post!)

The ever-present CEO AU. In this one, each of the different groups (Four Emperors, Mibu Clan [Five Stars/Four Elders, etc.], Twelve Gods, Sanada Clan, Tokugawas, etc.) are all different businesses/corporations/what-have-yous.

Kyo is obviously CEO of the Four Emperors group; he didn’t even initially really want to be CEO, but the prospect of taking over other companies/etc. was too much fun to pass up--even more, he’s somehow really, really good at it, too. He has an on-going personal/hostile rivalry with the Mibu, who keep trying to do their own hostile takeover of his company/etc. Legally, there are claims that he took some of their intellectual property when he left, which is why he’s been so successful; unofficially, the CEO of the Mibu, the Crimson King, just wants Kyo to return to the Mibu as the heir. Kyo’s not about that life, though, and would rather do things his way instead of having everything handed to him on a silver platter.

Akira is his right hand man, the VP, the one who makes sure that everything in the company is running smoothly. He was recruited at a young age when he managed to impress Kyo by attempting to hack into his servers back when Kyo was still in the start-up phase of his career. Instead of backing down, even when it looked like he would go to jail, Akira merely told him that he should get better servers. Kyo agreed, hired him on the spot, and Akira has been fiercely loyal ever since. His job may technically be VP, but his roots go back to the IT dept. God help you if you’re anyone but Kyo and need tech support--he’ll maybe help you if he feels like it, but you know he’ll condescend to you the entire time. The only ones (other than Kyo) that he has trouble saying ‘no’ to are the other three members of the Upper Echelon, the Inner Circle, the Four Emperors--Bontenmaru, Akari, and Hotaru.

Bontenmaru is the company’s head of the HR department. He’s the guy you go to if you’re having personal issues and need to talk to someone about them. Depending on the seriousness of the issue, he’ll either tell you to stop acting like a baby (but with more...colorful words) or he’ll be your shoulder to cry on, the one who will fight tooth and nail for you. Admittedly, most of the complaints he gets are about the other Four Emperors, so he’s usually telling the other employees a mix of ‘suck it up’/’yeah, okay, I’ll handle it’ while yelling at his co-workers. If he happens to get into some kind of physical fight with his co-workers...well, what are they going to do? Complain to HR about him? A good guy, he’s the emotional rock holding the whole company together. He’s also the only one brave enought to talk back to Kyo and get away with it, being his oldest (in more ways than one) friend.

Akari is the CFO, or Chief Financial Officer. If you want to spend even a single unit of currency belonging to the company, you’ll first have to prepare one of the many forms explaining exactly why you want to spend Kyo’s hard earned money. She’ll most likely agree if it’s a good enough reason, but you’ll absolutely have to do a ‘favor’ for her in exchange. These ‘favors’ are nothing unsavory--Bon-chan won’t hesitate to actually do his job if they were--but usually involve telling her some new piece of office gossip. Sometimes it’s personal secrets, sometimes it’s getting her a drink from the vending machine, sometimes it’s using your personal connections to get her and Kyo a table at one of the hottest new restaurants in town. She’s also unofficially the office’s go-to nurse; because of her ‘former life’ in the medical field, she has a fully stocked first aid kit in her office, and is willing to help you with anything from a paper cut to setting a broken bone--just be prepared to ‘pay’ her extra for the service. Her favorite people to tease and extract ‘favors’ from are her fellow Four Emperors. Kyo is, of course, an exception and is always welcome in her office for anything.

Hotaru is the company enigma/cryptid/urban legend. He appears in the office frequently, though he’s just as likely to get lost either on the way to the office or even inside the office. No one’s quite sure what his official title is, if he even has one, but according to company records he’s the head of Public Relations. Originally, he was sent by the Mibu to infiltrate as a corporate spy, something he was okay with being...up until he met Kyo and the others and decided that working for them would be more fun. He doesn’t spill many Mibu secrets, largely because he never really cared for them in the first place and hardly remembers any of them, though every now and then when the topic comes up he’ll remember something and say it, usually out of context, giving the company a leg up on the Mibu. His usual ‘expeditions’, as they’ve come to be known around the office, while lost has let him meet with other people and businesses. These connections have allowed him to explain Kyo’s Business (as he calls it), bringing in more business, money, and even more connections. His ‘expeditions’ have come to be considered a business write-off, something Akari grudging allows partially because it helps Kyo and brings in money, and partly because it’s hilarious.

Benitora is one of the newest hires at the company. He’s actually the son and heir to the Tokugawa Conglomerate, something everyone but the company lawyer knows, but is allowed to stay partly because he’s a pretty fun guy and partly because he clearly wants to be here rather than working for his father. There’s the implicit understanding that he will probably have to go back to the Tokugawas eventually, but in the meantime he’s more than happy to be the office gopher (specifically Kyo’s, though he’ll help out anyone else if they ask, especially the pretty lawyer). The only one he’s not on the greatest terms with is Akira, who keeps needling him whenever Tora has frequent computer issues. Tora gives as good as he gets, leading to an...odd friendship, not that either party will admit that they’re friends. If Hotaru gets involved, the three are just as likely to accidentally (somehow) take over another, smaller company for Kyo (again) or go on a weekend bender that ends with them having to call the company lawyer to bail them out--usually by entering Akari’s debt for the bail to be paid.

Yuya is the newest hire at the company. She’s the company lawyer and the one who is constantly exasperated and pulling her hair out because of the others’ antics. Despite her complaining, she’s the best lawyer the company has ever had and has successfully managed to win several key cases against the Mibu. Her only complaint is that the CEO, Kyo, is a jackass who frequently makes passes at her. He hasn’t quite crossed the line of sexual harrassment (unlike canon), but she has frequently complained to Bontenmaru about him. Despite how crass he can seem, there’s a caring side that he seems to only show her, something that keeps her at the company instead of just leaving. She has many friends (and admirers) at the company, though no one is quite brave enough to really try anything with her considering her relationship with the CEO and his Inner Circle. She’ll frequently volunteer her work pro-bono on the weekends for causes she supports and the underprivileged--in exchange, she double bills the company for her time, something Akari allows partly because they’re good friends and partly because Yuya’s complaints to her during their talks are a gold-mine of office gossip.

#not a quote #incorrectsdkquotes #incorrect samurai deeper kyo quotes #au ideas #office/ceo au #demon eyes kyo #akira #bontenmaru #akari #hotaru #benitora #shiina yuya #four emperors #shiseiten #i could probably go on with this au #with the mibu/twelve gods/sanada 10 and their companies #if anyone wants/cares for me to #i may have thought about this a lot #lol

7 notes · View notes

som3thingcr3ative · 5 years ago

Text

And I Am Wanting 4

sooooo with self-quarantine, I find myself with a lot of time on my hands, and despite the fact that my keyboard is best described as... crunchy, I have been writing!

I do apologize, however, for the angst. (did I say part four was gonna be better? Oops.) Five isn’t much better, angst wise. Actually, it’s worse. Sorry. But hey, fluff and smut are coming soon!

part one part two part three part four

summary: greed finds Geralt, Lani and Jaskier along the road and puts them in a difficult position: Jaskier makes a move.

warnings: character death, violence, gore, bamf!Jaskier, nonhuman!Jaskier, angst, smut....

pairings: Jaskier x Lani, pining!Geralt, pining!Jaskier

It’s been a week. The bruises on Lani’s face are a faint green discoloration, the ones on her body just pale shadows against alabaster skin.

None of them have seen another traveler for days, and it’s started to put Geralt on edge.

Jaskier has kept up a steady stream of babble for the last hours. Lani is twitchy, though, her head on a swivel as she glares into the woods. Her posture is rigid, her eyes narrowed. A second later, Geralt hears it- or rather, he notices the lack of sound. The birds aren’t singing; there aren’t any forest creatures running around, and even the horses are awfully quiet.

Lani’s bow, which had been slung across her shoulder, finds its way into her hand. She nocks an arrow silently, drawing her hood over her head. Geralt draws his silver sword. Jaskier is oblivious, still talking merrily about a tale of a different witcher slaying a beast.

A faint whistle is all the warning they get. Lani yells as an arrow embeds itself into the shoulder of her bow arm. Her bow drops from numb fingers and she looks toward the direction the arrow came; Geralt sees her eyes widen and then she bails off the side of her mare, rolling on the ground to break her fall. An arrow ricochets off a tree just behind where her throat had been.

Geralt can’t see the enemy until they break onto the path ahead, five men dressed in black. Jaskier yelps, facing the way they’d come and Geralt looks- six more men are behind them. Lani pushes herself to her feet, panting through gritted teeth and holding a hand to the arrow wound.

“Surrender your gold or die.” A tall, moustached man says, stepping out from the group behind them. His hair is greasy but his clothes are well-made for a highwayman, the sword at his hip clearly stolen from some rich merchant. He motions with one hand and another arrow is aimed at Lani. “We do not want to hurt your companion more than we have to.”

A growl builds in Geralt’s throat, nearly too strong to choke down. His eyes narrow on the opponents; if he’d been alone, he would’ve taken his chances, but with Lani already injured and Jaskier at stake, he doesn’t think it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

“We have no gold.” Geralt lies before Jaskier can even open his mouth. “There is no work in these parts, and gold is hard to come by.”

The thief takes even, measured strides toward Lani. He crouches down before her, using the tip of his sword to push back her hood. She swipes at him with a dagger, but he’s not close enough and it swings wide. “Ah-ah-ah,” He admonishes, catching her wrist easily. Too easily- Geralt thinks. She’s never that clumsy. And then the wind shifts directions toward him and he can smell poison. His eyes fall to Lani; she’s shaking and panting heavily, her skin too pale. The thief squeezes her wrist and her dagger clatters to the ground. He spins her around on her knees, gripping her chin when she fights him. “You travel with a mutant, Witcher.” He says, picking up Lani’s dagger.

Geralt says nothing. Jaskier whimpers when the thief rests Lani’s own dagger against her throat.

“What we have is in her saddlebags!” Jaskier blurts.

“Jaskier-” Geralt growls, but it’s either not heard or simply ignored.

“Just let her go and you can have whatever you want.”

For a breathless second, everything is still. The thief seems to weigh his options, eyes narrowing on Lani’s grey mare who appears to be asleep. He waves a hand and two of the men near him approach the mare, rifling through her saddlebags.

Lani whistles a five-tone command; the mare’s ears perk and she comes suddenly awake, striking at the thieves with a shrill scream. Just as her back hooves land a blow, the leader of the highwaymen tugs Lani to her feet none-too-gently.

“Call it off,” The man commands Lani, growling in her ear. She stubbornly shakes her head as the mare charges the two would-be-thieves. “Call it off.” He says again, pressing the blade against her skin hard enough to draw blood.

“Enough!” Geralt yells, drawing his steel sword to join his silver. He turns Roach with just his legs, brandishing the weapons. “Let her go.”

And though a Witcher’s blade is leveled in his direction, the thief smiles. “I don’t think I will. Do you know what the head of a mutant is worth to the nearby Lord? A pretty trunk of gold. Just the head, mind you. The body’s ours.”

Lani screams, coming to her senses beneath the haze of poison just enough to yank her hairpin out of her hair and slam it into the thief’s thigh. The man bellows in pain, his eyes lighting in anger. Before Geralt can do anything about it, a thick red stripe opens across Lani’s throat from the blade of her own dagger.

Her eyes widen in shock as the thief falls to the ground, clutching his leg.

A scream rips from Jaskier- a sound that can’t be human, not from the way all of the thieves suddenly shout in pain, clutching their ears. Geralt can’t hear it; his eyes are on Lani as she collapses into a growing puddle of her own blood, eyes wide and lifeless.

The Witcher’s too-slow heart stalls in his chest for a beat, and then it renews to the rhythm of murder.

He leaps from Roach with an agility typically only found after he takes a potion, taking heavy, terrifyingly furious steps toward the eight remaining thieves. They try to scatter, but they can’t, not with Jaskier’s echoing scream still ripping from his lungs, having broken their eardrums. Geralt doesn’t pause to think why they stumble like drunkards, why they can’t seem to get their balance- they’re dead before they hit the ground.

When he turns, Jaskier has taken Lani’s dagger and turned on the ringleader, burying the dagger to the hilt in the man’s throat. He’s so lost in his anger that he keeps stabbing, keeps drawing blood.

Geralt shouts a warning; he’d strayed too far in the fight, too far to be fast enough to stop the last thief from sneaking up on Jaskier, blade drawn. Just as the man raises his sword for a killing blow, just as Geralt breaks into a sprint trying to reach the bard in time, the man goes horribly still.

Geralt doesn’t know what happened. In a flash, the man’s throat is gone- utterly ripped out. It isn’t until he slumps over, dead, that the Witcher sees who was behind him.

Lani’s shirt is blood-soaked. There’s a thin red scar across the pale column of her neck and her bared teeth expose the elongated points of her canines- teeth more fox than human. Geralt stops in his tracks, heart hammering too fast. Jaskier, too, looks up, and nearly faints.

“Only a witcher can kill me, remember?” Lani jests, looking from Geralt to Jaskier to the trachea in her clenched fist. She blinks at it, surprised that it’s there as if just realizing what she’d done. “Oh,” She murmurs, dropping it unceremoniously.

Jaskier jumps up, framing Lani’s face in his hands, his scent of terror so strong that Geralt doesn’t need a breeze to smell it. “I thought- oh gods, I really thought you were dead. Oh, Lani, you can’t do that to me! Swear you’ll never do that again-” He tugs her into a bone-crushing hug so fast Geralt can hear the air whoosh out of her lungs. “Oh gods. Oh thank the gods. Thank that witch!”

And Geralt, damn him, can’t help it. He finds himself beside the two of them before he realizes his legs have moved. The Witcher drops his swords-

And envelops them both in his arms.

~~~

Jaskier has never seen something so beautiful as the crisp, clear blue water of a river that night.

It’s been a long day in the saddle after their run-in with the now deceased thieves, a day of checking over his shoulder to find Lani sullen and quiet, mouth open just enough to touch her tongue to her new canines, the red line on her throat as persistent as it was when she first ‘woke up’, as she calls it.

The bard just calls it a death experience. Not near-death, no, she was quite dead, but only for a minute.

He takes a deep breath, staring at the deep water below him. In the shallow areas, the water is clear enough to see the colorful rocks on the bottom, but beneath him, the water is dark. Geralt had assured him it was deep enough to jump into. Jaskier isn’t so sure, but the water calls to him. It sings through his blood, through his bones, urging him to jump in with something as forceful as the hand of destiny.

Jaskier jumps.

The weight of destiny falls away the second the water touches his bare skin. He’d left his clothes to dry on the riverbank in the sunlight, a necessary evil, since they’d been blood-splattered and near ruined. Naked, Jaskier breaks the surface and swims for a more shallow area where the water comes up to his collar and no higher.

“What the hell, Jaskier?” A very disgruntled voice shouts from just behind him. Jaskier startles, turning toward the deeper water to see Lani, her amber fox-eyes narrowed, teeth bared. She’s treading water, her hair in drenched ropes across her shoulders and fanning out behind her. “I was here first, and then you nearly jump on me?”

So that’s why I was drawn to this spot, he thinks, just a bit too late. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea-” He backs up as she swims angrily toward him, but it’s hard to stay apologetic when he can stand and she can’t. Her head dips under for a second and when she comes back up she’s spluttering mad. “Lani?”

“You. Got. My. Clothes. Wet.”

He follows the direction of her hand, no matter how briefly it was above water. Sure enough, her clothes are laid out in a sunny spot that had been affected by his splash zone. For a second Jaskier fumbles for a reply- then heat rises across his chest and up his neck.

If her clothes are there, then they’re not-

Lani’s angry expression melts the second Jaskier reaches out, hooking an arm around her waist. Sure enough, the hand he has against her low back touches skin, and nothing but skin. Her eyes widen momentarily, but then she leans into the touch.

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier murmurs consolingly, drawing her close and testing how far she’ll let him go. As it is, he’s had a very rough day and there’s nothing better than a little physical release, especially with the woman who he’s been flirting with for more than a week. It’s not like she hasn’t reciprocated, either. He remembers the ghost of a conversation they’d had a few days before, when she’d asked if he thought she was a monster.

‘You’re not a monster, Lani.’ He’d said then. ‘No matter how far this curse takes you, you’ll always be human and good at heart.’

She’d stared into the fire for a long time. ‘I’m never going to break this curse. No one will ever love me.’

‘So until then, live. Live the way you’ve always wanted to.’

‘What about you, Jask?’ She’d asked. ‘What does living mean to you?’

He’d grinned, slow and lazy. Maybe it was the ale they’d all had, but he’d reached out and stroked a finger over her hip as she lay beside him. ‘To me, living is doing the things I want to do without worrying about the consequences.’

Lani had looked over to Geralt’s sleeping form behind Jaskier, the Witcher passed out cold on the small bed they shared in an equally small room in a tiny inn. ‘How come you don’t make a move on him? I know you love him.’

Jaskier’s eyes had widened just briefly. ‘There’s someone else I want too, someone I think might be easier to love.’

‘You’re not giving up, are you?’

‘No,’ he’d sighed, retracting his hand. ‘I love them both.’

‘Tell me about them?’ She’d asked, ever open to whatever new detail Jaskier threw at her. Gay? She took it easily in stride. Polyamorous? No problem. Jaskier was beginning to think she was truly the missing puzzle piece. The glue. And so he told her about herself, all the while smiling. She’d drawn closer and closer until she was snuggled against his chest, almost asleep.

‘Jaskier,’ she’d murmured, and he’d tensed, since she only used his full name when she was serious, ‘If I asked you for something, would you do it?’

‘Anything.’ he’d said, and meant it.

Under the water, his hand traces up the column of her spine, pulling her in closer. His other hand traces experimentally up her stomach, across her chest; her heart beats wildly as his fingers pass up her sternum. She surprises him, then, as his hand drifts higher, fingers splayed over the red line across her throat: her chin lifts, eyes fluttering closed, baring her throat to him.

Her pulse is fast and thrumming beneath his fingers, tempting him to squeeze, just slightly. In response, she presses against him underwater, forgetting to keep herself afloat. Jaskier holds her steady before she can drop too far, the water just lapping at his hand and her throat. He shifts his stance, steady on the rock beneath him, thigh nudging her knee. There’s no resistance; her legs open, slotting around his waist like they were meant to be there. Jaskier groans, thumb pressing up under her chin as she rolls her hips. He knows she can feel him beneath the water, even if she can’t see. Her eyes are half-lidded as she watches his response, something feral in the amber depths.

“You remembered,” She whispers, voice breathy and low.

“How could I forget?” Jaskier replies, the hand on her back sliding down to the curve of her leg. Her heels dig into his ass, the strength of her muscle like a python around him. “You were pretty detailed, Lani love.”

Her head tilts back further when he removes his hand, instead mouthing at her pulse. She moans when he nips at the sensitive skin just above her scar, drapes her arms over his shoulders to stay attached to him in the slight current of the river. Jaskier twitches when she comes impossibly closer, every inch of the front of her body pressed against his. She’s panting now, and he’s sure the slick he feels can’t just be the water around them.

“Lani,” He murmurs, kissing a path to the corner of her mouth. She turns her head and melds their mouths together, swallowing the moan that tears from the back of his throat. “Lani, are you sure-”

She breaks away with a huff, breathless and with pupils blown wide. All Jaskier thinks when he sees her is that she could rip his throat out with those sharp canines, but instead here she is, submitting to him, willing, pliant. The thought only sends more blood south, leaving him dizzy. “If you don’t want to, I’ll go find someone who does.”

Jaskier growls- briefly wondering if he’s spent too much time with Geralt, since he seems to be picking up the Witcher’s habits- and claims her mouth in a searing kiss. She’s warm, her pulse so alive beneath his touch, and yet he feels like he has to chase death away from her with nothing but his bare hands. His arms grip onto her hips when she pulls back, her fingers twisting into his hair, the other hand diving under water. Jaskier nearly jumps when she takes him in her palm, guiding him to exactly where she wants him.

“I want you, Lani.” He says when she pauses, biting her lip. His fingers dig into the firm muscle of her ass, eliciting a gasp. She rocks her hips, teasing, and then sinks onto him.

Jaskier has been with many women- and men, for that matter, but nothing has felt quite like this. It feels like the water is holding him up, supporting both his body and hers, far more than water usually does. He feels weightless, sheathed fully in the warmth of her body, like he could fly. Maybe he does- it’s not like either of them would know, entangled in each other from the first second of contact. Lani’s body is lithe where his is soft, her skin scarred in places she usually keeps covered, burning to the touch. Jaskier kisses her with as much feverish intensity as she gives, matching each keening whine and low moan with a snap of his hips, chasing away the memory of her lying lifeless only a few hours before.

Her skin reddens beneath his teeth, her body flexing against his, her muscles squeezing with a strength he’s only known in the toughest of women. She breaks against him the first time so suddenly that he has no warning, her head falling back and eyes closing the second he reaches between them for the spot he’s come to know and love in women. Lani clenches around him, thighs tightening with bruising strength, nails raking across his back. He nearly falls over the edge with her- nearly, but then the memory of what she’d asked him to do returns and he knows in his heart that he wants to make this as pleasant for her as he can- so he pulls out all the stops, recalls everything he’s ever learned from his years of sleeping around.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs to her, fucking her through the orgasm. She makes small noises, pupils blown so wide they devour her iris. “So good for me,” And though it’s not his normal personality, Jaskier finds himself slipping so easily into the role. Pleasing her only makes him more and more aroused until he feels like his body is vibrating with energy.

“Please, Jask,” She begs, panting against his throat. “Please, I need you to-”

He drives into her, something hot and needy unfurling at the base of his spine. She clenches around him, keening as her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders. Jaskier kisses and licks at the conjunction of her neck and shoulder, then bites down just hard enough to bruise.

Lani moans his name, clamping down on him once more and drawing him in so deep she can feel him in the back of her throat. Jaskier follows, groaning against her near-feverish skin, vision whiting out. It’s all he can do to keep his grip on her as the water cradles them both.

Around them, the water is glowing, but neither of them are aware.

~~~

Geralt pokes at the fire grumpily when Jaskier and Lani return, both smelling of sex despite the water. “Did you have fun?” He gruffs, refusing to even look up. The fire’s raging, hot enough to singe his face, but he pokes it again anyway.

Jaskier laughs, low and melodic. Lani is tucked under his arm, wearing his overcoat. She’s grinning, despite having worried all day about the newest development of her curse. Geralt finally looks at them both and feels a seething pit of jealousy in his chest at their happiness, side by side with the warmth their joy brings him. “Why yes, dear witcher, we did. Did you?”

“No.” He grumbles, turning away from the fire to tend to the horses. “I heard everything.”

He thinks Lani winces at his words, but Jaskier’s arm only draws her closer. She snuggles into his side as they settle by the fire, baking the last of the water from their now-clean clothes. “You know,” Jaskier starts, “If you want to join us all you have to do is ask!”

It was a joke, Geralt immediately admonishes himself, but the thought is like a parasite, worming its way into the forefront of his brain and staying there. Still, his whole body lights up at the thought, heart racing away before he can get it under control.

The Witcher stomps off into the woods.

Jaskier raises a brow, watching him go. This is one of the few moments that he can’t tell what Geralt is feeling, and the idea of it hurts. “Jask,” Lani murmurs, putting her hand on his jaw to turn his face back toward her. She presses her thumb into the crease between his brows, smoothing over his worry. “He’ll come around eventually.”

The bard kisses Lani’s palm and twines their fingers together. “He’ll live for far longer than me. I’m worried that eventually might be too late.”

When Geralt returns, he finds Lani curled against Jaskier, both of them asleep. They smell like each other, with a slight overshadow of magic. Geralt doesn’t give it another thought- it must be magic from Lani’s curse, after all, the magic that brought her back with only a new scar to show for it. He lays down between the two and the fire, knowing Lani’s tendency to move toward warmth of any kind at night.

Even though he tosses and turns, it isn’t until Geralt gives in and wraps his arms around both Lani and Jaskier that he can sleep.

They smell like sex and sweat and each other, and a not very well controlled part of Geralt wants them to smell like him, too.

AIAW tag list (open!) : @little-piece-of-tamlin @inforapound

18 notes · View notes

aboldclaim · 6 years ago

Note

3! 26! They can be put together also ❤

Soft™ fic prompts - 3. forehead kisses + 26. bed hair (read on ao3)

He wakes up alone.

The bed has a mismatched quilt neatly spread along the end of it, which he sort of hates, and there’s a space on the other side of the mattress that he throws a leg towards as he tries to shake the sleep from his bones, sheets cold on his bed-warm skin. He wakes up alone. He supposes he’ll have to get used to it.

He wishes he could have woken later, early early morning light peering through the curtains, and he’s tired from the late night, last minute, lost twice drive into town. He was greeted with endless cups of tea at the end of it, and Ray’s mile a minute conversation as they worked their way around the house at a quarter to midnight. He’d contemplated bailing, briefly, escaping to the motel he’d seen on the way in, then getting the hell out. He’d chalk it up to some sort of preemptive mid-life crisis, and things could go back to the way things were, in his town, his job. Rachel.

But he’s made up his mind.

This town seems nice enough anyway, from what he saw on the way in, pretty to spite its name maybe, and small. The main strip couldn’t have been more than an intersection, collected around a cafe, and there’s a garage, and an empty general store, for lease taped across the windows. A collection of houses on streets with odd names balloon from the middle, a few fields, old silos, a brown baseball pitch, and he’s run away to places like this before. He’ll stay until he figures out what it his that he wants, who he wants, where he wants. He’s tried the stiff-collared, stuffed elevator life, and he’s tried, and tried, and tried with Rachel, and he’s tried to want both of those things, but he doesn’t. For now, he’s made a decision and he’ll see it through, like he does, most of the time, and he’ll sort himself out. It’s a temporary sea change, so to speak, a chance to breathe country air.

Rachel would have teased him about it, his jumble of mixed metaphors, his mess of bed hair. She would have told him he could do better, that he’s wildly overqualified for shuffling paperwork around the dinky office downstairs. He would have said he likes paperwork, she would have called him a nerd. She would tease him about this too, about the quilt at the end of his bed, and the room in Ray’s pokey house, and the town with the funny name, and up and leaving her like that, for this.

He thinks it’s only fair that she’s his frame of reference, for things, for everything. He doesn’t think he should begrudge himself that, doesn’t think there’s any sense in burying the last twenty years and every part of his life she had a part in. He can’t obfuscate, won’t erase that she kissed him in the stands of a baseball match when he was sixteen, that he took her home to meet his parents, that she was his best friend, that he broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke her heart, and broke off the engagement, and said they needed a break. He wants to forget the tattoo of the rain on his balcony, and his skin bristling from the cold, and her voice crackling like she was at the other end of a shoddy phone line and not in amongst boxes, in his apartment, in his head. He can’t forget how he felt, how she looked, her face crumpling, frown collecting beneath his mouth when he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and that he felt sad, but he didn’t feel the way she felt, even though he thought he did, even though he’d wanted to.

It’s not as hard as he thought it would be, waking up without her.

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up late, with flannel sheets tangled around his bare legs and David attempting to be quiet as he picks his way across Stevie’s apartment through the mess of their clothes on the floor. He has their forgotten whisky glasses in one hand, his shoes in the other, and his dark brow furrows when he sees Patrick propping himself up on an elbow.

‘Were you gonna leave a note?’

‘Yeah, look, I’ll call you,’ David says, his tone somewhere on the way to teasing, and Patrick watches as he attempts a more casual stance, crossing one bare foot in front of the other and leaning a little to the side, as if loitering against some imaginary wall. He’s half-dressed, has quoiffed his hair back into its usual shape, but his arms are bare, unsweatered, and he can see the hair rising on his skin. His eyes are a little inflated, like a deer in the headlights, somewhere between freeze and flight.

The blind panic bubbles somewhere right below the surface. Patrick can tell, because he feels it too, and he knows David’s afraid he’s making a mistake by staying, that he’d make a mistake by going, that he’s used to being walked out on, left without a note, used to walking out when he’s asked to, or before he is, to save himself more hurt. Patrick knows he’s fighting every conditioned instinct standing there, teasing him, not walking out the door, and he wants to tell him he won’t walk out either. He wants to say he won’t do that, that he’s here, that he’ll be here, but he doesn’t want to scare him off. Instead he clears the sleep from his voice, replaces it with all the warmth within him, and affection, and ginger teasing, and a small wave.

‘See you around.’

‘Definitely,’ David says, and he takes a few cautious steps toward the bed, leaning over to kiss him. It’s soft and short and tender, less desperate, less breathless than last night. His stomach still swoops as David presses a kiss to his forehead, to his left-side temple, to the mark he made on his neck that’s blossomed into a mottled bruise, before he stands again, moves back toward the kitchen. He places the glasses near the sink before he opens the fridge, bends down to peer inside. ‘I was going to make you coffee -

‘Come back to bed.’

‘ - but she doesn’t have any milk.’

He’s avoiding Patrick’s gaze, he thinks, avoiding his request, staring into Stevie’s empty fridge for answers instead. His expression is wound tight, and his posture pulled apart, voice straining still. It’s making Patrick panic a little that David is panicking so much. It’s making him worry that he’s come on too strong, or not strong enough, or that he made a fool of himself last night.

He’d liked that they had the time, had the space to spend the time figuring out each other’s bodies, figuring out what the other one likes. He’d had an idea, had a sense from their halfway there attempts at the store, because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but it wasn’t the same. It’s nothing compared to sitting on a bed with him, kissing lazily because they have the time, letting laughter bubble between their lips. It’s not the same as feeling David’s hands slip beneath his sweater, or whisper against his belt. It’s not the same as his body atop his, or beneath his, around and intertwined and inside his. It’s not the same as chasing each other’s lips, all tongues and teeth and bodies against each other, thighs and hands and the small of his back, and David’s stubble against his cheek.

Thinking that he knew what it might be like, from a few attempts in the backroom of the store, or from what he’s seen, what he’s watched trying to figure out what he wants, is different, is so different from reality. It’s messy and sweaty and very personal, and David has so much experience. He can’t help but feel he’s made a shambles of it, or said the wrong things this morning, or not said enough.

But David had fallen asleep tangled around him, hand hooked around his bicep and feet knocking his feet, and David had peppered kisses along his shoulder before he’d fallen asleep, and David had told him that it was good, so good, don’t stop, so good. They’d taken each other in their stride, and figured things out as they went along, it needn’t have been perfect because it was nice. Patrick feels good, feels right, things feel easy and he likes David, he really likes him. He doesn’t want to overthink it, doesn’t want to re-litigate, doesn’t wants to deconstruct. He doesn’t want to go into work.

‘David,’ he says softly, pressing his palm against the mattress to push himself upward, gesturing to it when David finally meets his eyes. ‘Come back to bed.’

‘We’re late,’ David mumbles, even as he moves towards the empty side of the bed, mouth threatening a smile and the mattress dipping a little as he crawls atop it. Patrick leans forward then, catching David’s shy, joyful expression between his hands, fingers splayed out against his jawline.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Patrick says, and it takes him by surprise a little, its other meaning, and that he means it, that he wants David to know. It seems to take David by surprise too, his expression morphing into something unspeakably tender as he moves forward, as Patrick tugs him toward the pillows.

‘What will the bosses say?’ David surges against him, and the question sounds around laughter, is muffled between their mouths. He lets Patrick run his fingers through his hair, lets him mess it up, so little dark tufts stick upwards and there’s no mistaking what he’s been up to. He lets Patrick’s hands find purchase at the nape of his neck, and at his waist, as he rolls his hips against him.

‘They seem like the forgiving sort.’

He wakes up alone.

He wakes up without David.

He’s woken up without David before, has woken up without him most of his life, and on and off in the last four months, when it suited them, or he needed a change of clothes, or they couldn’t get Ray to shut up. This is different, this sucks - waking up without the possibility of waking up with him, every day since the barbeque, every morning for the last week.

It’s been a week of torture, of emotional self-flagallation, caught in between the lines of text messages, wrapped around link bracelets, and he’s not like this. He tries not to overthink, tries not to spiral into worst case scenarios or get caught in emotional quagmires from which he can’t see a way out, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Maybe it’s because he’s in love with him.

(It’s because he’s in love with him.)

Maybe it’s because he’s got nothing else to preoccupy his thoughts, nothing else to fill the silence, waking up alone this morning, and going to bed alone last night, and the night before, and the night before that. He’s at the store alone too, and on the walk home, and on the coffee run at the cafe, clocking odd glances from familiar faces. He’s sure what happened has made its way around the town already, gossip jumps between people here like wildfire between wooden houses. He’s been told that it’s made the rounds and he thinks they might have taken David’s side in the break up. He wants to tell him, wants to let him tease him about it, and he would if they were still talking, if they were still together.

He had thought they might have been together still. He’d told Rachel he was his boyfriend, is his boyfriend, hands plunged deep into his pockets and mouth dry, an overdue conversation, but tricky all the same to change decades of their history like that.

And they had texted. David had texted him. He had asked him to mind the store, told him about getting away for a couple of days, stilted conversations abutting an affectionate back-and-forth and Patrick had run headlong into over-worrying every response. He thought if he’d kept the conversation going David wouldn’t forget about him, he wouldn’t move on. He thought if he was gentle, and light, and funny enough, David wouldn’t be so angry, wouldn’t end things, would let them stay in this awkward space between dating and not, until he won him over.

After a day or two of radio silence he’d sent flowers to the motel. He’d dropped off chocolates with a bemused, protective Stevie, who’d told him he was a moron and said she’d pass them on. He’d sent a note, sent a bracelet, settled right into old gestures, tried and true to get someone to talk to you. He tailspins into something akin to desperation, a blind panic of texts and gifts until he goes to bed last night, alone, and realises he’s been an idiot.

David hasn’t told him much about his life, about the others. He should have asked, should have let David ask him about his, but they’d fortified the edges of the corner of their town instead, let their fledgling relationship run wild within its artificial boundaries until it could stumble safely into love.

David hasn’t wanted to tell him about his past, but heard enough from throwaway self-deprecation, off-hand jokes to know that it hadn’t been good, that the others, the ones before him, hadn’t been kind, hadn’t treated him well. He’d pieced together enough of the puzzle of him to realise, last night, mismatched quilt at the end of his bed, and a pair of David’s socks in the corner of the room, and his heart in the pit of his stomach, that he’s treated him the same way. He hadn’t told him, he hadn’t asked, and then he’d smothered him. He’d thrown thing after thing at him without so much as a text in response, because it had made him feel better, and he hadn’t thought any further than that.

He feels the same in the morning, sleep failing to assuage the tightness in his chest, the waves of embarrassment that lap against his skin and make him blush, make him feel a little sick. His head is so full of things he wants to tell David that they spill into his mouth, and he tests them out as he wakes up, to see how they fit around his tongue, between his teeth. He wants to tell him he’s sorry. He wants to tell him about Rachel. He wants to tell him everything about before, everything he’d left out, the boys he thinks he might have liked, the men he thinks he might have wanted. He wants to tell him he loves him. He wants to tell him he loves him, and his world feels like its shifted left of centre, but that’s not for David to resolve, that’s not for him to figure out. He’ll figure it out by himself. That’s what he’ll tell him.

They can still run the store though. He cares about it too much to leave it behind, and there’s nothing to stop them being colleagues. There’s nothing to stop them being friendly.

There’s nothing wrong with maybe telling him he missed him, as a colleague. It’s not weird to fix his hair in the reflection of the register before David gets there, rectify the mess that sleep made of it. He doesn’t need to analyse the way his heart leaps into his throat when David comes through the door, even half an hour late, even in a leather sweater, even in this weather.

After, he pretends to be cross.

After he couldn’t be more thrilled, David’s hands on his thighs and music filling the store. After he leans forward, tells him he’s an idiot, tells him he’s sorry he was an idiot. After he takes him home, takes him to bed, presses a line of kisses along the line of his hair.

He wakes up married.

There’s a pile of their suits, shirts, ties, shoes, draped and folded neatly across the chair. There’s a pile of oddly wrapped presents by the door, and a pile of half-eaten strawberries from the hotel staff on the coffee table, and a pile of David’s hair tickling his neck.

His head rests at an odd angle against Patrick’s collarbone, he thinks he’ll complain when he’s awake, and it rises and falls with Patrick’s slow waking sighs. He’s a little trapped by David on his shoulder, and by his arm flung across his middle and tangled in the sheets at his waist, but he doesn’t mind. He still feels like he did yesterday, a little overwhelmed, a little full to the brim, and to the ends of his nerves. It’s like there’s only so much happiness one body can handle in a day, like it had to hold some in so he could deal with the residue today, let it jump between his synapses, run wild around his body, let it bubble on his lips, and against the lines on David’s forehead.

‘Morning’, David mumbles, and he’s woken him up. He shifts away a little, tries to keep still.

‘Morning. Sorry.’

‘I don’t think - ’ David clears the sleep from his throat, and he feels him shift closer, feels his fingers trace the linen at Patrick’s waist, before they slip beneath it to make light, messy circles around his left hip bone. David’s brow is serious, but his voice is laced with humour, and he starts to drum a gentle tattoo against his skin. ‘I don’t think I caught your name last night.’

‘Oh, let’s not do names.’

David peers up at him then, eyes bright, mouth in a tight-lipped smile, pulled to one side of his face, so he can hold in the happiness the best way he knows. David looks at him like he always does, like he did at the start, relieved Patrick’s in on the joke, thrilled when he brings David in on his.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hooked up with a stranger at a wedding,’ he shrugs, and Patrick places a hand atop David’s to pause his fidgeting. David turns his hand over then so their palms meet briefly, before he lets his thumb slide across Patrick’s knuckles, like mountains and valleys to crest before he reaches the thin gold band on his fourth finger. It’s a new addition, a yesterday addition to his fairly jewelry minimal collection. It makes him feel entirely far too happy to deal with atop his current portions, a separate happiness that he’ll process later, so he just lets David traces his thumb against it, lets himself feel David’s own rings bump against it. ‘Probably the last time though.’

‘Probably?’

‘Probably,’ David brings Patrick’s hand up to his mouth, presses a grin to the ring there.

‘Funny,’ Patrick deadpans, shuffles down a little on the pillow. He brings his free hand under Davids chin to shift his gaze upward and leans forward, presses his nose against David’s cheek. ‘Remind me to tell my next husband that one.’

David doesn’t bother to hide his grin this time, wide and warm, and caught against Patrick’s mouth, the kiss messy and familiar and dissolved into laughter.

#david x patrick #schitt's creek #schitts creek #my fic #soft fic prompt meme #Im SO SORRY it took me so long to get to this! i really got carried away with it!#hope its okayyy #david rose #patrick brewer

121 notes · View notes

imdoingthismspaintadventure · 5 years ago

Text

In which I nerd out about PS and portal windows.

THE GREEN TEXT WAS ATTRACTIVE. NOW VIEW THE RED TEXT AGAIN.

Oh god we’re going back to TG again.

John is 1000% done with all these huge logs.

TG: when the film crew zooms where the presidents at TG: im like if that dudes black ill eat my hat TG: turns out he is, so we're all "damn, director's got gumption" TG: like we'll all flip our shit he aint shining shoes or somethin TG: its called freemancipation. if its not pres-election its god-ascension TG: in bruce almighty. whoops, different bruce from the one i just mentioned EB: aaaaaarrrgh!

Oh my fucking god TG was still going on and on with his reality-shattering godraps. That is amazing.

He is creating the perfect pop culture amalgam in there, too! I said it before but TG, you are a treasure.

TG: cant explain to me why this aint condescension to think ill shit a brick TG: not even he can convey the intention with his quickspun wit TG: rather defray all this tension, sit on his lap while he whittles a splint TG: and some guy eyes what he does and patronizes: i guess negrocity's the mother of invention

I’m having an astral journey reading this.

TG, what in the actual fuck are you talking about??

You are the god of rambling I swear

EB: stop rapping for a second you horse's ass! EB: i have something important to talk about. TG: whats up EB: rose is in trouble and she needs help. i was going to connect to her with sburb but i lost my copy! TG: ok

Horse’s ass is a good insult.

Yeah I guess TG now has to bail her out after the car fuckup

EB: also she lost battery power. if she can get back up and running, she'll need someone with the game to get her out of there before her house burns down. EB: so i think you should use your copy of the game to help her! TG: my copy? TG: thats going to be tough

Oh no what will the shenanigans be this time.

EB: why? TG: i lost it TG: its a stupid story and id rather not talk about it TG: shit be embarrassing yo

Oh fucking hell.

Why are all the copies of this game getting lost so easily??? Take care of your videogames!!

What did you do to lose it, now I’m scared of whatever bullshit sequence of events transpired

EB: i thought you said you had two? TG: well yeah TG: one is my brothers copy EB: ok, well get his then! TG: alright TG: but hes not gonna be happy about that

Is this going to be like a Dad situation where there is an interactive boss? That was really great so I hope it is!

EB: whatever. EB: also you might want to read rose's walkthrough to get up to speed on this. TG: oh man EB: what? TG: nothing really TG: look all im saying is the girl tends to lay it on kinda thick you know? EB: /ROLLS EYES

Embrace the purple prose TG! Let it envelop you in its glorious overwritten radiance!

Ooh we’re back with the purple lady herself!

She needs to find an alternative energy source asap, to help John and be able to stay communicated, before she burns to death!

Your LAPTOP is out of BATTERY POWER. There's only one thing left to do. Time to make your way to that BACKUP GENERATOR.

Yup, figured it would end up being relevant.

Rose: Knit laptop cozy to shield your laptop from the rain.

...really?

Time managment is not really your strong point it seems.

Oh you already had one made!!

The heart octopus is just the best.

I remember her inventory system to be an unholy nightmare.

That would be such a waste of time! Besides, you already knitted one a while ago. You retrieve it from your KNITTING BAG and apply it to your LAPTOP. You captchalogue the LAPTOP PLUS COZY.

Cozy laptop is cozy!

Rose: Equip grimoire to strife specibus.

Ooh.

That could either result in getting arcane eldritch powers that man was not meant to know... or just a book to bludgeon people to death with.

Both seem worth it.

NOPE

I change my mind this just screams death.

That would be incredibly ill-advised! There are some dark forces you just don't want to mess around with. You understand this better than most. You put the book down.

I like the fact that Rose has an object with such dark and terrible powers even the inventory system and the narrator are advising us to put it as far away as possible from anything resembling a weapon slot.

Was I correct in the eldritch powers thing??

Rose: Recaptchalogue your items!

Oh hello again you terrible, terrible captchalogue system.

You grab the KNITTING BAG and the GRIMOIRE, in that order. It's always a logistical puzzle with your TREE MODUS. The tree AUTO-BALANCES, leaving the KNITTING BAG accesible in the ROOT CARD.

Imagine having one of this in a real videogame.

Seems the kind of move Yoko Taro would do.

................That rithym minigame

Rose: Allocate knitting needles to strife specibus.

Eesh, that seems like a very nasty weapon by necessity.

You feel a lot more comfortable with this as a weapon. You're so handy with those needles, you feel like you could probably use them to filet a sword fish.

Damn, Rose could be fucking deadly with those.

Say goodbye to all the tender spots of flesh in your body.

John has it lucky with his captchalogue thing.

You lose the ROOT CARD in the process, severing the tree. Hey, careful with all that stuff!

Yeah let’s not break the laptop. Or the Necronomicon, Or both.

Rose: Knit plush cuddle-cthulhu to soothe nerves.

Greatest idea so far.

...it’s the actual necronomicon isn’t it.

That would also be a preposterous waste of time!!! Besides, you're quite sure you've never heard of this creature called "Cthulhu" before. There are however many other specimens of the ZOOLOGICALLY DUBIOUS you're familiar with. Such as...

Or this universe’s version of it at least.

Rose: Consult the grimoire.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S FLUTHLU!! WITH A BUNCH OF HORRIFYING BEASTS AROUND IT.

IN THE IMAGINARY CITY STREETS

HOW HAVE YOU BEEN, LAST TIME I SAW YOU, YOU GOT STABBED BY A VERY CHARISMATIC DETECTIVE AND BEHEADED BY A WINDOW PORTAL.

IN CASE YOU COULDN’T TELL, I REALLY APPRECIATE THE REFERENCE.

FLUTHLU, FOUL PATRICIAN OF MISERY. To hear his mammoth belly gurgle is to know the Epoch of Joy has come to an abrupt end

Oh god, we get to see even greater elder gods now!!

Nrub’yiglith.... is that a reference to Shrub-Niggurath? Seems the most likely one to me.

And NRUB'YIGLITH, SHAMEBEAST KING OF GROTESQUERY, WRITHE-LORD OF THE MOIST BEYONDHOOD. Hearing his melodious chirps and tongue-clicks causes one's bones to explode.

WRITHE-LORD OF THE MOIST BEYONDHOOD!!

These descriptions are fucking amazing.

Oglogoth....Ok, this is definitely Azathoth, the daemon sultan.

Nice!

And of course there's OGLOGOTH, THE DEEP ONE. Whenever he grinds his teeth, all the children of a random galaxy somewhere will frown continuously for a nine thousand year span.

These fucking descriptions.... Holy shit give me 500 of these.

He is the first and smallest of the SMALLER GODS, appointed in servitude of a vile, unfathomable pantheon of MIDDLING GODS which caters to the whims of the NOBLE CIRCLE OF HORRORTERRORS, an omniscient, omnipotent order of the elite few, forever cloaked in the darkness of the FURTHEST RING.

What the fuck???

So in the homestuck universe, Azathoth is just a scrub! There are a whole three tiers above him in power!

The noble circle of horrorterrors, cloaked in the darkness of the furthest ring...

Someone should make a story with all this lore, or use it in a DnD campaign. Some of this is legitimately really good.

OH MY GOD

THE WINDOW PORTALS. THEY ARE OUTLINED HERE AS WELL.

And then there's this strange page containing some rather mysterious notes on summoning procedures. You've never been quite sure what these diagrams are getting at.

.....of course they are the summoning rituals!!

They lead to the imaginary city and if you cut their power while you are outside an eldritch being appears!!

Flutulhu was summoned after a city-wide blackout, so I wonder what would be needed for oglogoth... I was going to say a planet-wide blackout, but the imaginary city is.....all that exists over there, alongside the four realms and the cathedral/brothel/sun and moon/GPI, and all the other cosmology.

Maybe if you were outside a window during the last supermassive black hole?? That is probably the most pitch black you could ever get while in the imaginary world....

#Homestuck #Homestuck liveblog #mspaintadventures #mspaintadventures liveblog #Problem Sleuth #oglogoth

31 notes · View notes