#(this is not against certain contestants who have GONE through that shit and come out the other side fighting)
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rogue-durin-16 · 2 months ago
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HEAD-TO-HEAD (prologue)
Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.
Pairing: Joe Liebgott x Reader
Genre: angst splattered with fluff
Tags:
Head-to-head: @derersketnoget
Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters
Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads
Warnings: implied sexism, language
A/N: am I writing a multipart for this scrappy little shit just because I had a weirdly vivid dream with him? Yes. I need him out of my head NOW🗣️. Enjoy this little prologue <3
Head-to-head masterlist
Band of Brothers masterlist
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
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When I had first signed up to serve in the Airborne, I hadn't expected things to be smooth or easy. Hell, a part of me didn't even expect me to make it through the cut, let alone find the road paved for me to waltz into the army.
At the end of the day, being a woman was hard enough. Being a female paratrooper? Do not get me started.
Easy Company's men had been a short breath of fresh air —a glint of hope—, but nevertheless, it still was difficult enough.
I didn't need additional challenges added to the mix. I genuinely did not need someone like Joe Liebgott to take interest in talking to me.
The fact that I had been avoiding interacting with certain men in the company wasn't coincidental. I didn't trust them. Not entirely.
Of course, my opinions about most of them shifted from wary to positive after they gradually approached me. Some were a nice surprise, like Joe Toye. Some were deep down expected, like Don Malarkey or Shifty Powers.
I wasn't exactly eager to have any sort of interaction with Joe Liebgott, although the feeling apparently was not mutual. At least from the beginning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It hadn’t taken long for me to notice Joe Liebgott. He was hard to miss with his loud comments and cocky stride. In the few days of training, I had already made up my mind—he wasn't someone I wanted to interact with.
That was the reason why I felt a quick wave of irritation when, while I had a chat outside the barracks with Hoobler and Shifty, I caught him casually sauntering over like he owned the place.
This moment was doomed to come.
"Having a chat, fellas?" His grin made it clear he thought he was charming.
With a sigh louder than I intended, I raised to my feet and shook the dust off my uniform. "I think this is my cue to head out."
"Woah, where's the fire, Y/l/n?" Liebgott questioned giving me an up-and-down. "It's Y/l/n, right?"
"Right."
Silence stretched between us while we seized up each other. Maybe he had expected me to say something else. I, myself, expected the same from him.
"Can I help you with anything or...?" I gave in first.
“I figured it was time to see what all the fuss was about." he said, leaning against the barracks' wall with that confident air. "A broad? in a place like this? That's something."
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Starting with that line?"
"C'mon, it's true. It ain't everyday you see someone who can keep up with the boys." His hands dove into his pockets, chin slightly tilted up. "You must be pretty special."
A wave of disgust washed over my face so obviously that Hoobler had to hold back a laugh. "This is exactly why I didn’t approach you in the first place.”
He blinked, surprise flickering across his face, but he quickly masked it with another grin. "Come on, I'm just tryna be friendly."
"If this is friendly, then I don't wanna see the rest."
His smile faltered, and he shifted his posture ever so slightly. "You got a big mouth, don't you?"
"Makes the two of us." By the taken aback look on his face, he clearly wasn't expecting this to go sideways. "Don't give me that look, I've seen your little act."
"You've been watching me then." He took a quick look at the boys standing nearby as if waiting for a couple of laughs on their part.
"Oh please, spare me." I waved him off, a humorless half smile tugging on the corner of my lips. "I could hear you from a mile away."
He scoffed a bit too loud. "That's rich coming from someone who can be heard from the top of that goddamn mountain." His index finger pointed behind us at Currahee. There it was; that attitude he was so quick to turn to.
"Oh but that's just perfect." I quipped with a fake smile as I resumed my way out. "Means there's no need to get close!"
I would have sworn he used the word 'bitch' behind my back. I wasn't sure, though, but I had no interest in retrace my steps to get into a stupid spat with some I didn't even want to interact with in the first place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yeah, after our first conversation, one would think we would try to avoid each other.
I guess it just wasn't in Joe's nature to give up without a fight, and it wasn't in mine to keep quiet and suck it up.
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yungbud · 4 years ago
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Silent Treatment+X
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Req? Yes! @madonnasinn said: Can you write a smut about Dom ignoring y/n over a petty fight they had a few days ago, and y/n parades in a very tiny skirt around him when they go out to have dinner with his friends (to get his attention). He then gets really mad because all the guys keep eyeing her, which she knows he hates so she tempts him and fuck in the restaurant bathroom 🤭 just a lil idea i had LOL
Word Count: 2.4K
Tw:Light choking, semi-public sex acts, a little bit of thigh spanking/smacking, idk smut obviously.
A/N: Feast
You sat in the kitchen with Dom. Well, Dom sat, you stood, washing the dishes as he talked to you about how the album was going.
“I’ve just been so stressed for the past three fookin weeks trying to get this done. I just want it to be perfect, you know? And I keep wanting to go back and tweak it but Gav tells me not to.” Dom ranted, absentmindedly picking at his nailpolish while he did. 
You reached for the knob of the faucet, turning the water on to rinse off the dish in your hand, accidentally turning it too high and ending up being splashed with water, soaking the bottom half of your shirt.
That reminded you, tomorrow you had to do the laundry, then clean Dom and your shared room, then you’d have to shower– No, that wouldn’t work. You’d have to shower then do laundry before you leave, or else you’d end up being late for your appointment.
God, these last few weeks had just been so stressful. You felt like you barely had a chance to breathe, you’d finish one thing and up would pop the next. Oh, and you couldn’t forget lunch right after your appointment. You hoped there wouldn’t be traffic, you can’t be late because (Y/B/F) would only be visiting you on their lunch break, they’d have to go back to work straight after. 
Who were you kidding, it’s LA, of course there’d be traffic.
Should you reschedule? You were both so busy as is and this was the one time your schedules had allowed you to meet up in what must’ve been months. 
Shit, you thought, how long had it been? You began replaying the last few months in your head as you absentmindedly scrubbed at the plate in hand.
“And you’re not even listening.” Dom pouted.
“No, no I am. That’s great sweetie.”
“What’d I just say.” He tests, looking at you, his raised brow doing very little to hide the fact that he’s annoyed.
“You were talking about the uh- The uhm,” You paused, mustering all your brain cells to remember what he had just been talking about. The towel squished between your hand and the counter as you leaned against the sink, your fingers coming up to stroke the bridge of your nose as you thought “The drums, you just finished the last of it, right?” 
The oven dinged, signalling the food needed tending too. Your mind flipped as you searched the kitchen for the oven mit.
Where could you have possibly put it if not right next to the oven where you could’ve sworn you left it. You spun, searching the other counters, even going as far as to look in the sink before realizing it had slid to the floor right below where you put it. Sighing, you leaned down to grab it, pulling open the oven to tend to tonight’s dinner.
“Uh, what else happened today?” You ask, trying to keep your mind on track. You were careful not to burn yourself as fussed with the food
“Shit, babe can you hand me the tongs?” You ask, reaching a hand out behind you. That’s when you realized he hadn’t responded.
“Babe?” You try again, turning around only to realize he’d already left. You scoffed, grabbing it for yourself before leaning back. Standing straight, you take a moment to bask in the warmth of the oven before closing it. 
*~Three days later~*
Dom raised his head to look at you, your spoon clinking against the side of your bowl signalling your entrance of the living room. He looked back to the TV just as soon as he had looked over, obviously too invested in whatever he was watching to acknowledge your existence. A sigh of relief left your lips when your butt hit the cushions, leaning back into the inviting, cushiony supports.
“Ugh, this week has been so stressful. I feel like I haven’t had the chance to sit in like… forever.” You say, your eyes focusing on what was playing in front of you. It was an old episode of the great british bake off. 
You laughed a bit, but it came off more as a hum.
“You know, I heard when contestants would cry, Mel and Sue would stand by them and use un-airable language so the footage wouldn’t make it to the final cut. Isn’t that so thoughtful?” You say, trying to perk some conversation out of the boy sitting next to you. 
He wasn’t responding. Your eyebrows furrowed as you searched through anything you might’ve said to upset him recently. You couldn’t think of a single thing, come to think of it, what was the last thing you had said to him? Hell, when was it?
You realized quickly your last exchange was in the kitchen, and even that had been cut short by him leaving. 
Yes, that’s right. When you had crawled in bed with him that night, he had been asleep and you were in such a rush the next morning you couldn’t remember if he was awake next to you when you woke up. He wasn’t exactly avoiding you as much as he was not talking to you.
Had he seriously been giving you the silent treatment for that long? 
“Is everything okay?” You tried, sure you were only getting in your own head. Your eyes had completely left the TV at this point, focusing solely on the quiet boy next to you. There was no response, not even so much as a nod.
“You haven’t talked to me in almost a week.” You continued
“Doesn’t matter. Even if i did, you wouldn’t be listening.” Dom retorted
“I’m sorry i made you feel that way. It honestly was not my intention, i’ve just been so caught up this week.” You were sorry, but it seemed awfully ridiculous to have gone this long giving you the silent treatment just because you had been distracted.
The conversation ended entirely there.
Dom hadn’t said more than two words to you since your argument, doing everything in his power to avoid you. It wasn’t hard, after all he was a very busy man. Especially with the release of his new album coming up, there were interviews and meetings to be had, but at a certain point they became less of a responsibility and more of an excuse.
You were on twitter, you had seen his fans practically begging him to take a break, but taking a break would mean seeing you, and that just wasn’t something he had been in the mood to do recently. It was bad enough already that he had to go to dinner with you.
That was okay, you would help him get in the mood. Or, rather, out of his mood. If Dom wanted to be petty, fine, you could be petty.
You slipped the soft material up your legs, admiring your reflection in the mirror. If Dom was going to ignore you, you were going to give him something to ignore. 
You knew this skirt would do the trick, every time you saw another girl or, fuck it, boy, prouncing around and one of these skirts even you nearly fucked them. Everybody looked good in these, it was a fact of life, you’d decided. You knew you definitely looked good, you almost had to stop for a moment and touch yourself to the sight, but glancing at the clock you realized you didn’t have nearly enough time for a bit of self pleasure.
You were practically already running late, spending all your time getting yourself ready to grab Dom’s attention. You added some finishing touches before heading out to the living room where Dom sat, waiting for you patiently. 
Any other time Dom would’ve been right next to you in the bathroom, admiring your work on your makeup, outfit and hair, but today he stayed in the living room
You tried not to smirk as you made your way into his line of vision. The look on his face was completely worth the hours of tireless work, though. He’d turned his head to look at you, a distinct glare replaced by shock, his eyes widening a bit as they landed on your outfit. It was tight and loose in all the right places and only added to your stunning features. 
“What?” You teased,
He tried to recover quickly, returning to his pouty state, not even bothering with a response as you followed him out the door.
You were sitting at the table, surrounded by you and Dom’s friends when someone finally made a comment on your appearance.
“You look really good, (Y/N).” Tom commented, everyone nodding in agreement as the conversation momentarily shifted to you.
“Thank you! I thought so.” You praise yourself, smiling down at your outfit.
The conversation drifted off again, a newfound confidence bubbling up in your chest. You reached over to Dom, grabbing his hand and placing it on your thigh. It stayed there for a moment before he moved it, and it continued on like that. You did everything in your power to remind him of how good you looked and how short your skirt was until he motioned for you to stand. A couple eyes turned to you as you walked off, but no one asked any questions.
Dom was practically dragging you, your feet fumbling as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. When you realized where you were headed you glanced at him, eyes wide, but he wasn’t looking back. His eyes were focused on the bathroom doors ahead, his jaw clenched, gorgeous green eyes shadowed by his black eyeliner.
“Dom, what are you doing?” You began to plead, uncomfortably aware of the fact that you were about to walk into a bathroom with your boyfriend in front of the whole restaurant. You glanced around, checking for any cameras or onlooking eyes. There were none in sight, but you knew that didn’t mean much.
Your head clobbered light as he pinned you to the stall, his eyes burning into your own. Your gaze faltered, looking everywhere but him. Normally sex with Dom never made you nervous, he had always managed to make you feel safe and comfortable, but going from complete silence to being pinned against a stall in The Olive Garden so abruptly made you timid. His hand pressed down on your shoulder, your legs bending until your knees hit the tiled floor, staring up at him through your lashes. Dom hastily unbuttoned his pants, maintaining his gaze, er, glare on you. Your eyes flickered from his own to his hard dick springing from its constraints, watching as he stroked himself achingly slow before his tip slid past your lips, sliding himself across your tongue a few times, his head leaning back as he felt the warmth of your mouth surround him. 
You hollowed out your cheeks, eyes remaining on his expression. When you reached up to replace his hand with your own you felt a harsh tug on your hair. It took you a moment to realize what he wanted from you, but when you realized you let your jaw go slack. Dom’s hand remained wrapped around the base of his cock, shoving it down your throat unexpectedly, causing you to gag.
Your mouth hung open, weary not to let your teeth scrape against him as he thrust into your mouth. You pulled back a bit as you gagged, your head lightly hitting against the wall behind you. Dom continued to push forward, his hard cock pushing farther and farther back in your throat. You were pinned between his thrusting hips and the bathroom stall, you had no choice but to let him fuck your throat.
Not that you were complaining.
Well, you couldn’t.
You gagged around him, hands coming up to grip at his hips as he continued to use your mouth to get himself off, angelic moans falling from his plush lips.
Dom finally took mercy on you, pulling away and grabbing your chin with his thumb and forefinger, staring down at you.
“You look so pretty gagging on my dick.” He says, wiping the tear coming from your eye. His hand makes its way down to your neck, wrapping around it and pulling you to your feet.
 “Or maybe it’s just that fucking skirt.” He adds, slapping your thigh before lifting the skirt up to reveal your lace underwear. A groan slips past his lips, bringing his fingers against your core. You let out a sigh of relief as his fingers rubbed against your clit, glad to finally get some relief after all this time. It was short lived, though, as he pulled you to your feet using the grip he had on your throat, tilting your head up to look at him.
The air around you seemed to freeze, your eyes roamed eachothers faces, desperate for one another. His lips came against yours slowly and then all at once, his hand remaining around your throat as his tongue slipped its way into your mouth. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat remained between your legs, working steadily at making your legs shake for him.
It was almost embarrassing how ready you were for him, so needy that the slightest touch beckoned a whine. Things became heated again quickly, his hands moving from your neck to your thighs, a quick hop before you wrapped them around his waist. 
Dom reached between your legs, trying his best to move the material without dropping you, eventually giving in and letting you do it instead. Reaching between your legs, you wrapped your hand around him, lining his hard dick up with your aching core. He paused there for a moment, enjoying the feeling before pushing himself in. His lips reconnected with your own, thrusting into you a few times before sighing and setting you back to the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed up at him, unsure what to do before he was spinning your around, pinning your face against the wall. You felt him slide between your lips once more before pushing in. It took him a moment to find his rhythm, but soon you were being pounded against the bathroom stall, pathetic moans falling from both your lips, Your senses clouded by pleasure leaving you completely lost to your surroundings.
You would have to be petty more often.
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hihellogoodbyebruh · 4 years ago
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Stingy
Pairing: Ezekiel “EZ” Reyes x Black!OC
Summary: EZ has a problem sharing and his girl, Monique is quite over it.
Warning(s): Some angst with a fluff ending
Word count: 2,552
AN: Ahhhh my first EZ fic. Based on a request I received from the lovely @ly--canthrope with an assist coming from Ginuwine’s Stingy. Thank YOU so much for your patience and encouraging words. I hope you enjoy this xo
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You can say I'm tripping but I'm stingy And I can't hide it Wanna keep you all to me I'm selfish, why try to fight it?
An abandoned episode of Girlfriends played on the tv in the background as a woman sat straddling EZ’s lap as the two made out. His hands were rubbing up and down her sides under her shirt and her hands were gripping his face. One of her favorite things to do was kiss her boyfriend. She loved that they could just get lost in each other and it was the perfect opener for the mindblowing sex that was coming.
The familiar ringtone and buzz from her phone’s vibration echoed against the coffee table as she received a text message. She pulled away from the kiss and turned her head, trying to see if she could read the message from her position. She felt EZ stiffen, his hands moving down her hips to grip her thigh.
“I swear to God, Monique.” EZ began, feeling himself become annoyed. He can’t even enjoy her company at home without being interrupted. He’s tried so hard to be understanding, but that selfish part of him was fed up. The opening of Galindo’s company really put into perspective how often he misses time with her.
As Miguel’s assistant she had a very big hand in putting the opening celebration together. She’d been Miguel’s assistant for a couple years now. Her mother was a close confidante to Dita before she passed away. Dita wanted to keep an eye on her so she asked Miguel to give her a job. She was fantastic at keeping things organized and she already knew about the other side of business. 
Working for Miguel was great because though some would hate being an assistant, he actually gave her a lot of responsibility. She was often put in charge of events while making sure everything in his life runs smoothly, at least on the legal side of things.She was so proud of her work tonight but she hardly had time to celebrate until she saw her man walking through the door.
She’d been with EZ, Ezekiel as she liked to call him because she loved his full name, for a little over a year. It was the best relationship she’d ever been in. He was kind, honest, caring, and oh so very fine.
She ended her current conversation before strutting over to Ezekiel, her arms immediately going around his neck. “Hi baby. I’m so happy you’re here.” She kissed his lips.
EZ loved seeing his girl in her element. She was very much out of his league in his mind and he felt lucky every day he woke up to her. “Hey beautiful.” He greeted her, hands resting on her lower back and pulling her close to him. “I see all your hard work has paid off.”
“It really has. Things couldn’t be going better. Especially now that you’re here.” She grinned at him.
“Oh yeah? You’re happy to see me?” He teased, smiling back so she kissed him again.
The two of them engaged in some conversation and heavy flirting before they were interrupted by her boss.
“Monique, I need you for a second…” Miguel announced, no time for pleasantries. He was always about his business. She could respect it but it was also annoying because he could have greeted Ezekiel
“Oh hi Miguel. We weren’t having a conversation or anything.” She sarcastically replied, giving her boss a look.
“Reyes..” Miguel acknowledged her boyfriend with a barely noticeable head nod before bringing his attention back to her. “You’ve put in the most face time with the Castillos and the lovely matriarch has requested your presence. We don’t want to keep them waiting, verdant?”
EZ rolled his eyes at Miguel but didn’t say anything. He was used to Miguel’s shit and honestly he didn’t like him either so the less they communicated the better.
The Castillos were a very important family that have entered into an arrangement with Galindo enterprises both on the legitimate and illegitimate side of business. It was already fragile so she wanted to keep everything on the up and up.
She retreated from EZ’s arms without a second thought. “Is everything alright? When we went over the final documents she didn’t bring anything up.” She began walking alongside Miguel but stopped in her tracks.
“I’ll be right back.” She walked back over to EZ and planted a distracted kiss on his cheek. 
He mustered up a slight smile and then she was gone. 
She didn’t come back until the end of the night.
She sighed, pushing her way out of his lap and snatching up her phone once she stood up. “He’s my boss, Ezekiel. You have got to let this thing with Miguel go. Enough is enough.”
“He just does this to piss me off.” And it worked. He wanted to have her all to himself, but he couldn’t do that with Galindo constantly texting her and having her work long hours. At this point it felt she was the one singlehandedly keeping his businesses afloat.
“So stop letting it piss you off.” She replied, like it was the easiest thing and to her it was. 
He shot up from his seat and exasperatedly asked, “Why do you always defend him?”
“Because you’re being ridiculous. You knew who I worked for when we started dating.” She was annoyed they were even having this argument. Her attention was focused on her phone as she replied to Miguel with the information he needed.
EZ grew even more irritated that even in an argument he couldn’t have her whole attention. “What could he possibly need from you at 2 in the morning? Hm?” He snatched the phone from her hand.
“Are you out of your mind? Give me my phone back!” She gasped, shocked at his audacity. She and Ezekiel had been together for awhile now and he’s never acted this way. He’s never lost his temper with her. “Things happen. Emergencies. I never say anything when you have an emergency with the MC.”
“Bishop doesn’t text all hours of the night. Bishop doesn’t hate you and try to disrespect our relationship at every turn. And quite frankly, Bishop isn’t a woman so it’s not the same at all.” Ez snapped, his voice getting louder.
“And just what the fuck are you implying, EZ?” There was a clear warning in her tone of voice as she matched his volume. Now they both were yelling at each other. She never called him EZ either. Always preferring to call him Ezekiel.
He knew he should have backed down and cooled off but he was beyond tired of this shit. The angry words slipped outta his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m just wondering what all the late nights are really about. If I’m dating Miguel’s side piece just tell me!”
That was a mistake. Yelling was a mistake. Saying those words was a mistake. He knew it the moment he saw tears form in her eyes. 
“Excuse me?” She whispered, voice slightly cracking. How dare he call her a cheater! He officially has lost his mind.
Ezekiel felt his heart drop into his stomach when he heard the hurt in her voice. It went too far. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, mariposa.” He started to walk closer to her, but she stepped back from him.
“This has nothing to do with me. Or us. This is you and Miguel continuing to have a dick measuring contest. Th-this all goes back to Emily.” The name rolled off her tongue with mild resentment. The two never had a bad run in with each other, but all the stories about Emily and EZ’s past relationship and how she was the love of his life always made Monique get defensive.
“That’s not true.” EZ refuted, but she interrupted him before he could further explain.
“Yes it is!  And if somehow it’s not then we got some serious problems baby.” She just shook her head at him before demanding, “Get out.” 
You're the only one, you're the only love That's strong enough to claim me So please forgive me I'm just stingy But how can you blame me?
It’s been two weeks since the fight with Ezekiel and Monique was really missing him. She was mad that he would be such a dumbass, but she still just wanted to be laying back on the couch with him watching tv.
Miguel watched as she pushed her salad around her plate, clearly not hungry. “Todo bien hermanita?” He asked, watching as she finally brought her eyes up to meet his. This was the quietest lunch the two ever had. Usually she was talking a mile a minute.
She smiled a little at the nickname. He only called her that when he was concerned or when he really wanted something. Truth is, the two had a sibling kind of relationship. She just wished EZ had seen and understood it. “I’m fine. Not really hungry.”
“Hmm.” He hummed, taking a sip of his drink. “Nestor and I had a meeting with the Mayans yesterday. Saw your novio and he looked like shit.” Miguel casually mentions and she tries to act nonchalant even as her heart races at the mention of a certain biker. “Imagine my surprise when he asked to pull me aside for a chat.”
“What!” She gasped loudly, jaw dropping.
“I’m sure you could guess what we spoke about.”
“Miguel…” She was ready to apologize to him for whatever accusations were thrown his way.
“I know I’m very demanding. It’s part of who I am. I demand a lot from myself and from those around me, especially those closest to me. That includes you, hermanita. But I don’t want to be the reason for your unhappiness. Even if it is with Reyes..” There was only mild disgust in his tone and she took that as an improvement.
“It’s not your fault he doesn’t trust me, hermano.” She sighed.
“He is crazy about you, you know that right?”
Monique went to answer, but Miguel stood up from his seat. He grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair and walked over to her, pushing down gently on her shoulders to keep her from getting up. He leans down and whispers “If in the end, you don’t want him and he won’t take the hint you let me know. He can visit my pew.” 
She jerked her head back to give him a stern look, hating when he brought up that damn pew. He just kissed her head and walked away. She sat there dumbfounded for a second. “Wait, what-” She turned her head to call out to Miguel but her voice caught in her throat as she spotted Ezekiel right behind her. He walked over and took the seat Miguel was just in.
It was silent before she decided to break it. “You and Miguel working together? Hell must have frozen over.”
He cracks a grin at that. “Ha. Guess you could say we’ve called a truce. At least when it comes to a certain beautiful woman.”
“Calling a truce with my ‘side piece’? I’m sure Emily appreciates it.” She sarcastically replied, making him sigh in reply. 
“I never should have said that. I was pissed off and being a sarcastic asshole. This never had anything to do with Emily. Yes we have history, but I don’t think about that anymore. I haven’t for a long time.” Monique looked down, wanting to believe him but having a hard time doing it. “I think about you. I think about you when we’re apart, I think about when I’ll see you again, I think about our future when you’re in my arms. You’re never not on my mind.”
His words make her want to smile, but she wasn’t done. “Then what’s been going on with us lately? Anytime I answer a call or text from Miguel you’re huffing and puffing. You sit there literally pouting like a 3 year old every time I have to do something for work. What’s the problem?”
“First, I don’t pout.” She started to disagree but he loudly continued, earning a playful glare from her. “SECONDLY, I know you’re an independent woman out here making it on your own and shit. I know it’s just been you and your job for a long time. But now you got me, mariposa. I’m here by your side and I like spending time with you. I like the quiet moments at home and our nights out. I want more of them. You work so much and you forget about everything else. Me included.”
“What do you mean I forget you? I don’t forget you.”
“Galindo Enterprises.”
“What are...Oh-” Her face completely dropped as she remembered the night. She got pulled away by Miguel and never went back to Ezekiel. She didn’t mean to, but she ended up checking on other things with the party and even though it hurts to admit she did forget about him. “Oh baby…” She held one of his hands that was on the table between both of hers.
“I’ve never been the one to cling and I don’t like to be needy but you’ve changed me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I love being in your presence. Maybe I am kind of a baby, but I think wanting your attention is a good sign for a relationship. I’m not asking you to quit your job, but some boundaries would be nice. ”
She felt so bad. He was absolutely right. She had been alone for a long time. She wasn’t used to sharing her life with someone else. An adjustment was obviously needed. “I never meant to make you feel like I wanted anyone or anything more than you. Or that I cared about those things more. I promise that I will work on communicating more with you and not just doing what I want with no consideration for you.” 
He nodded his head, but she had to add one more thing. “You do need to know that sometimes just like you can’t help getting called away the same goes for me. But I’ll talk with Miguel and we’ll work out something that works for us all. I can’t believe I didn’t realize. I’m so-”
Ezekiel cut her off before she could begin criticizing herself. “So amazing, captivating, elevating,” after every word, EZ placed a kiss on the palm of her hand. “Anyway you put it I’m happy to be your man.”
“I’m still salty at you insinuating I was sleeping with Miguel.” She declared, causing him to nod with a sad look on his face.
“How can I make it up to you, mariposa?”
“Hmm…” She pretended to think when she already knew what she wanted. She leaned forward and beckoned him closer with a wiggle of her finger. She whispered in his ear, “I wanna ride you with only your kutte on until you lose your mind.” She lightly bit his ear lobe.
She busted out laughing at how fast he scrambled out of his seat and took her hand, pulling her behind him as he hustled out of the restaurant.
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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years ago
Text
Shy (one-shot)
Synopsys: She’s shy. He likes her. She likes him. But every time something gets between the ex-Winter Soldier and the cute lab rat that works with Stark. The team has had enough of the pining.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Genre: fluffffffff
Warnings: swearing, as per usual, nothing else really. Just some cute lil fluff I wrote (also this is defo not my best work :D)
Word count: 3042
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It was a seemingly ordinary day when the ex-Winter Soldier’s life changed forever.
        Bucky’d plopped down onto the sofa with a disgruntled sigh, making Steve smirk and divert his attention from the show on the TV to his friend.
        “You know, she likes you,” Steve said to Bucky as he sipped on his coffee giving him a side glance.
        Bucky just grumbled and crossed his arms, mind still reeling on the absolute failure that he had experienced earlier that day. It'd been a trainwreck of a mission. No lives lost, but he'd made an absolute fool of himself by making a few bad calls. “Who?”
        “Y/N.”
        “Yeah, as if,” he snorted. “I mean I know she likes me, but she likes everyone. There’s not a single mean bone in her body.”
        “No, I mean,” Steve huffed placing down the cup before he spilt some of it on himself, “she likes you. As in she might want to pursue a relationship with you.”
        Bucky was choking on his spit the second the word ‘relationship’ came out of his friend’s mouth. Y/N? Liked him? As in more than a friend? He’d be lying if he said that thought didn’t send him over the Moon, but it seemed like such a far reach, especially with the interactions they’d had, that he had to give Steve a glare, especially with how she didn’t even give a single sign she might be into him. 
       He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re the expert on flirting and getting it on?”
        “Wow.” Steve put a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “That’s a low blow. I might’ve not had any game when I was skinny, but let me tell, you after the serum th-“
        “When was the last time you went on a date?” Bucky interrupted his rant.
        His friend broke the eye contact and paused, chewing on his bottom lip before deflecting. “Look that doesn’t matter.”
        Bucky rolled his eyes so much he feared they’d be permanently stuck like that.  
        “What matters is that she likes you, but she’s too shy to do anything about it,” Steve stated.
        “We had a pretty good conversation a couple of hours ago.” They did. If you take saying 'hello', an awkward wave and bashful smiles as a conversation, then yes, it was very successful.
        “Shy doesn’t always mean ‘incapable of holding a conversation’. Shy can mean not talking about how they’re feeling or how their day is because they think no one cares or would get annoyed with them,” Steve said looking over his mug.
        Bucky was baffled. “How – why – how could anyone think she’s annoying? She’s – she’s amazing!” But that’s when it hit him - Y/N never looked him in the eye, she always apologized for talking ‘too much’, and at any point in the conversation, she always diverted the attention away from her or her troubles.
        “So…” Bucky swallowed hard. “You think I should go for it?”
        Steve shrugged. “I think if you don’t, you’ll never know what it could lead to.”
        ***
        It was about an hour later after his enlightening chat with Steve that Bucky found himself walking towards where their resident lab rat usually stayed at when he heard muffled cursing.
        “Work, you absolute piece of shit!” Y/N exclaimed each word emphasized with a harsh hit against a machine’s side. “Top-notch technology my ass!”
        “Everything alright, doctor Y/L/N?” His voice was gruff as he interrupted her conversation with the computer. 
Not that Y/N would ever admit it, but usually just his presence alone set her body ablaze, but this time, it was a distraction and not a good one.
        “Just fucking peachy,” she grunted and slammed her hand against the computer with every uttered syllable.
        “Alright,” Bucky chuckled and entered the lab. “What did that poor computer do to you, since you seem so inclined to completely destroy it?”
        “For starters, it decided to shut down,” she growled at the computer, and if it was alive, it would hang its head in shame. “Then, when I rebooted it, the files were not lost, oh that I could live with, but they were corrupted. Meaning I do have them, but they’re useless, and that means I have to redo everything.”
        “You’d have to redo everything if the files were lost either way.” Bucky gave her a small smile, teasing the woman as she whined.
        “Yeah,” Y/N threw back her head. “But it wouldn’t be as humiliating. I mean, if they’re gone, they’re gone, but they aren’t!” She threw the screen a scowl. “The files are there, just sitting… and useless… just like me.”
        “Well, I wouldn’t say you’re useless." Bucky smirked at her, and she sighed.
        “Please, do tell what I’m of use here right now, right this moment.”
        “Company?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and that’s when Y/N realized how much she’d rattled on, how much of his precious world-saving time she’d taken up by a stupid mistake she made.
        “Sorry,” she muttered, shying away from Bucky’s gaze. “Didn’t mean to bore you with my crap.”
        “You don’t bore me. You could never.”
        He had that love-sick look on his face as she gave him a small smile, and her eyes dropped back to the ground. Not that Y/N ever noticed, but Sam never stopped teasing him about that fucking look. The one where his eyes glimmered like stars in the night sky, and his lips involuntarily lifted up in the corners. More than once Steve had to tell him to close his mouth or someone would slip on his drool. And each time, Bucky would slap his friend on the back of his head.
        “I’m not drooling,” he’d contest and go back to watching as Y/N moved around the lab, delicate fingers replacing whatever was fractured in his metal arm.
        “No, saliva just generally spills out of your mouth when she’s around.”
        Bucky would just grunt and say, ‘fuck off’. But he couldn’t help it really. 
        “Anyway." Y/N brought him out of the daydream. “Did you need anything? Is the arm acting up again?”
        Although she'd never think that Bucky had any feelings for her, there was some suspicion rising in her mind. Tony was the acting engineer, but on more than one occasion he had called her up and asked if she was available to take a look at Bucky's vibranium appendage.
        “Need some assistance, sweets,” the genius would mumble, and then when she would slip into work mode, he’d slyly exit the room and leave the two of them alone. And given how Tony knew, Y/N’s primary thing was chemistry and using the nanotech for cell regeneration, not engineering, it raised her suspicion level. Especially when the super-soldier came to her lab to have a check-up on days Tony was out specifically. 
        But she would never do anything about it. He could be standing at the altar with someone else in white walking towards him, and even then, Y/N, knowing it was her last chance, wouldn’t move a muscle to say what she felt. How could she when Bucky was the walking epitome of a Greek God while she tripped over her own feet while standing? For fuck’s sake, the man even fostered puppies in his spare time as if his day job wasn’t saving the world already how could her watching cells split in a petri dish match up to that?
        “Oh, uh,” he stammered fidgeting with his fingers. “No, I uh, actually came to ask you something. Nothing work or arm… related.”
        If Y/N’s heart wasn’t already beating out of her chest, she was pretty certain she’d vomit it up with the way he was looking at her. “Sure,” she whispered. “Umm, what do you want to know?”
        He twisted a ring on his flesh arm. She had gotten it for him two years ago during a game of ‘Secret Santa’, which Tony promptly had added her to the list. It made her feel all fuzzy and warm on the inside for being included, but then dread settled in. What the fuck do you get a bunch of superheroes that could afford literally anything they wanted? And then she’d pulled Bucky’s name from the tacky Santa’s hat.
        It wasn’t bad enough he was her crush, now she had to get him a gift he’d actually like, and she could barely hold a conversation with him that didn’t involve Avengers stuff. But from the looks of it, he had enjoyed the jewellery immensely, as any time he came over for whatever reason, he was wearing it. He liked it so much there was a lighter line of skin underneath the ring where the sun couldn’t get.
        But the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Bucky just froze as Y/N stared at him with hopeful and inquisitive eyes. All the things he wanted to say and ask just vanished from his brain as if he’d been put back into that horrible machine that used to wipe his mind.
        “Buck?” Her voice was small as his mouth hung open like an idiot. But he didn’t even get a chance to collect himself when Bruce rushed in.
        “Sorry to interrupt whatever this is, but Y/N I need you. There’s a problem with the cradle.”
        And that was her cue. With an apologetic smile, she pulled off her latex gloves and rushed out of the room, but not before leaning back in through the door. “Hopefully I should be done in two hours tops. Raincheck on that question?”
        Bucky shook his head. “You know what, it wasn’t that important anyway.”
        Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, hand reaching out to touch him, but he pushed past her and was gone, leaving the woman a bit stunned, and in all honesty - heartbroken.
***
        The rest of the day she spent in utter confusion, and Bucky in self-wallowing. Y/N couldn’t understand what had changed his mind so suddenly, what she’d done so wrong, and Bucky beat himself up the whole time about choking and running away. Which is why Steve was absolutely done with it.
        As Bucky sulked on the couch, stuffing his face with M&Ms and the pop tarts he’d stolen from Thor’s stash, Steve with Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce and Y/N in tow, all came into the room. 
        Seeing her lab coat swish behind her as she walked, Bucky slid down into the couch even more, as if the granite gray leather could absorb him and erase him from existence. God, how he wanted to be erased from existence. 
        “Hey, Y/N?” Tony drew everyone’s attention as he handed a coffee to her. “Would you mind taking a look at F.R.I.D.A.Y’s intercom system? She’s gotten a bit rusty here.”
        “Umm yeah.” She nodded, kinda confused as to why she'd have to do it, but Tony was her boss, so Y/N rarely asked him much. Unless something he said was absolutely dumb. “Mind getting me a ladder?”
        With a wink from Steve, Clint nodded. “Sure.”
        But instead of just him leaving, all of the Avengers slowly started to ‘disperse’ throughout the living-room, before bolting towards the hallway and telling the A.I. to shut everything down.
        “What’s going on?” Y/N asked looking around the common room, spotting the bright fiery hair of Natasha as she rushed out of the room, asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to override the lock code and not let either of them out. “Why are the doors locked?”
        The smug smile she received from the assassin only infuriated Y/N more. “Tony!” she yelled through the glass, but the genius put hands over his ears and screamed back at her.
        “Not until he talks to you!”
        That’s when she felt someone towering over her from behind. 
Two beautiful Y/E/C eyes looked up at him as Y/N turned around, confusion swimming in her irises. Bucky almost swore he passed out just from that look alone. 
“Buck, what’s going on?"
        The second he’d seen the group walk in, he knew what was happening. He wanted to murder all of them. Rip them apart piece by piece, but not in front of Y/N. No. He’d do that in the middle of the night, blending into the shadows and delivering slow and painful deaths to all of the conspirators. 
        But at the same time, this was his chance. There was literally nowhere for either of them to run unless you counted jumping out through the window and the ninety-story drop, you’d face. Which seemed very appealing to him at that moment, but Steve’s words rang through his head – ‘You’ll never know what it could lead to.” And he hoped it would lead to something beautiful, so taking a deep breath, Bucky confessed.
        “Because I’m a coward…” he sighed, “and I can’t do it without someone telling me to.”
        “Why?”
        “I’m scared,” it came out as a whisper, and Y/N had to take a step back hurt flashing across her face thinking back to all of the times they’d spent together, while in truth Bucky’d been terrified of her.
        “Of me?”
        Instantly he shook his head seeing the pain on her features, and once more Bucky scolded himself. “No… of what your reaction might be.”
        “Buck, you know I would never judge you. You can always talk to me… about anything.”
        “Yes, but this will change things.”
        “How?”
        “I don’t know… that’s what I’m scared of. I don’t want to lose you.”
        “Never. You could tell me you’re hiding a body in the tub, and I would offer you my help to get rid of it.”
        And it was this firm statement that solidified his decision.
        “Would you maybe,” Bucky exhaled deeply not daring to turn and look at the team that was gawking at both of them like hawks pressed against the glass, the same team that had bolted shut every door and window to prevent either of theirs escapes, “would you maybe want to go out… with… me… on a date?”
        Y/N was stunned. The cup of coffee she was still holding in her hand went slack, and it would’ve smashed against the ground had Bucky not quickly stepped forward and caught it stepping to stand in front of her.
        “You don’t have to,” he mumbled, looking at the milk infused drink. It was a light beige colour with a white foamy swirl in the middle like a little vortex that was sucking him in. God did he hope it would pull him in and never let out after what he was going to say. “It’s just that… I really like you.” There. Now it was out there. “I really like you. And not the way a friend likes a friend. I like you in a way that I want to hold your hand when we walk out together. I want to buy you coffee in the mornings and wake you up with breakfast in the bed and smooth out the hair that’s fallen on your face…”
        She wasn’t breathing as with every single word said Bucky seemed to move closer. “I think I might be in love with you, Y/N…” his hand gently lifted and cupped her cheek.
        She just stared at him, mouth slightly agape, shallow breaths escaping into the air as her heart beat out of her chest in a manner, she thought it might hit Bucky directly in the stomach. 
        “Say something,” he pleaded, blue eyes searching for an answer in Y/N’s Y/E/C ones. “Please.”
        “I – I don’t know what to say,” she whispered back. And it wasn’t because she didn’t feel the same, not at all. In fact, when he had started his whole confession, she felt like she was about to pass out from all the love that invaded her body, but the thing is - Y/N has never been good with emotions. She never knew how to process them, how to give the correct answer and make people happy. She was shy, awkward and a recluse. And now she was supposed to come out of her safety shell. Which is why for the first time in her life, she expressed herself with her actions by leaning up, grasping onto the nape up Bucky’s neck and pulling their mouths together.
        When her lips touched his, Bucky knew there was no going back. Not that he’d ever want to. He couldn’t help the giant smile that bloomed on his face, as he pulled Y/N closer to him, wrapping his arm one around her waist, the other trailing up to settle between her shoulder blades, pushing their chests together, so impossibly close an ant couldn’t crawl between the two. 
        It became even more of a beautiful moment when Y/N’s own lips pulled up in a smile, breaking the kiss apart, but leaving them grinning and feeling dizzy from the happiness. 
        “Guess we needed a gentle nudge in the right direction,” Bucky gave out a small laugh, both palms securely resting on Y/N’s hips and bringing her closer.
        “I’d say it was more of a shove with a rifle at our backs,” she said, holding onto Bucky’s shoulders fingers skimming against his clavicles and making his breath stop halfway to his throat. “Let’s… let’s go somewhere… the two of us without a bunch of people watching our every move.” Her eyes flitted over to where the rest of the team stood behind the doors listening in on the two, and suddenly the heads of their teammates disappeared from the view, making Y/N and Bucky shake their heads.
        “Yeah,” he chuckled, squeezing her side. “That’s probably the best idea. You truly are a dream, aren’t ‘ya?”
        Y/N could only chuckle and hide her face in the crook of Bucky’s neck as her hold tightened around his middle, and he responded much the same by weaving his fingers in the hairs on the back of her neck and pulling her closer if that was even possible, burying his nose in the Y/H/C locks.
        “Don’t go all shy on me now.”
        “Can’t,” she mumbled back. “You make me turn into mush.”
        Bucky chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “A cute mush.”
        “Shut up!”
And he did by pulling her in for another searing kiss. God, how he loved his shy girl.
Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):
Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​ @hello-i-am-insane
Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​
Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @strangersstranger​
A/N: have you ever hated your job so much so, that you can’t sleep, can’t eat and basically live in a well of anxiety? and not because of the work itself, but because of that ONE PERSON that makes it miserable? Cause I do. And I can’t wait to get away from it.
P.S. sorry for being so pessimistic, but it’s just a nightmare.
P.S.S. feedback is always appreciated :) P.S.S.S. if you wanna be added to a taglist, drop me a message :)
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woeisme-iamwoe · 4 years ago
Text
an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2
IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many
Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)
 I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay. 
The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.
"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."
 primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)
All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully 
They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom. 
Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)
I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it. 
"I'm not healing like I should be."
In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.
Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.
 Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)
Kissy, kissy. 
‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.
Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.
‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’
Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.
 Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)
Reads like a fairytale. 
The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.
The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.
 make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)
Bet still on. 
Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.
Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.
It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.
 our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch  
 two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)
Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes. 
Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.
There’s a letter attached.
Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them. 
Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)
Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!
“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.” 
in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)
Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?
Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.
There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.
“What the hell, Oikawa.”
Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.
 we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)
Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!
Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all. 
They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)
I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love. 
"You're in love with him."
Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.
"Yeah," he says instead.
He's never been good at lying, anyway.
 Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):
The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on. 
In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.
5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)
1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.
2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.
3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.
4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.
5. He literally never, ever sleeps.
 The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):
You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with. 
A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.
 darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)
Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married. 
'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”
Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.
“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."
or,
Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.
 the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)
Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic. 
Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.
 Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)
Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites. 
He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).
At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?
Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?
 A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.
 Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)
Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience. 
Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.
 Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)
So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride. 
over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.
(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).
 No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)
Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).
Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.
 Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)
Growing older together. 
When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.
 Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)
Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while. 
‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.
And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.
This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’
--
For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.
What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.
 The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)
Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.
“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.
 Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.
 cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)
Sooo cute!! 
“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”
 Routine, by snoqualmie  (2k. T. canonverse)
Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly. 
Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.
 Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)
Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso. 
It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.
He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.
“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”
It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.
“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.
“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.
 Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)
Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read. 
Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.
Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.
 the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)
Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit. 
“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”
Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”
“Yeah, so?”
“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”
Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”
 the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)
My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it. 
One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.
This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).
 I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)
The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful. 
It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong. 
 my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)
Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.
In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.  
 Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)
Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth. 
Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week. 
 especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)
Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love. 
The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.
(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)
 sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)
Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried. 
In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.
Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.
 of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)
Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together. 
Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.
[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]
 cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)
Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot. 
For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.
 Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa. 
 Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)
A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it. 
Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.
In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.
 i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)
Soft, soft sex
When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.
Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.
 old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)
Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet. 
“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.
Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”
“Say what?”
Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”
Hajime swallowed.
“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”
“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”
((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))
 all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)
This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay. 
Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings. 
 we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)
I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it. 
In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.  
Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.
"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."
 Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)
A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother. 
She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”
Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”
-
Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.
 film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)
Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!
The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru. 
 how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)
This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse. 
It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.
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marvelfansince08love · 4 years ago
Text
“My loyalties lie with you, not the title you’ve been given” - Part 5
Word Count: 3k 
Pairing Cordelia Goode x Protector!Reader 
Warning: Some mentions of blood, fighting scene I guess? 
A/N: So sorry for the late update on this series, these two chapter are pretty heavy and I wanted them to be perfect! I hope you enjoy! x Thank you so much @canarypoint for editing and reading over and fangirling with me x Also a huge thank you to my girl for encouraging me to continue and for helping edit both parts, I love you <3
Side note: The Entity is slightly based off Michael Langdon but it isn’t him. 
Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @veteranwerewolf95 @chewbacca0805 @creepingwolfberry @bluevelvetbitxh @saucy-sapphic @coconutlipss @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k @nyx-aira @versonstar @witchxaf @r0an0ke @pearplate @kikaykimkim @the-obscurity @mssallymckenna @minavenable @lezzzbehonesthere @goodeday2u @screechingshepherddeputygoth @softsleepypeach  @grilledcheeseandguavajelly​@shes-a-cancer-b @venablemayfairgoode
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Part 5 
“What have you done, you stupid girl.” Fiona’s voice growls, startling you from your thoughts as you glare over at the woman.
“Protecting Cordelia, something you aren’t familiar with,” You snap back, anger spiralling throughout your body as you shake slightly. Fiona scoffs shaking her head as she slowly approaches you, standing a hair breath away her dead eyes stare into your own. 
“I always knew your love for her would get you killed one day,” Her voice laced with a certain emotion you would never associate with her with; fear. A humourless grin appears onto your cold lips as you take in her aged face. 
“Quite poetic is it not?” You murmur, your eyes showing no emotion not willingly to give this woman any satisfaction of seeing your torn vulnerability. 
Before she could answer a white light surrounds you all, making you squint and hiss at the brightness of the glow. Within a blink of an eye, you regain your senses gasping for mortal air as you reawaken above Fiona’s grave. Warm hands caress your cheeks as they continue their inspection for any harm. 
“Shhh you’re okay darling, it’s me. It’s me.” She repeats over and over as your wide eyes take in your surroundings the feeling of panic and anxiety erupts through your chest. Your eyes finally land on brown eyes full of reassurance and worry, seeing the familiar gaze makes you relax almost instantly as you try to even out your erratic breaths. 
“Lia,” You croak, clearing your dry throat. She smiles watery at you and nods mouthing a ‘yes’ before placing the crown of her head against your temple. 
“It felt like you were gone forever and then your body started to twitch uncontrollably I thought-” 
“Cordelia.” Fiona speaks from the side of you both, keeping her distance from her daughter. Cordelia tenses beside you before turning to face the woman she calls mother, she slowly stands from her crouched position keeping a steady arm around your waist as you gingerly stand with her. The two Goode’s stare at each for a moment taking in each other’s appearance, 
“Power looks good on you, dear.” She croaks, as her eyes scan her daughter’s stance. No longer cowering from the past supreme. 
“And death hasn’t done you any good, mother.” Cordelia retaliates, scolding herself silently for allowing herself to bite back. 
“Marie, would you like some help getting up? Shit, you white bitches.” Marie grumbles, as she shrugs off the dirt that lays against her clothes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower until the smell of death leaves my body,” She informs, huffing as she takes her leave, Cordelia nods in acknowledgement at the Voodoo Queen mouthing her thanks as Marie nods back in reply continuing on her way. You stare longingly wanting to also depart from this awkward reunion as the two continue to stare one another down. Fiona breaks off the staring contest first as she flicks her wrist revealing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, sparking one up. Inhaling deeply she allows the smoke to blow out into the cold dark night and sighs. 
“So, where do you want to start?” She asks, her careless persona strong as she continues to take in the nicotine. Cordelia smiles cruelly. 
“I’d rather we didn’t revisit the past, you are here for one reason only and that’s to help us defeat this darkness.” 
“The Entity,” You interrupt, correcting her softly, your eyes clashing with Fiona’s briefly. Cordelia turns to face you in confusion.
“While we were down there we got a lovely visit from Papa… He gave us little to nothing on the damn thing but told us his name.” You inform her, watching as she takes in the information. 
“He?” 
“Yes, the thing is a man. Big shocker there.” Fiona drawls out, through occasional puffs of smoke. Cordelia opts to ignore her mother, focusing her attention on you. 
“Did he give you anything else?” She asks, her voice laced with slightly desperation. You shake your head much to her disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Lia.” You apologise, wishing you could have given her more  She smiles reassuringly and cradles your cheek briefly shaking her head slightly. 
“No don’t be sorry, you risked a lot going down there. I- Thank you,” She says, her eyes lingering onto your own for a second longer. You almost feel like you could drown into her gaze forever but before you could reply she steps away clasping her hands together as if resisting herself from touching you again. 
“If you two love birds are done, I would like to run a hot bath with some nice salts, maybe a lovely glass of scotch,” Fiona rudely says, already making her way out of the graveyard and towards the car. You both blush as you avoid each others eyes, making your way back to the vehicle Fiona’s distance voice whining from a distance, “Have you got a spare pair of sunglasses, I wouldn’t want my ‘dead eyes’ scaring the children,” you scoff as you open up the front passenger door purposely moving into the seat, Fiona huffs as she settles into the backside. You open up the glove department and pass the older blonde a pair of black sunglasses. 
“Bold of you to assume you didn’t already scare children before you died,” You bite, a teasing grin appearing on your face as you feel Cordelia’s scolding but amused eyes on you. Shrugging, you settle into your seat and stare out into the night, Papa’s deal heavy on your mind as guilt settles within your chest. Looking into the wing mirror you can feel Fiona’s gaze through her heavily tinted glasses, gulping you turn away from her judging gaze focusing on the road ahead. 
‘What have I done?’
***
Pulling up at the Academy, you can see the older girls lingering by the window curious to see the woman that’s been brought back from the dead. Myrtle stands regal as ever by the front door, her signature cigarette holder in hand as she takes a drag, her icy gaze burning heavily into Fiona’s form as she makes her way up the steps of the Academy. 
“You look awfully ghastly my dear,” She comments, her fiery hair matching her sass. Fiona scoffs holding her arms out to the woman. 
“At least I have death as an excuse, you old hag.” She fires back, grinning icily at the redhead. You and Cordelia share a knowing glance used to the pair’s bickering back and forth, as you hover close behind the pair. Myrtle chuckles dryly as she steps aside to let the older woman through before placing herself in front of you and Cordelia stopping you from following.
“Are you both okay, my dears?” She asks, her voice no longer full of ice and venom as her motherly gaze scans you both. You both nod smiling softly at the woman who holds you both in such high regard and vise versa. Cordelia presses a kiss to her cheek before moving past her and into the building not wanting to leave Madison and her mother in a room alone together for too long. You hover for a moment debating your next words as you take in Myrtle’s form. The witch frowns at your fidgeting state, silently questioning your hesitation. 
“I did something stupid,” You admit quietly, briefly glancing through the open front door making sure no one else could hear your confession. The redhead steps away from the door and loops her arm around your elbow guiding you away from the entrance so you could circle the grounds. 
“My dear girl, you have a look of someone with a heavy heart. Please speak to me,” She comforts softly, her tender voice makes your eyes tear up as you blurt out your secret. 
“I made a deal with Papa Legba. If we don’t deliver him the Entity’s soul then he shall take mine,” You confess, tearfully. The woman remains calm and quiet as she allows you to continue. 
“I’m not even scared of that, I’ve never been scared of death but- He mentioned my powers and the darkness as if sensing my potential ability to destroy everything in my path. I don’t even know what I’m capable of anymore, Myrtle.” You admit, your real fear spoken out loud makes you sob as the older woman pulls you into a bone crushing hug. She whispers harshly with a touch of tenderness into your ear. 
“You listen to me, my sweet girl.” She pulls back and holds onto your face with both her hands, forcing you to keep your attention on her distraught face. “You are not evil, you may have powers that you have yet to unlock but you could never be evil. That power that swirls inside you is the most powerful magic I have ever come across that’s why you are the protector. You’re of love and light my dear, that darkness that wants to pull its way through is unmatched to that of the light,” Your eyes blur as you take in her reassuring words, collapsing slightly into her arms. 
“You should tell Cordelia about the deal,” She advises, making you pull back from your embrace slightly offended by her comment. 
“It would kill her Myrtle, I promised her that I’d be beside her always. I can’t-” 
“Would you prefer that you didn’t and then die without giving her a chance to fight for your life,” Her words penetrate through your heart like a stab wound. You gulp feeling torn by her words and guidance. 
“I’m the one who’s supposed to fight for her life,” You argue weakly. Myrtle chuckles amused, before holding your gaze once again. 
“Y/N haven’t you realised it yet, darling? You both continue to fight for each other, you think after all these years Cordelia didn’t once ask me about you. Or how during the attacks with the witch hunters a few years back, you didn’t step in from the shadows and take out the last remaining vermin as they tried to attack her.” She pauses for a moment allowing you to take in her painfully truthful words. “You both have had each other’s backs since you stepped foot into this academy all those years ago. This will be like any other time, so tell her and fight like hell against the bastard, together like always,” She finishes her speech, her breathing becoming erratic as her words spill from her mouth. The sound of a twig snapping startles you both from your private moment, slow clapping starts from within the shadows around the trees. Pulling Myrtle back slightly you inch away from the dark forest that surrounds the Academy. 
“My, so much wisdom from such an experienced witch, bravo.” The deep voice teases, as the figure becomes more clearer as it steps out from between the trees. Stood dressed in a black suit and a devilish grin is, the entity. You tense instantly as you keep your gaze on his confident form. 
“Get to the house,” You murmur to Myrtle,  who goes to protest. “Now.” You force out, watching as his grin becomes more apparent. 
“Yes, listen to your dear protector.” He taunts, watching as the redhead flees to the academy to alert the others. His black eyes turn to you a glint of mischief sparkling within the darkness. 
“It’s more fun when they are terrified, makes for a better meal.” he teases, folding his hands in front of him. You glare at his smug expression. 
“Sorry I didn’t realise we were dressing up for the event,” you comment, wanting to keep him distracted for as long as possible in hopes that Myrtle and the other older girls manage to perform the safekeeping spell allowing the younger witches and warlocks to be sent as far away as possible from here. He chuckles amused at your attempt of distraction.
“Well it is your funeral, my dear. I merely dressed for the occasion.” He follows up, his hands becoming more invisible as the black mist surrounds his fingers. You can feel your powers boiling at the surface as your body becomes aware of its current threat, tiny sparks tingle from your fingers as you keep a close eye on him. Before he can make a move you throw your hands out, throwing him further into the woods wanting to keep him as far away from the academy as possible. His confident exterior falls after you make your first move, striding deeper into the woods you follow the line of destruction already made by his flying body. The faint sound of your name being called from the house, gives you pause allowing him a chance to take advantage at your distracted state. Black mist encircles around your feet as your body begins to tense, fear spikes through you as you start to lose awareness of your own body, unable to move anything as it continues to circle around your waist. 
“Y/N!” Cordelia screams as she races forward, Misty and Queenie moving to the side of the man effectively startling him from his task, both chanting in Latin as he loses his focus on you. Tears build in your eyes as you feel your senses overwhelm you again as you regain them back, Cordelia stands at your side in a flash, keeping her eyes on the entity as he continues to fight off the two older witches. Marie and Fiona join the pair as they begin to lose the upper hand in their ongoing fight. 
“Cordelia- the girls,” You choke out, holding onto her arms for dear life. Her hand strokes through your hair briefly, 
“They're okay, the other girls got them out. Myrtle is with them.” She informs quickly, ready to move away from you to help with the fight, noticing Queenie’s unconscious state as he manages a good strike to the witch. Before she can move you grip her arm, needing to tell her before it's too late.
“Cordelia I-” 
“This can wait Y/n, we've gotta attack while we can,” 
John Moore appears next to you with your brothers in tow, ready to take him on as you reluctantly let go of her arm, Marie flies backwards as he strikes her next effortlessly knocking back every effort from each of them who dare to reach him. Elijah makes his way around the fight, attacking him from behind as he launches forward, taking him to the ground before disappearing from beneath him. A deep chuckle echoes throughout the tall trees as you all look for the location of his voice, Misty kneels closely next to Queenie as she slowly regains consciousness. 
“You won’t win, your powers are nothing compared to mine,” His voice sinister, as if whispering in your ear. Cordelia looks over at her dishevelled witches gulping slightly. 
“Michael, Elijah get Queenie out of here now,” She demands, her voice trembling. They try to protest but your eyes silence them from speaking any further. 
“Ah yes, run away. I like the chase,” He taunts further, still invisible to the eyes as we keep an eye on the clearings surrounding us. The boys move quickly towards an exhausted Queenie, throwing her arms around their shoulders as Misty trails behind them, ready to attack if anything were to happen to them as they retreat. You keep your back close to Delia’s as the other three keep close, creating a make shifting circle. 
“Fucking Coward!” You shout into the air, frustrated by his cat and mouse game. He appears then leaning lazily against the tree trunk, that devilish grin on his face once again. 
“Oh my dear, we both know that’s not true. Little Ms. Protector, poor thing having so many expectations to live up to,” He pouts, taunting you some more as you clench your jaw. You try to shake off his words, knowing he’s looking for a window to get into your head. 
“I’ve been watching you for a while, Miss Wardwell. That darkness that swirls deep inside is boiling over and soon it will all topple over,” He continues, you feel Cordelia tense next to you as your normally bright coloured eyes darken a deep black. 
“Enough of this!” Fiona exclaims, launching forward to attack using her magic, startling him slightly as her attack strikes his cheek from afar causing the smallest trickle of blood to drop from his cheekbone. He touches the trail of blood examining his red stained finger before turning to the woman, his eyes blown black. Tree branches move on their own towards Fiona, Marie and John wrapping themselves around their wrists and waists pulling them in close to their tree trunk keeping them in place, a trail of black mist surrounding them to stop any magical advantages. 
“I wanted to play nice but now you can watch your only daughter die,” He says, smiling mercilessly at the woman before turning his attention onto you both. You move quickly in front of her, as you try with all your might to keep the mist at bay as it seeps through your protective barrier. Your head begins to pound as you feel your powers weakening as Cordelia helps with the barrier, as the mist encircles you once again you turn towards your Cordelia helplessly. She places her hands delicately against your cheeks, her fingers trembling against your now wet skin. 
“I can’t hold this up for long,” You whimper, feeling yourself becoming less aware of your senses, the tiniest touch of Cordelia’s lips against cheek is the only reassuring embrace as you close your eyes wanting to hold onto the feeling for as long as you could. You lean your head against Cordelia's as watery eyes match her tearful ones, she smiles brightly at you, that same smile you saw the very first day you met her. Before you could tell her the one thing you’ve wanted to say since that day you walked out on her wedding day, you succumb to the darkness.
I love you.
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Jaskier is good at nothing if not wanting people who will get him into trouble, so falling for Geralt was somewhat inevitable. But Eskel? That one he didn't see coming.
They've been at Kaer Morhen for a couple of weeks now and Jaskier has been drawn to Eskel from the start. He can't say why exactly, though he’'s come to notice how similar Eskel is to Geralt in a lot of ways. He's more open though; more willing to praise Jaskier for his voice and for his songs, and more likely to sit and chat and share details of his past adventures. Geralt never seems to mind, but he never seems to be present when Jaskier sits with Eskel in the evenings.
And that, Jaskier puts down to the weird sort of tension between the two Witchers. He watches them closely when they're together and he suspects one or both of them has realized, but neither says anything about it and neither has asked him to stop. Geralt keeps his emotions close to his chest, but when he's with Eskel, he seems freer. He smiles more, for a start, and there's something different about the pair of them. Something that Jaskier can't quite figure out, but it begs to be pushed over the edge and Jaskier wants to be the one to tip it.
The thought of having Geralt to himself is, he's starting to realize, a daydream destined to drive him to madness, but if Geralt can be happy with someone else who would Jaskier be to stand in the way? And if he lets his mind wander at night to the prospect of being pressed between two Witchers, that's his own business. And it's a damn good thing Witchers can't read minds.
So what Jaskier was hoping might be an interesting winter has turned into watching from afar and hoping Geralt isn't as actually emotionally stunted as he's proven to be with him. And some days it's too much. He wants too much, loves too hard, and seeing the pair of them together is more than he can deal with. Those nights, he tucks himself away in his room with a crackling fire and tries to think of anything but Geralt or Eskel.
And it would be alright if it was just Geralt because he's used to being pushed aside by Geralt, but Eskel has been nothing but kind to him. And he was hoping to be able to give him something back for once. If he's honest with himself, he's been thinking almost as much about Eskel since they arrived as he has about Geralt which is unexpected and, under the circumstances, more bitter than anything. Because he'd rather see Geralt happy than pursue his own desires - especially with someone like Eskel.
Then the weather takes a turn for the worse. They've all been expecting it, but Jaskier didn't realize how much time he'd spent outside until it wasn't an option anymore. And staying indoors means other ways of keeping themselves occupied and while Jaskier can think of many, many ways to pass the time, most of which involve having a willing partner and currently, he does not.
But being trapped inside means being in much closer quarters and spending a lot more time with Geralt and Eskel. He tells himself it's to figure out what they need to cross that imaginary line in the sand, but he genuinely likes being around them. And when Geralt is with both of them, his openness extends to Jaskier. So maybe he sticks a little closer to them than he feels he should, but given the option between being alone and finally having a proper connection with Geralt, there’s no contest.
There's a storm one night and they're sitting in the hall in front of the fire. Jaskier was playing for them, but his fingers have since gone numb with cold and drink and he's sitting quietly now, rubbing his hands together to heat them up. Geralt is recounting the story of a fleder they ran into in Aedirn when he stops suddenly. They've all been drinking, so Jaskier isn't surprised when Geralt's eyes linger on him before dropping to his hands.
"You're cold," he says simply and Jaskier barely has a chance to shrug before he's been hauled unexpectedly into Geralt's lap. Nose-to-nose, Jaskier can't seem to catch his breath and for once, Geralt seems to be the one who's perfectly comfortable with the situation.
And it's not as though this is something new for them, per se, but Geralt is never the one to initiate so much touching and certainly not while anyone else is around. Especially not someone else he's interested in. Jaskier can even remember one particular night in which he was shoved unceremoniously onto the floor because Yen was there. But even now, with his arms looped around Jaskier's waist, Geralt keeps talking quietly with Eskel. And Jaskier’s heart beats so loudly he’s sure it must be deafening for them.
Geralt and Eskel speak in hushed tones, soft and private, and all the while Geralt's fingers play with Jaskier's shirt, fiddling with the fabric until it's lifted enough for him to reach his skin. Jaskier nearly pulls away when he feels Geralt's fingers on his bare skin, but when he looks down at him, Geralt smiles back softly. And when he looks at Eskel, he looks nothing but comfortable, maybe even interested, watching them both as he lounges on his side.
When Geralt finally turns in for the night, Jaskier is almost expecting him to ask him to join him. Geralt walks with him to his room, and Eskel joins them, though he departs first, turning into his own room with a quick goodnight. At the bottom of the stairs, Geralt hesitates for a moment, then wishes Jaskier goodnight and leaves him to ascend alone. Despite the warmth of the fire and the wine, and the pleasant feeling in his chest, Jaskier struggles to sleep that night. And things only get more complicated.
If he thought the night by the fire was a one-time thing, he was dead wrong. After that, Geralt is much more affectionate and usually, wherever he is Jaskier is too. And Eskel always manages to find them, even if they've wandered out in the snow or down to the training yard - not that Jaskier minds at all. It never feels like an intrusion when Eskel finds them, and he can't quite put his finger on what it feels like, but it feels good so for the time being, he's happy with that.
But constantly being with Geralt and Eskel means dealing with the tension between them and some nights, when they're the last three down in the hall it's unbearable. More than once Jaskier has considered telling them to just fuck it out and get it over with; he even left them alone one night in the hopes that they would, but nothing ever came of it. And being with them every night does nothing to help him, either because, since that first night, Geralt has dropped a lot of his walls and touching is now a thing he's apparently, very much okay with. At least when it comes to Jaskier. Which Jaskier is struggling to deal with.
And Eskel is no better, constantly brushing his hands down Jaskier's arms or pressing a hand to his back when they're standing together. Jaskier always keeps an eye on Geralt, to see how he responds to it because Jaskier doesn't want to get in the middle of whatever they’ve got going on, but Geralt only ever seems pleased to see them together. Sometimes it almost feels like he's watching them, and even the most innocent touches make Jaskier's skin prickle knowing how closely Geralt is paying attention to them. And he's not the only one who notices.
Vesemir was the first, having interrupted one of their fireside conversations, but he doesn't seem to mind what anyone does in the keep so long as there's peace amongst them. And Coën keeps to himself most of the time, so if he cares - or realizes at all - he doesn't say anything about it. Lambert has been mostly okay with the whole thing, other than an errant scoff or eye roll here and there, but it's not until one night when everyone is together in the main hall that he starts to show his irritation.
They've been inside for over a month now and with no one else around, everyone is starting to get a little tetchy. Jaskier, especially, is missing the company of anyone other than a bunch of Witchers. And maybe it wouldn't even be so bad if Geralt and Eskel could figure their shit out because he's fairly certain they wouldn't be opposed to having an audience. And while he'd rather be included in any sort of encounter, watching those two would keep him plenty occupied for the rest of the winter. But they're stubborn or oblivious or something and Jaskier hasn't quite figured out how to make them realize it yet. And so he's irritable too, but Lambert takes it to another level and it's not even their fault, not really.
They're playing Gwent, or Geralt and Coën are; Jaskier is perched in Eskel's lap, watching from a few seats away and Lambert is on Geralt's other side. And Jaskier isn't even doing anything. He's had a drink or two, but he's not drunk by any means, but he can't keep his eyes off Geralt tonight for some reason. Maybe it’s the way he's got his hair down or maybe it's the solitude way up here in the mountains, but Jaskier can't think of anything but running his fingers through it. Maybe he'd give a little tug to see what kind of reaction he'd get from him. He thinks Geralt might like it.
He leans into Eskel's chest and dips his chin to whisper in his ear, noting the way Eskel's arm cinches a little tighter around his waist. He just wants to share his theory with Eskel, maybe give him a nudge in the right direction, but just as he moves, there's the scraping sound of chair legs against stone and Lambert rises to his feet.
"For fucks sakes," he bellows, "you have three rooms between you, pick one!"
He's gone before Jaskier can even think to reply. Coën and Geralt share a brief look before returning to their game, and Eskel just shrugs when Jaskier looks down at him.
Jaskier doesn't think much of it in the days that follow - Lambert is irritable at the best of times - and he just carries on as usual. Although even he will admit to being less and less subtle when it comes to Geralt and Eskel. Most of the time, he's trying to get one or the other to see what they're missing, but more and more often his efforts go unnoticed, their attention focused on him. And maybe he likes it. And maybe he doesn’t try quite as hard anymore to get them to stop. But it’s hardly his fault when it’s been months since he’s had any company and Geralt and Eskel won’t stop touching him.
But nothing ever really happens. Eskel allows himself a little more physicality, more often being the one to haul Jaskier into his lap, where Geralt is welcoming but still usually waits for Jaskier to make the first move. Neither does more than look at him and talk in hushed voices or, occasionally, let their hands slip to his thighs. And it's doing nothing to help the simmering lust under his skin.
It takes a few days before he reaches the point of too much and decides he needs to do something about it. Either he needs to get Geralt and Eskel together or he's going to break and fuck one of them himself and that's not going to make anyone happy in the long run. He doesn't like the idea of losing Geralt to anyone else, but Eskel is a much better choice than Yennefer ever was and so he resigns himself to it and goes off to find them.
Jaskier searches all over, even going as far as looking for them out on the balconies, but if Geralt and Eskel are still in the keep, they don't want to be found. He thinks briefly that maybe they figured things out on their own, though judging by the argument with Lambert that he overheard this morning, not likely. And speaking of Lambert-
"Hey!" he calls out, hurrying down the hall before Lambert can escape into one of the rooms. Sighing, Lambert stops and turns to him.
"Can I help?"
"I'm looking for Geralt and Eskel."
Lambert very pointedly rolls his eyes. "Of course you are."
"Just point me in the right direction, I'll keep them out of your way."
Lambert pauses, considers for a moment and turns around, waving for Jaskier to follow him. He does, traipsing after Lambert through the halls until they come to a large wooden door at the end of a hallway. Jaskier is suspicious, but he and Lambert want the same thing here, technically, so he's pretty sure he can trust him. If not, Geralt will certainly avenge him later.
He enters the room to find what appears to be a library, of sorts. Or maybe they use it for making potions, considering the tables lining the room. There's a large fireplace at one end and next to it, Eskel is seated in an armchair, slouched slightly and looking across the room to where Geralt is standing. Idiots, Jaskier thinks, but he doesn't have a chance to say as much before the door behind him shuts and a key turns in the lock.
Both Geralt and Eskel perk up at that and Jaskier turns and pushes against the door to no avail.
"Figure your shit out or you'll be spending the rest of the winter in there," Lambert says and Jaskier doesn't need enhanced hearing to hear his footsteps fading away down the hallway. So much for his plan and so much for being avenged.
Eskel just huffs from across the room and Geralt returns to where he was leaning against a shelf. Presumably, this isn't the first time this has happened to them, and maybe for Witchers, being trapped in a room for weeks isn't a big deal. But for Jaskier, it's a hell of a long time to spend in one place, especially without any privacy.
It takes an hour for Jaskier's frustrations and restlessness to get the better of him. And it's not entirely his fault. Eskel is sitting there in the only chair in the whole place with his legs spread wide like an invitation and Jaskier is sorely tempted to take him up on the offer. And then it hits him; this is the perfect time to put his plan into motion, although plan might be a bit of a stretch.
He pushes himself off the wall he's leaning on, giving himself a moment to stretch before sauntering over to Eskel. If this works, everyone gets what they want, and by the way Eskel's eyes lift to follow him, he doesn't expect his advances to be turned down.
"You've taken the only seat," Jaskier says, lifting his hands to his hips, "and as a Witcher with heightened stamina, I don't think that's fair."
Eskel smirks, huffing a laugh as he spreads his arms and Jaskier takes the invitation for what it is. He presses between Eskel's thighs, slipping onto his lap and wrapping both arms around his neck. He spares a quick glance at Geralt, and there's nothing but calm resignation in his eyes so Jaskier settles himself against Eskel's chest.
Geralt has never come across as a particularly jealous person, so it doesn't exactly come as a surprise when he doesn't respond. But Jaskier is determined and there's a restless energy that thrums beneath his skin. Or maybe Geralt just doesn't care if he fucks Eskel because so far he's made no attempt to separate them. Eskel's hand slips up his side pressing under his doublet and rubbing his shirt against his skin. Jaskier hums and presses into the touch... and nothing happens.
He sits and fidgets and Eskel does absolutely nothing else, but his hands are still warm and heavy against Jaskier's side and the small bit of intimacy is affecting him more than it should. He sighs dramatically, pulling out of the touch and sliding off Eskel's lap to the floor.
"I'm bored," he complains, running his palms up Eskel's thighs. His eyes flick up to meet Eskel's just briefly before Eskel looks up above his head. Jaskier knows he's looking at Geralt, and when he gives no indication of hesitancy, Jaskier's heart thuds. Well, if he's really doing this, he's going to do it properly.
He slides his hands up to Eskel's hips, letting his fingers play over the ties of his trousers and Eskel shifts under him, pushing his hips forward. A wave of heat rolls up his back and Jaskier nearly fumbles with his laces as footsteps approach from behind. He doesn't dare turn around because he wasn't anticipating Geralt wanting to have any part in this and he can't quite reconcile that in his mind. He doesn't get performance anxiety, but something about having Geralt right there makes his breath catch.
Jaskier focuses on the task at hand, unlacing Eskel's trousers and rubbing his palm over the growing bulge beneath them. Eskel groans softly above him and Jaskier presses a little harder, revelling in the way Eskel's cock jumps under his hand. He wraps his fingers around him, stroking him through the fabric and as Eskel's cock swells, the head peeks out above his waistband enticingly. Jaskier stares at it peeking just far enough that he could guess the size of him and he wants to lean in and wrap his lips around it. He wants to take Eskel down as far as he can and lose himself in the taste of him and the stretch of his lips around his girth. Gods, it's been too long since he's been able to do this.
But he's putting on a show - for both of them - and letting himself get carried away so early won't do any good for anyone other than maybe Jaskier's sanity. So he moves cautiously, abandoning Eskel's cock to an unimpressed groan and rising up on his knees. He smiles up at Eskel, slipping his hands under the edge of his shirt and pushes it up his chest. Eskel pulls it up and over his head which is fine as far as Jaskier Is concerned because he's moved on.
He runs his tongue along Eskel's collarbone, pressing kisses along the ridge before reaching the center and slowly making his way downward. If he listens too hard, he can hear Geralt behind him in the creak of the floor beneath his feet and the steady breaths that don't quite reach his hair to ruffle it. So he hums not a tune, per se, just something to fill the silence between the soft moans that spill from Eskel's lips.
Jaskier slips back down to his hips, adjusting to sit back on his heels as he pulls Eskel's trousers away, revealing his swollen cock beneath them. He flicks his eyes up to Eskel's, taking in the lip trapped between his teeth and the way his nostrils flare and Jaskier smiles at him before dropping his eyes back down and wrapping his lips somewhat awkwardly around the head of Eskel's cock.
The shaky exhale of breath is encouragement enough - not that Jaskier needs any - but Eskel's hand slips into his hair, tugging unintentionally as Jaskier's mouth slips over him. Eskel is big, thick enough that he stretches Jaskier's lips around him. but he's got a lovely cock that Jaskier is happy to get as much of in his mouth as he can. Which, surprisingly, is a lot. He's out of practice, but he takes him almost all the way down, slipping a hand around the base of him before pulling back off.
He gets into a rhythm, working his tongue around him and pressing up into every touch as Eskel's finger grip more firmly in his hair. He'd forgotten what it feels like to have someone really get into it, the warm swell of pride and something like satisfaction in his chest knowing he's doing a good job. And something about the fact that he's a Witcher really gets to him, these men who are built to kill and Jaskier is able to take him apart with only his lips and his tongue.
His own cock aches, ignored, against the front of his trousers and when he shifts closer, it rubs against the silky fabric. Jaskier moans around the cock in his mouth, a stunted, choked-off sound, and a warm hand slides around the side of his neck, fingers running along the underside of his jaw.
Jaskier's eyes flutter shut and he hums softly, pressing up as Eskle's fingers dig into his scalp. He's getting close. Jaskier can feel it in the way his hips stutter, the way his moans become louder, less restrained and in the way his fingers tug at his hair, sending little jolts of pleasure through Jaskier's entire body. But he's not going to let himself get drawn into it all because this isn't about him right now. Because as much as he'd love to bring himself off with Eskel's cock in his mouth, he's supposed to be helping. But Geralt's hand slips lower, fingers sliding over his collarbone and down under the edge of his shirt and it's a lot harder to focus as calloused fingers brush over his nipples.
He whimpers, taking Eskel as deep as he can and holding him there. He slips his fingers into Eskel’s trousers, pressing back behind his balls and earnestly ignoring the way his own hips stutter Eskel squirms under him, muttering something but the blood rushing in Jaskier's ears is too loud to hear it. He bucks his hips, clenches his fingers tight in Jaskier's hair and as Jaskier pulls up to the head, winding his tongue around it, Eskel comes.
He curses and groans, thrusting hard between Jaskier's lips and Jaskier takes him as well as he can, wrapping a hand around him to keep him from thrusting too deep. And Geralt is right there, bringing his hand back up to cup his cheek, brush his fingers along his jaw, and when Eskel's hands slip from his hair, Geralt's replace them, brushing it out of his face and gently running along his scalp.
Jaskier pulls off Eskel's cock, his head foggy with lust and looks up at him. Eskel's head is dropped back over the back of the chair, his arms draped loosely over it, and Jaskier swells with pride. He dips down, running his tongue along the underside of Eskel's cock, drawing out a final moan and a full-body shudder, but he isn't granted much time to tease before he's hauled up to his feet. Geralt's nose presses against his temple, drawing back so his lips graze the shell of Jaskier's ear.
"You didn't come," he breathes and just hearing those words out of Geralt's mouth is almost enough to push him over the edge. He's about to say he doesn't need to, that it doesn't matter, but Geralt's hands are already on him.
Jaskier's shakier than expected and when he glances down at himself there's a damp spot on his trousers where his cock leaked through. Geralt's chest presses against his back, running his hands down to curl around Jaskier's hips and Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, his whole body shuddering without his permission. Geralt's fingers creep closer to his cock and Jaskier squirms against him, drops his head back onto his shoulder and bites his lip.
"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier just nods dumbly.
He can feel Eskel's eyes on him, despite his own being shut, and it makes him more comfortable as Geralt slips his doublet off and tosses it away. His fingers move down again, quickly and easily getting Jaskier's trousers undone and pushing them down his thighs. His cock bobs free and Jaskier should feel exposed like this, but when he opens his eyes, Eskel is watching him hungrily despite his own cock growing soft against his hip and Geralt's hands are eager where they slide back up to settle on his waist.
Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and Jaskier whimpers. For years he's imagined feeling them against his own, how Geralt would kiss him, but it was never anything quite like this. Then again, this whole situation is something beyond even Jaskier's imaginings.
Geralt's mouth finds the corner of his neck and shoulder, moving urgently and brushing against his skin in a way that has Jaskier's eyes rolling back in his head. Then, in one swift motion, Jaskier is lifted off his feet and finds himself straddling Eskel's thighs, jostled slightly as Geralt presses between them from behind. His mouth finds Jaskier's neck again sucking at the most sensitive spot just under his jaw and Jaskier can't help the way he presses back against him.
Geralt's hands slide down his chest just as Eskel's slide over his hips to cup his ass. Warm fingers slip around his cock and Jaskier's breath catches as they dance up his length. His eyes drop shut and his hips roll forward on their own, pushing his cock through the warmth of Geralt's hand. Geralt's fingers wrap firmly around him, squeezing tight and stroking him slowly. It's exactly how he likes it and Jaskier has to bite down on his lip to keep from moaning out loud. He's jostled slightly and when he opens his eyes, Eskel is sitting up and facing him, reaching out to run the pad of his thumb along Jaskier's bottom lip.
"Don't," he whispers, "let us hear you." Eskel's other arm slips around his hip and he tugs him closer, tipping forward to kiss him.
There's a low growl from behind him and Geralt slips up close, fingers slipping from Jaskier's cock in favour of holding his hips. He presses himself against Jaskier's back and Jaskier can feel the press of his cock against his ass and the realization that Geralt likes this spreads like fire through his veins. He likes seeing Jaskier with Eskel and gods, if that's what he's into, Jaskier is happy to give it to him. But, he thinks as he reaches back to wrap his arms around Geralt's neck, he may have been off the mark with his earlier assumptions about the Witchers.
Jaskier groans as thick fingers wind around his cock again and Geralt's teeth find the back of his neck, lightly grazing his skin as his body shudders. He lets himself go limp, one arm around his waist and hands sliding up his chest, leaning against Geralt's body. Eskel draws away, leaning back in his seat, and Jaskier whines softly at the loss, but Geralt is right there to take his place, nipping lightly at Jaskier's lip before kissing him. And Jaskier's hips roll smoothly, matching the steady pace of Eskel's hand as he loses himself in the heat of Geralt's mouth against his own.
When his eyes open again, startled by the sharp twist of Eskel's wrist, he breaks from Geralt's mouth, rolling his head against him. Before him, Eskel is hard again, stroking himself with one hand as the other works over Jaskier's length.
Geralt shifts against him, pressing his cock against the cleft of Jaskier's ass. "Do you want him?" he breathes and Jaskier can barely manage a response with that low, husky voice right in his ear. Geralt's hips roll against him and Jaskier groans, shifting forward in Eskel's lap.
Eskel's hands pull away, much to Jaskier's displeasure, but he's close enough now that when he rocks forward, his cock slides against Eskel's. He uses the position to his advantage, leaning back to prop himself up on Eskel's knees as he slips a hand around them both. His grip is loose, unable to wrap all the way around, but Geralt's hand slips down against his own, encircling them both. Eskel's hips give a sharp jerk and Jaskier doesn't miss the heated look he casts up at Geralt.
In an instant, Geralt is hauled down, Eskel's fingers firm where they're tangled in the front of his shirt and Jaskier nearly forgets how to breathe. He's surprised to see how easily Geralt submits, melting into the kiss though his grip on their joined cocks never falters. Jaskier watches in awe as Eskel's hand slips up around Geralt's back, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and disappearing under it. He was right about one thing: watching Geralt and Eskel together would almost be enough to make up for his own lacking sex life. Not that he needs to worry about that anymore.
He drops his head back, the image of the two Witchers burned into his eyelids, and he rolls his hips steadily. His cock slips between the rough skin of Geralt's hand and the silky smooth of Eskel's cock, a duality that promises to have him shaking apart in minutes. Eskel, apparently, has other ideas.
The bottle he presses into Geralt's palm is small and clear and appears from apparently nowhere but makes no mistake as to where he's taking this. Geralt pulls away from Eskel's mouth long enough to look over at him, his eyes dark and full of anticipation. Something in Jaskier's chest swells and he leans up to kiss his lips, sitting back up in Eskel's lap.
Eskel gets his arm around him again, sliding his hand down his back and down into his trousers. His fingers slip further, pressing between Jaskier's cheeks and Jaskier rises up instinctively, leaning into Eskel as thick fingers slide over his hole. He doesn't linger, drawing back and cupping Jaskier’s face as he draws him in again. Geralt's hand slips from between them, and Jaskier pulls away too, sliding his hands over Eskel's shoulders.
He's vividly aware of every move Geralt makes as he pulls away from them and slips back into place behind Jaskier. He smooths his hands down his sides, pushing his trousers down further and out of the way. He can't get them all the way off without Jaskier moving and right now he's quite happy where he is. And Geralt doesn't seem to mind. He pulls the cork on the bottle and Jaskier settles, pressing his hips back encouragingly.
The first time Geralt presses a slick fingertip against him, Jaskier groans. His body shakes with anticipation, but Eskel holds him close and kisses his neck. Geralt is quick and precise in a way that speaks of years of experience and makes Jaskier's legs shake under him.
Jaskier's erection flags a little as Geralt slides a third finger into him, but Eskel is still rock hard against him, hips rocking just slightly as Jaskier squirms. Jaskier's focus jumps between Eskel's cock and Geralt's fingers, Geralt's lips against his neck, his own cock, filling again as Eskel gets hold of it.
Geralt adds a fourth finger and Jaskier holds his breath as he adjusts to the stretch of him. He drops his forehead to Eskel's shoulder and slowly rocks his hips back, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers. When he adjusts, he moves more quickly and Geralt's hand rises to press against his lower back, steadying him. But Jaskier wants more. Geralt's fingers fill him wholly, and they reach surprisingly far within him, but it's not enough right now.
Right now, Jaskier's half-naked and trapped between two increasingly horny Witchers and if one of them doesn't fuck him soon he feels like he might break apart from the inside out. It's been months since anyone touched him but himself he needs more. Even as Geralt thrusts into him again, Jaskier's thinking about his cock instead, thick and hard and pressing deep into him- He groans, huffing out a breathless "please", as he pushes his head against Eskel's shoulder.
Evidently, Geralt isn't as patient as he seems. As soon as his fingers withdraw, he hauls Jaskier to his feet, spinning him around so he can kiss him. His lips are soft but urgent and Geralt gets him out of his trousers without breaking the kiss, winding his arms around Jaskier's hips and pulling him into his body. And fuck, when Geralt's cock digs into his hip, his mind goes blank with lust, pressing back against him even as Geralt walks him backward. Then Eskel's hands find his hips, holding him steady as he presses his cock against him.
Jaskier sits back slowly, letting Eskel's hands guide him. His breath hitches as the blunt head of his cock presses against him and he curls his fingers in Geralt's hair, holding his gaze as he lowers himself onto Eskel's cock. Geralt dips to kiss him, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking lightly as Jaskier settles.
Once he's comfortable, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier is disappointed until Eskel thrusts up into him, reclaiming his focus as his hands slip around to hold Jaskier's hips. Jaskier rolls his head back on Eskel's shoulder, breathing heavily against his neck and shifting his hips in time with Eskel's thrusts. This isn't how he foresaw his day going, especially not after being locked in the library, but he has no regrets.
Well, maybe one, but that can easily be remedied.
He glances up, meeting Geralt's eyes, and any regret fades as quickly as it came. Geralt is watching them with a heat like Jaskier's never seen in his eyes and when his gaze slips slower, Jaskier can see how hard he is in his trousers and it makes his own arousal soar. He could feel him against him, but seeing for himself is something entirely different and he doesn't think before reaching out and curling a hand in Geralt's shirt, he just wants to touch.
And Geralt allows him to haul him close, fitting himself between Eskel's legs and leaning low over him and Jaskier. He shifts his weight to prop himself up on one arm, sliding the other up Jaskier's thigh, his thumb brushing dangerously close to his cock as he slips up over Jaskier's hip. Jaskier takes it as a sign that he can reach out and touch, but just as his fingers slip under his shirt, Geralt's attention is diverted.
Eskel beats him to the punch, drawing Geralt close until their noses bump against each other. And Jaskier can't see the look on Eskel's face, but Geralt's eyes drop shut, his lips parting just so. Jaskier groans at the sight of him, missing the moment their lips meet but he hears the muffled sound of Geralt's moan as he reaches out for him.
He slips his fingers over the bulge in Geralt's trousers, tracing the line of his cock before slipping his fingers around it. His fingers won't quite fit around him and his trousers are still in the way and it's hard to keep still with Eskel thrusting up into him, but Jaskier does his best. He strokes Gerlt through the thick fabric, and every time he presses into it, Jaskier's cock twitches against his stomach. He lets his fingers drift, brushing over the buttons on Geralt's trousers, but Geralt pushes his hand away.
He pulls away from Eskel, turning his attention to Jaskier as he slips his knee between Eskel's thigh and the arm of the chair. For a brief second, Jaskier considers the strength of the chair and whether it will hold up under their combined weight, but Geralt's mouth presses against his own and the thought is gone. Geralt kisses him roughly, slipping his tongue between his lips and swallowing Jaskier's moans as he presses closer.
Eskel keeps a steady pace, but as Geralt shifts against them he slows and it doesn't take long for Jaskier to figure out why. Geralt's fingers press against his rim spreading oil over the skin and around Eskel's cock where it slips into him. Jaskier shuts his eyes, but when Geralt presses more firmly he can't help but wonder about taking both of them. He doesn't know if he'd be able to, but the thought of it has his cock leaking against his stomach and he's never been one to turn down a challenge.
He hauls Geralt close again, panting against his lips as he fumbles with the buttons on his trousers, desperate to get his hands on him. This time, Geralt lets him and when Jaskier's fingers dip into his trousers, wrapping around his length, he stills, moaning softly against his lips. Eskel mumbles something against his ear that he doesn't quite catch, but it sounds like encouragement and Jaskier wraps more firmly around Geralt's cock.
He pulls him out of his trousers, stroking him firmly as Geralt gets his other leg up on the chair. Eskel adjusts to make space and in the new position, Geralt's cock slips right up against Jaskier's and it's just a natural progression for Jaskier to pull him closer. He keeps one hand fisted in Geralt's shirt, rocking unsteadily against him and it's almost too much. His mouth goes slack as Geralt's hips roll fluidly against his own and Jaskier knows he won't last long like this. He doesn't have Witcher stamina and he'd be perfectly happy to let them continue afterward, but he doesn't want to come yet. He wants Geralt inside of him, and more than that, he wants to at least try to take them both. The idea of it makes him dizzy with lust and if he doesn't try, he knows he'll regret it.
He takes Geralt's cock in his hand again, guiding him down to where Eskel presses into him and pressing him against Eskel. There's a breathless "fuck" against his ear and Eskel's fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips. But Geralt looks up at him, presses his forehead against Jaskier's.
"Are you sure?" he breathes and Jaskier nods enthusiastically.
"Please."
Geralt gets his fingers slicked up again, stroking Eskel slowly before pressing one finger in alongside him. It's tight and Jaskier shuts his eyes, pulling away from Geralt to press his face into Eskel's neck. Geralt waits, letting him adjust before sliding a second finger in and then a third.
When he pulls out, Jaskier almost misses the stretch, but Geralt's cockhead presses against him, softer than his fingers though wider. Jaskier buries his face in Eskel's neck, trying to contain the pained noises that threaten to escape him because he's not used to having one Witcher cock inside him, never mind two. But Geralt is gentle and Eskel is patient, stroking his hair and tipping his head up to kiss him as Geralt presses in.
Jaskier can feel the way Geralt's cock twitches inside him, eager to get on with it, but he remains still to let him adjust. Jaskier focuses on every other place they touch, where Geralt's thigh is fitted under his own, where Eskel's chest heaves against his back, and he relaxes. The thought of having them both at once, of having two of the most beautiful men he's ever met at the same time, is enough to help him settle and Jaskier shifts between them, finding a comfortable position so he can better control their speed. Though he quickly finds that with Geralt and Eskel sandwiching him, he's very willing to give up what little control he has.
He leans back and Geralt follows him, bracing himself on the back of the chair as he rolls his hips more quickly. Eskel curses breathily against Jaskier's ear, mumbling incoherently as his hips jerk opposite to Geralt's. Jaskier can't imagine how it feels for them, squeezed tight and sliding against each other, but Eskel's moans tell him enough and Geralt presses his forehead into Jaskier's shoulder, lips parted and panting. And Jaskier has never felt so full, every inch of him filled and fucked.
His head spins, cloudy with lust and so overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that roll over him that he can barely move. His limbs are loose where they wrap around his Witchers, one hand curled in Geralt's hair and the other slipped around the back of Eskel's neck. He presses his hips down and squeezes around them. Geralt growls, a loud rumbling sound that vibrates right to Jaskier's core and he turns his head, kissing him hard.
It's rough and sloppy because Jaskier is constantly jostled, but he relishes the feeling of having Geralt's mouth on his again. Eskel's hips jerk and he slides an arm around Geralt's back, using him as leverage to thrust up hard. Geralt draws back, tipping his head and Eskel catches his lips in a heated kiss.
Eskel's hips snap up hard and Jaskier melts against him, groaning at the way he presses into him. He's close, Jaskier can feel it in the way his thighs shake and the desperate little gasps and curses that spill from his lips. Jaskier tugs Geralt against him, clinging to him as Eskel comes, slamming into him and digging his fingers into Jaskier's hip, holding him down.
Eskel slips out and Geralt readjusts, pushing deeper into him with a grunt. As Eskel comes down, his fingers slip up into Jaskier's hair, running through the strands as he pants and catches his breath.
"How does he feel?" he asks and Geralt rolls his hips at exactly that moment, rendering him momentarily mute.
"Good," he huffs, "really good." He tips his head back to look at Geralt. "Ah- Geralt, I'm gonna-" Geralt cuts him off with a swift kiss, working his hips in quick sharp thrusts and driving Jaskier closer and closer to the edge.
Jaskier whines and tries to hold on, but Geralt's cock pushes into him, hitting that spot deep inside and it's all he can do not to break apart right there. When Eskel's hand slides around, wrapping around his cock and stroking him slowly, Jaskier comes, spilling all over himself and Eskel's fingers. Geralt only lasts another couple of minutes before he's grunting, burying himself deep and biting down on Jaskier's shoulder.
He slips from the chair almost immediately, dropping to the floor and leaning back against the table leg behind him, breathing hard. Jaskier slumps, the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor next to him is Eskel's arms around him, holding him up.
Jaskier watches him for a moment, the way his eyes fall shut and his chest heaves. But he can already feel exhaustion overtaking him and he settles against Eskel’s chest, pressing his face into his neck.
By the time Lambert returns for them, Jaskier is awake and dressed again, though Geralt and Eskel seem unbothered about their lack of presentation. Lambert casts a look between the three of them, rolls his eyes and sighs a dramatic finally before turning around, exiting the room, and slamming the door behind him.
It's a few hours before any of them sees Lambert again and dinner is a surprisingly quiet affair. Jaskier turns in earlier than the others, still thoroughly exhausted, and Eskel traipses after him, accepting Jaskier's invitation when he reaches his room. They fall happily into bed and Jaskier is asleep by the time Geralt joins them, but Geralt is there in the morning when he wakes, curled protectively around Jaskier's back.
They all head down to breakfast together and while Jaskier sees the way Lambert rolls his eyes at them, he makes the - probably wise - decision not to mention it, slipping into a seat across from him.
The day is uneventful. The boys train in the yard for the better part of the afternoon and while Jaskier joins him, he prefers to sit and watch. The sexual tension isn't quite so obvious with Lambert and Vesemir around to tone it down, but Jaskier still catches the odd glance between Geralt and Eskel that gets his heart racing.
He's certain they're a song just waiting to be written, though, given Geralt's aversion to being sung about, it might have to be for Jaskier’s ears only. Not that that has ever stopped him before. He scribbles down a few thoughts, noting the way the two Witchers move around each other, each carefully keeping track of his opponent. It has the makings of his most provocative ballad yet. A shame no one will ever hear it.
In the evening, they retire to the mess hall, just the three of them and Lambert. Geralt is complaining about no one wanting to play cards and Lambert is mocking him, grumbling away from his seat near the fire. Jaskier doesn't mind; he's spent enough years being pestered about learning Gwent that he just tunes it all out now, and sitting at the table with Geralt's chest against his back, he can find very little to complain about.
"I'll have to teach you to play," Geralt hums and Jaskier, warm and comfortable, finally agrees.
"But not now," Jaskier amends, shifting to get more comfortable. Across the room, Lambert rolls his eyes.
"He's just jealous," Eskel winks, crossing to stand next to Geralt. He leans down and whispers something in his ear, but whatever it is, Jaskier doesn't hear it. He does hear the little huff of a laugh that is Geralt's response, and the drawn-out groan from Lambert.
"Gods," Lambert grumbles, "I think I preferred things better before."
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lambourngb · 4 years ago
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Why can’t I change
The irony is, you inspired this story. You posted a ficlet about Michael and Max going out to distract themselves from the pain of being separated from their soulmates...  and this hit me hard:
Max is drinking too much tonight.  This is a good bar – Michael’s actually been in here before.  Twice.  Both times over the last few months, since Alex and Forrest… yeah.  He’s left with guys, both times. He’s… he’s trying to figure some stuff out, with himself.  What he likes.  What he wants, outside of Alex.  Um, and hopefully, eventually, with Alex. It’s been… fine. Fun.  Light.  Uncomplicated.  Pretty much everything the rest of his life isn’t right now.
So I started writing a fic where Michael is exploring things about himself, dating and figuring out what he wants, while he lingers in that “hopefully eventually” feeling in place. Of course, dating is hell, and especially it’s hell when there is so much about Michael that is hard to explain to someone- not just the alien parts, but his genius IQ, his “adopted” siblings, his past in social services, no parents, etc. Then the awkwardness of how he can’t stop from watching Alex whenever their paths cross.
SNIPPET :
It started innocently enough like most of Michael’s life-ruining decisions, during a beer break from his newly re-established lab bunker. 
“Alright, worst date you’ve ever been on, and go!”  Charlie started, taking a long pull of her IPA, before sending a look over to Michael. “You win on the most embarrassing sibling, Guerin, someone needs to teach your sister to knock, but I bet I have you beat on bad dates.”
So five minutes after she had decided to stay in Roswell, Charlie Cameron had ended up tracking down Michael at Sanders, and opened the conversation unceremoniously with, “So aliens are real and I’m guessing you’re one. Consider me the newest member of your Scooby Gang and tell me everything.” He had dropped a heavy wrench on his boot, pain stealing his voice for a moment. Perhaps there was a man out there that was able to resist the no-nonsense stare of a Cameron woman, but that wasn’t Michael, or even Max for that matter.
And that was that, one more person in on the second biggest secret Michael held (he was still in love with Alex being number one). It came with it’s own valuable reveals, finding out from Charlie that although Helena Ortecho had covered her tracks with the group as a red herring for Flint’s sake, Deep Sky was a very real paramilitary group and they were the source of the depowering serum that Helena had used on Michael to keep him compliant.
So ten minutes after catching her up on all things ridiculous and real in Roswell, New Mexico, Charlie had raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him and drawled lazily, “Any plans to combat that drug, or are you just going to hope that the next time it’s another benign manipulator? Because the way I see it, I’m a genius biochemist, and you’re a genius period, maybe we can do better than blind hope?”
Whether it was hubris at play to see if it was even possible, or a renewed determination to just fuck up whatever military sponsored plot that was in play, Charlie Cameron signed on to research an antidote to the depowering serum and in the process had become Michael’s newest, and surprisingly easiest, friend to have. 
It was strange but Michael was starting to number his friends beyond just Max, Isobel and the currently absent Liz Ortecho. He could begrudgingly add Kyle Valenti to the list, now that Max had come clean with everyone over his heart condition. Although it was exceedingly awkward at times in the wake of their breakup, Maria was trying for friendship with him and it probably said something about them that they fell into that rhythm much easier than he had with Alex. 
On paper he could consider Alex his friend. They shared beers together at neutral locations, there was always a conversation to linger over with coffee, and finally, Michael was the person Alex called now, every time he was scheduled to go out of town for work. That was less friendship, and more of a coping mechanism for them both after his abduction by Jesse then Helena. 
It meant that Charlie Cameron had won the contest of easiest friend probably by default, but that didn’t make being the target of her knife-sharp sense of humor any easier to deflect when she smelled blood in the water. Thinking about his past, he knew that any conversation about dating was sure to leave him bleeding out.
Michael eyed the open hatch of the bunker lab, wondering if the spanse of time they had spent in the open air was enough for Charlie to nip this conversation to a close and return to the task of experimentation. Long periods of time in solitary confinement in a military prison had left her with a dislike of closed spaces, and it didn’t matter what sort of faux-Restoration Hardware light fixture he hung from the ceiling of his bunker; the walls would start closing in on her after two  hours or so of work.  
“You win this round, okay?” 
“Come on, no bowing out. I told you about the ‘bring your child to work day’ my father suffered through with his conservative asshat co-workers, you can tell me about your worst date.”
“I haven’t dated enough to have a bad one, okay?” Michael admitted, looking away. There was no way he was going to talk about the drive in charity benefit with Alex, when he couldn’t be legitimately sure that it was even a date. Did sharing a six-pack on his tailgate even count? The way that night had ended was better off forgotten. Then there was Maria, where drinks at her bar had started as the natural postscript to an evening together. Did that count? He remembered bargaining with debts to arrange a dinner with Chinese food, that had been postponed almost indefinitely after her visions took center stage. 
“Bullshit! Almost the second thing my sister told me about you was to be careful I didn’t end up in your bed.”
Michael ducked his head with an acknowledged wince. Well, Jenna Cameron did have a front-row seat during most of his questionable decisions regarding women and his poor restraint when it came to a certain brand of asshole at the Wild Pony. When he ran across men who reminded him of Foster Dad #5 who thought respect could be beaten into Michael, or men who were like Foster Dad 3 who kept his wife nervously popping pills for her nerves and caked in pancake makeup most Sunday mornings. Some people just needed punching. Michael was always happy to be the one doing it if someone gave him reason to and drunk assholes often did.
He tipped the bottle back to drain the last swallow of nearly flat beer to buy some time as he thought about what to say next. There was little hope of escape, Charlie had the mind of a scientist, sharp and inquisitive and ready to press for more answers. “I’m no virgin, that’s for sure. But that was mainly sex.” He shrugged, dropping the empty into his trash barrel. “From all the movies Izzy makes me watch with her, I gather going on a date is something of a higher tier than a one-off in my truck after last call.”
“What about with Mr. Complicated?” Charlie’s smile was closer to a smirk. Michael revised his assessment of her, from scientist to sadist. 
“More than a one-off in my truck,” Michael agreed quietly. “Everything else was why it was complicated. And no, I don’t really want to talk about it, just to say, I have no stories about lost entrées at dinner or suddenly being a part of someone’s wedding reception with him.” 
Instead of pressing the knife deeper into him with more questions about Alex, Charlie backed off with a mixed expression. Shit that was pity on her face, wasn’t it? God, it really was a sad story, his relationship with Alex and his life currently, Michael thought. Charlie, who had spent time in the last couple of years in a military prison and was actively evading a paramilitary group interested in her research, actually pitied his life. 
“You’re trying to tell me you’re thirty years old, and you don’t have a single dating story to share?” She shook her head giving a sarcastic *bzzz* sound with her lips. “I don’t buy it. What about the hot bartender you were with last year?”
“You ever try to date someone who works in a bar? Her work hours were prime recreational hours. Who wants to go see a movie after last call and closing the till? You especially don’t want to go to another bar during off hours.” Michael pointed out. “Anyway, we kept it low-key. I cooked. Or we had drinks at the Pony. I dunno, life kept getting in the way of anything more.” 
“That’s just sad.”
Michael placed his hand against his chest, “Ouch, don’t hold back!”
Charlie straightened up from where she was sitting, on the steps of the old school bus to get to her feet. “Okay you’ve basically described two relationships with feelings, but I’m talking about something different. You swipe right on someone, trade messages, ghost them when they are creepy, you’ve never done any of that? No one has ever slipped their number to you when you’ve gone out with friends?”
“I just told you, those were just one-offs in my truck.”
“Oh my god, give me your phone, we’re downloading some apps.”
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hobidreams · 5 years ago
Text
The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}
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determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.
pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup
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“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.
The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”
“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”
You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.
“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”
You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.
There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.
Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”
You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.
“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.
“It’s me.” You say your name.
A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?
That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”
There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”
“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”
“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.
Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”
“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.
“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”
Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”
“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.
You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.
“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”
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That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.
But you’re here to get the truth.
Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.
You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.
Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.
“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”
He frowns. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”
“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.
“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”
“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. “Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.
“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”
You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.
“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”
“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”
“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.
Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?
The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?
Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.
“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.
“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?
“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”
Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”
“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”
“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”
“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”
“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”
So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.
Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”
You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”
“That’s the plan.”
Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”
“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.
That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?
“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.
Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.
“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”
He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”
“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”
Yoongi still looks unconvinced.
“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”
“And this is what you want to use it on.”
“Yup.”
He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.
You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.
But wait… The melody sounds familiar.
Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…
“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.
Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.
“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.
On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”
Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.
“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”
“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”
You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”
“Just drop it.”
“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"
“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”
You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”
“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”
Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”
He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”
His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”
“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”
Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”
“I... Uh...”
“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.
So you drop to your knees.
Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.
You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.
But he’s not about to let you take control.
“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.
“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.
Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.
Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.
“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.
“Then take it.”
You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.
You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.
Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”
You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.
“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.
With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.
“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.
Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.
“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.
“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.
“Yo—”
“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”
…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.
“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.
You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”
Yoongi doesn’t even look back.
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To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.
Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.
But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.
Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.
The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.
So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—
“Hellooo? Anybody home?”
A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”
“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”
“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”
“...Nothing important.”
“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”
“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”
Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”
The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?
“Because he’s always late?”
“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.
“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”
“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”
He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”
You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”
Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.
As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.
Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.
Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.
Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.
“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”
“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.
Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.
“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”
“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”
“I noticed.”
“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”
“Just a black coffee this time, please.”
“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”
When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.
“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”
To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.
Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.
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The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.
True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.
With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.
It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.
“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.
He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.
Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”
Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”
“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.
“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”
Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”
“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.
You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”
“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”
You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”
Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.
Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.
It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.
“Hey.”
You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”
“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?
Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”
“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”
“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”
Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”
Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.
Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.
“Jiwon!”
“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.
You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”
“Yup. You get me.”
Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.
The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.
“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”
The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”
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a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!
thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞
and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡
want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)
3K notes · View notes
hysteriium · 5 years ago
Note
Ledger!Joker x JP!Joker headcanons 👀 ??
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(Edit isn’t mine, made by Anarchy Graphics! They have really cool edits you should check them out!)
(A/n): 👀 HEY THERE DEAR ANON! Your wish is my command ;)) sorry I kinda added some smut hope that’s okie! HEHEH also @pennyship​ and I are writing a massive fucking one-shot about the duo! We’re thinking of turning this into a series if anyone’s interested?
Pairing: JP! Joker x reader x Heath!Joker
Warnings: NSFW, BDSM themes, swearing.
////
Together
Okay first things first, they will have a hard time ‘sharing’ you. They’re both really assertive characters and their personalities would for sure clash. 
They’re very competitive. 
What’s probably even weirder is how they resolve their arguments. If you expect them to sit down and shake it out b o i you’re dead wrong.
Honestly, if you catch them in the middle of doing some stupid shit, don’t be surprised.
More often than not, you feel like the mediator between them. You kind of keep them balanced – stop them from going overboard, though admittedly, it’s rare when they reach such a point. 
Their unspoken contest keeps them on their toes and that’s just how they like it.  
They also really appreciate how you spare them the psychoanalysis – they get enough of it when they’re thrown into Arkham and treated like odd spectacles. 
They’re really possessive/protective. If someone even so much as thinks of threatening you, or, even more idiotic, makes it known they ARE, best believe they’re bringing out the big guns. They’ll rain hellfire upon them. This is perhaps the only time where the dynamic duo can work together. 
NSFW
A lot of the times they take their frustration out in other activities. If something doesn’t go as ‘planned,’ you’re gonna have a hard time walking tomorrow.  
(Coming back to their ‘rivalry’), they’ll leave hickeys on your neck – VISIBLE ONES MIGHT I ADD – just so the other can see. This often leads to more hickeys from the other. 
Threesomes. Sorry, not sorry. (Will go into detail in an upcoming fic hehe). 
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Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker
This. Man. Is. Touch-starved. 
You heard me, folks. He loves touching you. This isn’t exclusive to sex either, honestly, he’s happy with even the smallest displays of affection. 
He’s also much kinder than Heath’s Joker AND WHAT I MEAN BY THAT is that he’s more open with his affections (see Heath’s section for deetz). 
Loves loves loves your smile and your laugh! Every time he snatches a laugh roused by one of his puns or jokes, he’s ecstatic! “You should laugh more,” “you have a pretty smile.” His compliments aren’t always worded the greatest, but you know he means well, his sincerity shining through. 
Coupled with the soft smile which almost always follows your joy, it’s enough on its own to convey his thoughts. 
The man is incredibly playful and is a relentless flirt. He doesn’t CARE who’s around, he will make it known what nasty things he’s thinking about AND what nasty things he wants to do to you. If it wasn’t for your own protests which are occasionally worn down, he’d take you in front of others. He literally does not care.
Example: when you least expect it, you’ll feel a firm slap against your ass, or sometimes less overt, a grab. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is. 
To reiterate, he absolutely has no shame. 
Arthur is big on aftercare. He’ll make sure you know how much he loves you. He gets really attached, and his actions communicate this more than his words. Aftercare manifests itself in many forms: cuddling, bubble baths, making sure he hasn’t harmed you in any way, offering sweets.
Nicknames
“Angel.”
“Darling.”
“Doll.” (Heath’s Joker also uses this). 
“Sugar.” He often uses this when he’s mad, for example, “okay, listen, sugar.”
“Sweetheart.”
NSFW
Depending on how Arthur’s feeling, funky time can either be really rough or, if he’s feeling a lil extra sentimental, very you-oriented. 
He’s a passionate man and seeing how his touch leads to your unravelling is truly one of the highlights for him. 
Above all, Arthur’s favourite thing is hearing the way his name spills from your lips – feeling the way you cling onto him as he plunges into you. Your expression of euphoria’s something that’s etched into his brain, like fine glass.   
An added bonus for him is thinking about how antsy your loud moans make Heath’s Joker. 
Gunplay → Arthur’s slender fingers indent your thighs as he spreads them apart, a sudden metallic chill brushing up against the flesh. Prodding at your entrance with the barrel and slowly pushing in, his slow teasing thrusts morph into a steady pace when you’re practically pleading him to let you cum. 
Orgasm Denial → Arthur, being the mischievous boi he is, will damn well make sure he drags everything out. He loves to hear you beg, every time you do it fills him with swirling bursts of pride. 
Body worship → sort of ties in with orgasm denial. Arthur will take his sweet ass time caressing your skin, planting kisses against your stomach – against your hips. Honestly anywhere he has access to he will make it known how much he appreciates your body. This can sometimes appear during sex – he’ll slow his pace and utter sweet whispers of praise against you, rendering you even more of a flustered mess.
Hair pulling → works both ways. This would mainly be exhibited during oral than anything else. If he’s going down on you and your trembling fingers jerk his green curls, the vibrations of his moans would tip you over the edge. 
He’s more flexible than Heath’s Joker, meaning if you want to top, he’ll let you do so, though he still maintains a cocky air. Giving you one of his killer smirks, his eyebrows flicking in amusement, he’ll relinquish his hold on your hips and recline back into the couch. The way he leans back and places his hands behind his head screams ‘go ahead,’ ‘impress me.’ You always do.
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Heath Ledger’s Joker
Will do shit just to spite Arthur; this isn’t because he has a personal vendetta against him, it’s just because of the person he is (a little shit).
Takes a bit longer to open up than Arthur, emotionally. He’s very closed off and is used to his little bubble. It takes patience but eventually you’ll get there.
Acts like the biggest hardass → he likes to portray there’s nothing more to his image other than the ‘agent of chaos,’ but you come to realise this is definitely not the case. 
In the dead of night, when he returns from whatever havoc he’s stirred, he crawls into your bed and pulls you against him, arms embracing you loosely.
This is when he’s at his most affectionate. His exhaustion most likely adds to those falling walls. 
Most of the time he thinks you’re asleep when this occurs but, spoiler, you’re not; the gentle upturn of your lips the only indication of such. You don’t think you’d ever give the fact away either, fearful of him receding back into his shell to the point where affection is null. Either way, you’re happy with him.
By the morning, he’s gone, already making plans (or executing them).
He seldom shows you his actual face, behind all the makeup. In all honesty, you don’t know the reasoning behind this, and you don’t think you ever will. While he’s blunt, he’s just as secretive; there’s always something going on in the back of his mind. 
Perhaps it’s insecurity, discomfort, or, more simply, the ‘persona’ of ‘Joker’ is just what resonates with him. The man underneath is someone he no longer identifies with. The man he’s become – who he’s worked so hard to manifest – is his true self. 
NSFW
Okay but he’s a very sexual guy, not even gonna lie.
ALSO HAS NO EMBARRASSMENT. When it comes to sex, this man’s just as open about it as Arthur. 
Hair pulling kink → this goes without saying. Unlike Arthur, this kink is one-sided, and he most definitely is the one doing the pulling. Those large hands will lose themselves within your strands and if you’re giving him head, he’s most likely going to guide you by said strands. 
Glove kink → he’ll set you on his lap, your back against his chest as his hands hold your wriggling thighs. With your breath hitching in anticipation, one of his gloved hands will slip down your inner thigh, rubbing slow circles against your clit. He tries his best to be patient but lets be honest, he has a really short fuse when it comes to sex; he’ll be dipping one – two – and if he’s feeling particularly torturous – three fingers inside of you before you know it, curling his fingers.
Praise kink → not particularly what you’d expect. He’s also very big into humiliation and mockery, so this kind of ties in with the two. For example, if you do something he’s pleased with, he’ll throw around teasing/sarcastic nicknames like there’s no tomorrow:
“Bunny.”
“Buttercup.” 
“Button.”
“Doll.”  
“Good girl.”
“Princess.” 
“Pumpkin.” 
“Sweetheart.”
Loves your brattiness, literally lives for it. He’s always been drawn to a bit of fire – it keeps things interesting. 
Has a thing for emotions – for your expressions, both micro and macro. The main three: fear, pain, pleasure. 
He’s very erratic. So, when he is praising you, he may tug at your hair the next, choke you or, if he deems necessary, spank you. 
Your squeaks of pain get him off – the motherfucker’s sadistic.
Goes through topdrop, and you’d most certain go through subdrop. He’s so used to control and regaining it when lost, in both an everyday context and a sexual one. So, once those feelings develop into something more (which you’ll have trouble differentiating, or sometimes picking up on at all), he’ll become more reserved, no longer displaying his usual vigour until this issue is sorted. (More details in a future drabble/fic). 
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justjessame · 4 years ago
Text
Starting Over Chapter 12
“Brooke?”  I shook my head when I heard Connie’s voice on the other end, the sounds of cartoons playing in the background told me she was home.  “Are you alright?”  The worry in her voice made me feel guilty for not calling more often, or checking in at least.  
“I’m fine, worrywart.”  I settled into my spot on the couch, smiling as I caught a whiff of Bucky’s scent.  “I -”  I took a deep breath and bit my lip.  “I’m sorry I haven’t -”
Connie shushed me.  “Stop,” I closed my mouth, worried that she was going to tell me that she didn’t have time for fairweather friends and that she had a family to take care of now.  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brooke.”  It felt like my heart restarted.  “I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming back.”  I heard a rustling in the background and then the noise that had sounded like cartoons went away and it got quiet.  “Sorry about that, Bryn wanted to watch Tangled again.”
I smiled, my goddaughter, or she would have been if I’d been here to do the honors was three years old.  “Tangled is a good one.”  I was happy that Connie was willing to talk to me, that she was willing to make time, even if I’d pushed her away.  “Is that her favorite?”  
Connie laughed and I was happy to hear that it was as familiar to me as my own.  “She likes all of the princesses.  Joey is thinking we’re going to have to push up the trip to Disney by a year.”  I was grinning at the thought of Joey Amoruso playing girl daddy through the Magic Kingdom.  “Don’t worry, I made sure she got to see Beauty and the Beast, too.”  That got a laugh out of me.
“I can’t help loving Belle,” I argued, and listened to her snort.  “How’s your mom?”  Connie worked at her mom’s beauty salon, she’d started as soon as she was tall enough to reach around a customer’s head into the sink to wash their hair and after high school didn’t blink about going straight into cosmetology school.  
“You know Mertle,” her mom’s name was Ismerelda, but some hard of hearing old lady had misheard it once and called her ‘Mertle’ to our forever hilarity.  I laughed.  “She makes me do Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair now, every damn week, just because she got tired of doing the same style over and over.”  I remembered Mrs. McGillicutty, she was a sweet lady, but a little dotty.  “Today was my half day, Bryn’s preschool runs a half day every other day.”
“Who keeps her on the off days?”  I got up to grab a drink and listened as Connie told me all about the nightmares of finding childcare, even with an extended family like hers.  Falling back into the type of conversation that two friends have, if one had gone away for a while.  I grabbed a glass of water and my eyes landed on the flowers that Bucky brought me, a smile finding its home on my lips again, I sat down at the table and talked to Connie while I pulled the vase closer and played with the petals.  
Before we said our goodbyes, a good hour and a half after we’d started talking, Connie finally asked the question that I knew she had to have been burning with since she saw my name appear on her phone screen.  
“Not that I don’t LOVE hearing from you, Brooke, but what brought this on?  Why now?”  I’d wandered back to the living room, curling into the chair that Bucky sat in, letting the residual scent of him cradle me.  
“I met someone,” she squealed, causing a tiny mimic to happen from the background and I chuckled.  Good God, she had a mini me.  “You’d know him, actually -” I bit my lip.  “EVERYONE knows him or knows of him.”  I squinted, shit, should I tell anyone?  
“Tell me EVERYTHING.”  But then I heard a male voice, Joey her husband.  “Shit, the conquering man returns.”  I snorted.  “You are NOT off the hook, Brooke.  I expect details and a NAME.”  I promised she’d get both and then we said goodnight.  
I’d missed a text while I was on with Connie.  Another attempt at a selfie, this time it had part of another person that I found out was supposed to be Sam when I read the accompanying text message.  “See UR cuter.”  I was grinning, but the next message made me sigh.  “Stuck w/ Sam. :(“ 
Sad face emoji indeed, I thought.  Contemplating what type of reply I could send to a 106 year old without pushing him away or over a cliff, I went back to the kitchen where his flowers were still holding tight.  Thinking about how creative I felt like getting, I found the largest bloom, went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I tried to remember what the women from Bucky’s younger days might have done to look tempting.  Dramatic eye, red lip, then putting the flower behind my ear I hoped like hell that I didn’t look completely ridiculous before clicking off a shot and sending it.  
“Too bad. Sam’s a lucky guy. :*”  
I was washing off my work and thinking about reheating some more leftovers for dinner when my phone chirped.  Glancing down I was left smiling by his answer.
“No, I am.”  
Dinner, a shower, then bed.  Well, after a LONG staring contest in the mirror where I did my own personal pre-bedtime mantra.  It was rote, and I did it with the same vigor that I’d done it with every other time.  And I was just as certain that it would work as well.  
Without Bucky, I had my bed remade and I was settled back on my pillows.  The soft blue glow of the television had been a nice addition, so I flipped it on.  Turning the volume down so it was the same murmur that was soft enough to not keep me awake, I hoped it would work as a surrogate for the anchor that Bucky’s presence seemed to be.
The flashes came red, blue, unnameable colors. The feelings of pain and suffering, darkness and terror creeping closer and trying to pull me back.  I still couldn’t see what caused it, where the pain came from, what was so terrifying that I felt trapped by it.  What or who was trying to drag me back to wherever I’d been was still as unknown as it had been when Thanos snapped his gold encased fingers and after the Blip the answers were still unavailable.  I didn’t feel as pinned down or as in danger or being yanked away from home, so I was still tethered to reality.  I just had to wait through it, to survive the feelings that I couldn’t figure out, until the flashes of colors came to let me know the end was coming and I was waking up - coming home again.
I woke to a text from Connie.  
“It’s McGillcutty’s day. Come visit me. PLEASE.”  I shook my head at the plea, but it wasn’t like I had plans or a job to get to.  I hoped she knew I wasn’t planning on spilling ALL while she was cutting hair and styling the neighborhood ladies, because I hadn’t been gone so long that I’d forgotten how fast gossip travelled.  
“Fine.” I hit send.  I got ready and grabbed some toast and a bottle of water.  My bag with a book, my earbuds and a charger for my phone, just in case, and I was out the door and heading to Connie’s mom’s salon.  
I was at the salon by the time both slices of my toast were finished and most of my water was gone.  Tossing the napkin I’d wrapped my breakfast in in the trash when I walked in, I almost missed the hush that fell over the entire room when I entered.  Almost.  Shit.  Standing up I realized that all eyes were on me.  Great.
“Brooke!” Connie beckoned to me from her station at the back of the shop, one she’d picked out when she was still washing hair.  “Put your eyes back in your heads,” she rolled her eyes.  “It’s JUST Brooke.”  I shook my head, only Connie would try to brush off the fact that I just walked into the neighborhood hen coop after steering clear of it for a full six months, and I looked five years younger than I SHOULD.  
Her mom grinned at me and called out a “looking good, Brookie” as I passed, getting a little red added to my cheeks, but aside from that Connie had shamed most of the clucking hens into at least pretending that they weren’t amazed by the very sight of me.  I made it to Connie’s station and found that she’d prepared for my visit by grabbing one of the waiting area chairs and brought it back so I wasn’t stuck leaning against the wall or counter.
Plopping down, I watched as she went about styling Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair.  After I’d said a polite hello to the elderly woman, of course.  It was almost mesmerizing, watching Connie wrap each curler with the blue washed thinning hair of the bird thin woman.  And as she wrapped she talked.  
“You remember how Tawny and Sam were planning on getting married the year after we did, right?”  I told her I did, and she snorted.  “Yeah, that went south so quick.”  I heard Margaret Andrews pipe up from two chairs down that it wasn’t all that surprising.  
“They were on again and off again so much growing up, I’m surprised either of their mamas let them make that much of a plan.” She offered up.  I bit my lip, the hen house was raring to go.  
Connie’s eyes met mine and I could see them sparkling with mirth.  And we were off, the mission seemed to be to get me back in the swing of things and she’d brought the troops.
I got another ‘selfie’ in the middle of my visit with Connie and I glanced at it and bit my lip.  It was marginally better.  Bucky was at least visible and discernible this time.  I couldn’t tell where he was, but the message wasn’t optimistic about my odds of seeing him soon.  
“Baltimore w/Sam.”
A sigh escaped and Connie glanced up from where she was cutting Kelly Taggert’s hair.  Since Kelly was someone who wasn’t exactly in our sphere prior to leaving school, much less before the Snap, Connie held her curiosity at bay.  Too bad Kelly didn’t get the memo.
“Bad news, Brookie?”  I glanced up, thinking about reminding Kelly that very few people had the privilege to call me that, and she most definitely wasn’t one of them, but held back.  This was Connie’s place of business after all.  
“Not really.  Just spam.”  Fuck it, why give her any grist for the mill?  Connie could smell my bull from a mile away, but Kelly didn’t know me from Adam.  
“I hate that, there should be a way to input a block for those automatically -” and she was off.  I grinned at my phone as I typed a reply to Bucky. 
A selfie was out of the question, not with this crowd.  “I’m socializing. Willingly.”  
Kelly was still telling everyone, because her voice could pound a nail into a wall it was so fucking loud and annoying, all her ideas for dealing with spam texts, emails, telemarketing calls and on and on.  I almost felt bad about setting her loose.  Until my phone chirped and I got another selfie from Bucky looking shocked in answer to my text.  
Tucking my phone away, I set back and let Kelly rant until Connie finished her hair.  
I stayed until closing and it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.  Connie told me that her sister-in-law was keeping Bryn after preschool, and we had some time to just relax and chat.  I had a feeling she made those specific plans after we talked on the phone, she was just that freaking curious.  
She grabbed two cans of soda from the breakroom and plopped into the swivel seat her customers usually sat in while she played fairy hair godmother.   “Spill.”  I rolled my eyes as I cracked open my can.  
“You only invited me to hang out today to ply me for information about my personal life, didn’t you?”  I squinted over the top of the can as I took my first drink.  She grinned and nodded, not the least bit shamed.  Swallowing, I dramatically sighed.  “Fine.” I couldn’t stop the smile that started growing at the thought of Bucky.  “Do you remember when Mom and Dad took us to the Smithsonian?”  
She was staring at me like I was crazy and didn’t know where I was going to go with the trip down memory lane, but she nodded as she opened her own drink.  “Yeah, we were like ten.”  
I bit my lip.  “We were,” it had been a fun trip, just Connie, me and my parents.  For Connie who had siblings and me as an only child - we both had a blast.  “We went to the Captain America exhibit.” 
“God we went to ALL of the exhibits it felt like, your dad was gaga over the Air and Space one -” she stopped, suddenly HEARING what I said.  “Wait, the -”  Her eyes met mine and went wide.  “NO.”  
“I bumped into him,” my hand went to my chest, still a little bit tender.  “He’s - he’s amazing.”  
Connie leaned forward and looked almost exactly like she had when we were 15 years old and I told her that Todd Garrison kissed me behind the bleachers during the pep rally.  Wide eyed and excited, she bit her lip.  “Is he -” she looked like she couldn’t quite decide what to ask first.  “Tell me EVERYTHING.”  So I did, within limits, sort of. 
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captainseaweedbrains · 4 years ago
Note
Prompt: this bag said it would keep my food cold for 3 hours, it lied.
Thanks for the prompt, friend! I hope you like it. It was a lot of fun to write! :D 
Can be read on Ao3: x
Katniss and the No Good, Lousy Rotten Day
Katniss was having a no good, lousy rotten day and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed with three bottles of wine and pretend that she didn’t get chewed out in front of her whole department and had her budget threatened. That her car didn’t die in the left-hand turn lane on the busiest intersection in town. And that she most definitely didn’t catch her no good, lousy rotten boyfriend cheating on her in the supply closet with one of the interns. Nope. None of it happened. Today was fine.
“Rough day?” Peeta asked when she limped in through the door, her hair disheveled and her pants soaked because—oh yeah, she fell in a puddle when her heel broke stepping out of her Lyft, twisting her ankle in the process. Such a great day all around.
Grunting, Katniss hobbled over to the kitchen table, the closest piece of furniture near her, and collapsed into a chair. Her ankle throbbed. Her ass was sore and wet. But most hurt was her pride. It had taken a beating like no other today.
No good, lousy rotten day.
“Rough day?” Peeta asked again from the couch, watching TV. From the sounds of it, he was watching some cooking challenge show. She threw her broken shoe at him because he sounded way too smug for someone who clearly had eyes. To make her day even worse, she missed him by a lot and hit the sole lamp in their living room, causing it to fall off the side table and crack in half. “Waita go, Everdeen,” he chuckled, shaking his head. She groaned in darkness now, the only light now coming from their TV. She couldn’t even aim right today, her one natural gift gone. Destroyed by the day’s shittiness.
No good, lousy rotten day. 
Peeta patted the spot next to him on the couch, his smile welcoming under the TV’s light. She considered hobbling off to her bed and telling him not to disturb her, but she really needed her best friend’s comfort after this hellhole day. His arms were open and she hobbled right into them, resting her head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing circles up and down her arm, like he always did when holding her like this. Her eyes closed at the touch, his hand bringing on a familiar warmth only Peeta seemed to emulate. He didn’t ask why she was wet or why she threw a shoe at him. Years of friendship didn’t require instant explanation. He knew she’d spill once she had calmed down enough to explain without getting super worked up again. Sometimes that took minutes, other times hours, but she always told him everything eventually. 
She was so lucky to have him here.
They sat together in darkness, their bodies pressed together as they watched TV. Katniss was right. He was watching a cooking show. It wasn’t the type of thing she’d pick for herself to watch, but watching Peeta watch it was something else entirely. He always denied doing it, but he liked to list back the recipes the contestants spoke of, like saying them aloud will help him commit it to memory, and critique certain techniques he didn’t agree with. Peeta was an intense Food TV junkie and it amused her to no end how seriously he took it.
Tonight as he parroted back the recipes, she focused on the way his deep voice reverberated, the way his free hand would motion to the TV in exasperation because a contestant thought it wise to use the microwave instead of setting a low flame. Her arms tightened around him, content. Nothing was better than familiarity on a no good, lousy rotten day and next to her family, she knew Peeta best. He was a constant in her life and she was so grateful for it. At least some men could be depended on. 
The show switched to commercials and he looked down at her at last, his eyes asking if she’s ready to talk. 
She was.   
Katniss extracted herself from his embrace, a bit reluctantly because her damp clothes caused a chill and Peeta was her infinite amount of warmth. “Why waste money on a heater when I have a Peeta?” she used to tease in college when they were living together in the world’s shittiest apartment, barely scraping by. Everything used to break down and both their families were tight on money to just loan out a couple hundred for repairs. They had to make do with what they had and most times in the winter, it meant huddling together in the same sleeping bag for warmth.
“So today…” Peeta started for her, twirling a bit of her braid around his fingers.
“...was the shittiest of shitty days to have ever shitted,” she finished sourly, always one with her words. 
His eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown tugging at his lips. His silent concern was enough to break the dam and she went on to explain how both Snow and Coin chewed her out in front of the whole department, questioning if she was even qualified to lead a group of its size. Then when she tried defending her reasoning, they casually mentioned budget restraints and perhaps cuts would have to be made for next fiscal year in order for the company to stay afloat. 
“And then my car died at Six Corner on my way back from their office,” Katniss continued, feeling more lousy as she went on. “I know you kept telling me it was a death trap on wheels and that I should have gotten a new car years ago, but please don’t tell me ‘I told you so’ because I don’t think I can handle that right now.” At this point, Peeta had retrieved her emergency stash of Ben & Jerry from the freezer and she was stuffing her face into the double-chocolate brownie goodness with agusto. 
“It was the worst,” she continued, mouth full of ice cream. “All these cars were blaring at me and flipping me the bird, like I purposely let my car die in the left-hand turn lane! Don’t say anything!” she snapped, pressing a sticky finger to his lips. His eyes widened at the touch, but he remained the good listener he always was, letting her blow off steam and stuff her sorrows with ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.
“But that’s not even the worst of it,” she sighed, blowing at her bangs that desperately needed a trim. “Cato cheated on me.” It was hard looking at him for that. Peeta warned her from day one not to get involved with Cato, saying he wreaked of sleazebag and booze, but she just shrugged his concerns off, wanting something entirely different from her failed relationship with Gale, and she was far too into the crazy sex they had to pull the plug. Cato was the rebound mistake she let linger for too long. And now she got hurt because of her own stubborn stupidity. 
“Katniss, I’m so sorry.” Much to her relief, it sounded like he truly meant it. His deep voice didn’t seem to carry any contempt toward her and he reached over for a hug, pulling her close. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Peeta gave the best hugs. His warm, strong arms easily encased her, reminding her of being wrapped in a really soft blanket, and he always smelled faintly of foods—sweet sugars or savory spices, it didn’t matter. He always smelled of it and she loved that about him. A little taste of home. 
His large hand rubbed circles on her back now, not saying anything else as she sat there in his arms, the cold from the ice cream container numbing her still damp pants. They sat like that for a while, his TV show returning and ending. Another episode started up, but Peeta didn’t push her away. He never did. Even when she dug her own grave, Peeta was climbing in next to her, offering a hand of support.
“It’s stupid,” she mumbled dejectedly into his shoulder, his shirt soft against her cheek. “I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t think I’d care this much, you know? Why do I care this much?” 
“I think we naturally expect the good from people,” he said quietly, still rubbing her back. “It sucks when we’re proven wrong about them.”
Maybe he was right. Maybe she subconsciously expected Cato to be a semi-decent guy and not cheat on her. Was the bar really that low for her now? She tucked her head back into his neck, needing another moment of this before facing the reality that yeah, her standards in the past few years have really gone down.
“Hey, Katniss?” he asked after sitting like this for a while.
“Hm?” 
“Can we move your ice cream? I’m all here for your sweet fix and hugs, but it’s getting a bit cold down there.” And in true Peeta Mellark fashion, he was able to get her to laugh on one of the worst days she’s seen since moving back after her bad breakup with Gale. Teasing if he wanted her heating pad to warm him back up, she moved the melting ice cream on the coffee table and smiled at him. 
She was so lucky having him in her life. He’d been such a constant in her life, always caring about what was going on, offering his advice where he could. She’d done a lot of shitty things in the past, some even toward him, but Peeta never held it against her. Even when she rightfully deserved his anger, he was still there. After all these years. Ready to lend a helping hand.
This was why she loved him.
Wait, what? Her eyes widened in surprise. The thought had come so quickly, but it felt natural to think. Like it’d been sitting there, deep in her head, for a while. Of course she loved him. He was her best friend! She’d told him “I love you” countless times over the years, most being when she had food coming her way, but this felt different, staring at his white bluish face. This felt like the other love. That love. The one she remembered feeling with Gale and before him, Thom. 
She chewed at her thumbnail, her eyes darting away. 
This was bad. Really bad. This was how her and Gale had started and that went south fast. They weren’t friends anymore, the breakup was so bad. If something like that happened to her and Peeta… She wouldn’t know what she’d do without him. Without his kind words and affectionate gestures. The idea was hard to swallow. 
“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling a little, unbeknownst to the world shaking revelation happening in her head. His hand squeezed hers in good spirit.
Katniss looked at how his hand rested over hers, her tiny fingers peeking out. Her pulse quickened. Like the dam he helped open earlier, it felt like something else had broken inside her, flooding her with emotions she didn’t even realize she’d been feeling. His hand felt so nice resting over hers like that, and a small part of her wished he’d take it and press his lips to it. Like the gentlemen did in those silly period dramas he was always having her watch when it was his turn to pick a movie out. Would he be weirded out if she did that to him? Just picked up his hand and kissed it? 
Stop it! her mind screamed, resisting any urges of kissing her chapped lips over his hands. Friends are off limits. These things never end well. 
“Katniss?” he asked, that concern back in his voice and—okay, yeah. He really needed to stop talking so she could process this flood of emotions.
“Hmmm?” She looked up at him, her eyes still wide.
“Are you feeling better? Do you want me to order a pizza? I’ll even order your nasty pineapple pizza, if that will cheer you up.” God, could he please stop? He never let her put pineapple on their shared pizza unless she really needed the pick-me-up. He really was too much. 
“Mhm,” she smiled a bit too brightly. “Sounds good. Love pizza. You know how pizza makes me horny—I mean happy! Pizza makes me happy!” Now he was looking at her like she’d grown another head. “Pineapple pizza is perfect, Peeta,” she breathed. “Thank you.” 
He still looked at her strangely, but shook his head in amusement at her weirdness and shoved at her playfully before getting up to go order the pizza.
“Mind if I talk about the betrayal I felt today?” he asked from the kitchen, the sounds of drawers opening as he looked for a pizza coupon. 
“Bold word to use on a girl who found her boyfriend in the supply closet with the barely legal intern,” she said, her voice sounding high-pitched. “Can it top that?” 
“Absolutely.” His head popped out from the small service window dividing the kitchen from the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. “This bag”—He held up a purple lunch bag she recognized from his many online purchases—“said it would keep my food cold for three hours. It lied. It wasn’t even two hours and my smoothie felt like it’d been baking in the car. You can bet I gave them a strongly worded review and—hi! Yes, I’m calling to place an order.” He smiled that charming smile he always wore whenever they went out to eat somewhere, despite being on the phone, and god. She knew he was handsome, but how had she not noticed the dimples in his round stupid face before?  
Katniss leaned forward on the couch, her hands pressed to her forehead, and groaned. She was totally screwed.    
Stupid, no good, lousy rotten day.
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jjs-other-other-blog · 4 years ago
Text
Whatever You Imagined
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Jack Kline (mentioned)
Pairing: Destiel, Saileen (mentioned)
Rating: T (there may be a few f-bombs though if that counts)
Warnings: None. I think.
Summary: Castiel is back. Which is great because Cas, whom Dean loves, is alive and well. It also means Dean has to talk about his feelings though which he hates. This makes for an interesting conversation. [post 15x19; canon divergent]
Words: 3k
It had gotten quiet in the bunker despite the relatively early hour. Dean was the only one still sitting in the kitchen, mindlessly staring at his phone and taking a sip of beer every now and then. It was more a force of habit than an honest attempt to get drunk though. Why would it be? Everything seemed to be perfect. That’s why he was sitting alone in the kitchen at 9 pm after all. Because everything was so fucking perfect. Not to say that he wasn’t happy with the very recent turn of events. In fact he was still brimming with excitement. At least on the inside.
Cas was back. After Jack had taken on the powers of capital-g God and skipped town to “be” in the flowers or whatever Dean had hoped of course. Hoped and prayed and cursed the whole freaking universe, but he had never gotten an answer until without any kind of warning and completely out of the blue Jack showed up back on the bunker’s doorstep with a certain angel of the lord in tow.
Sam had immediately surged forward to hug Cas and their wayward son and there had been laughter and tears from all three of them. Everyone except Dean who had felt frozen in place, his mind trapped in a never-ending loop of “CasCasCas”. That had seemed to be the maximum capacity for his slightly hung-over head, so he had just stared at his best friend without any specific expression or thought or feeling behind it. They had hugged eventually and Dean was pretty sure that, like the fucking idiot he was, he had said something along the lines of: “Good to have you back buddy.” As if the last time they’d seen each other the guy hadn’t declared his undying love for him.
Cas’ face had gone through a rather confusing sequence of different emotions before it eventually settled on a worn, bittersweet smile and his lips formed the words: “Glad to be back.”
Half a minute of awkward silence later Sam had taken charge of the situation and guided them all down to the dining room where Jack had presented them with a detailed, animated version of their otherworldly prison break which somehow involved a backdoor between heaven and the empty that was hidden in Abel’s (yes, thee Abel’s) heaven, but to be completely honest Dean had spent more time staring at Cas or – the other way around – avoiding Cas’ stares than listening to Jack.
After Jack had finished his story Dean had gotten started on making dinner for the sole purpose of escaping the room and whatever awkward staring contest he and Cas had been about to get into. They obviously had to talk to each other sooner or later, but just the thought of starting that conversation had almost sent Dean into an anxiety attack. Hence his escape to the kitchen.
The awkwardness had stretched all over dinner and even Sam and Jack had noticed by the time the clock struck seven. At some point Jack had left to get Cas settled into his old room and shortly after that Sam, too, had decided to call it a night and with one more curious look at him he had left Dean to sulk on his own.
And that’s how Dean found himself still sitting in the exact same position over an hour later. Logically he new that he should go talk to Cas. It wasn’t fair on anyone to just leave this topic unaddressed, but once again Dean found himself unable to move. Maybe Cas was exhausted, he should let him rest. Or maybe he didn’t even want to talk to Dean, maybe he was angry. Cas had put his feelings out there and Dean… well. Dean hadn’t really said or done anything.
Half of him feared that he might have messed up their bond permanently, but he other half doubted that Cas would hold his silence against him. Everything had happened so fast and Cas had left him with a lot of info to emotionally unpack. If anything, Dean thought, he should be angry. What had Cas been thinking unloading all of that on Dean and then just leaving him there!
The anger might’ve been unjustified, but at least it shook him out of his interior monologue. He pocketed his phone, set the empty beer bottle down in the kitchen and made his way towards his room. When he passed Cas’ door on the hallway though he stopped out of reflex. Staring at the brown wood he thought back to that day with Billie and the empty and to the time before that with Lucifer and how every single time he lost Cas it had sent him head first into a several weeks long downwards spiral. Now Cas was right behind that door and Dean still wouldn’t talk to him, shoving his feelings aside yet again. Because that usually worked out so well. Fuck. “Just grow a pair and do it!”, he reprimanded himself and before he could change his mind again, Dean had already knocked. 
“Come in!” Cas’ voice sounded muffled through the wood. He took one last deep breath and then did as he was told. Cas was sitting cross-legged on his bed reading a book. Dean shot him a quick smile, then looked away and closed the door behind him. This was a private conversation. He walked a few steps into the room, then came to a hesitant halt, wringing his hands. Fuck this was hard. He hadn’t even said anything yet. When he looked up again Cas was looking right back at him. He seemed a bit confused as to what Dean was doing, but smiled anyway.
“Hello Dean.” Dean almost started to cry then and there. It had only been a few weeks since he last heard those words, but god had he missed it. The deep rumble of his voice, the earnest yet benevolent blue eyes, that posture which looked both relaxed and tense at the same time. The trench coat was missing, but Dean quickly spotted it hanging over the back of a chair.
Dean cleared his throat. “Hey Cas.” He paused. He was certain there had been more words in his head just a second ago. Cas tilted his head curiously, but without insistence. Dean was pretty sure that Cas knew what he had come to talk about and that the angel didn’t want to pressure him.
“Cas”, he said his name again: “We have to-” He closed his eyes and sighed. “We should talk.” He hesitated again, not knowing where he should start. Maybe addressing the smallest issue first might be a good idea. “I didn’t wanna say anything earlier. Sam was there and Jack and I haven’t told them… They don’t know what happened with the empty. Not the details at least and you just got back and to be honest, I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t know for sure.”
“It’s okay”, Cas said softly and put the book down on the nightstand: “I already told you, I never expected a response. You don’t have to say anything. I mean, I know it was a lot and very sudden and you don’t feel the same way, that’s alright-”
“Cas, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but please shut up.” Cas’ mouth snapped closed and he frowned. “Shit, I’m sorry. Sorry, it’s just-. You said a lot of things while summoning the empty. And you’re right, it was a lot and very sudden. I barely got a word in edgewise and then when you finished your speech and the empty-” He stopped again, his throat feeling unusually tight.
“You were gone, Cas. I barely had the time to process anything of what you were saying, much less come up with something myself. I just know that suddenly you were gone and I was left alone with that declaration of love - which apparently you feel for me. And I know you did all of that to save me, save the universe or whatever, but honestly. You can’t just drop all of that on someone and then leave!” He looked over at Cas again who wouldn’t meet his eyes and seemed more agitated by the second. He wanted to move on before he lost his courage, but Cas was faster.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I realise now that that wasn’t completely fair on you. I just didn’t see another way. We were about to die and I could not let that happen to you. I’m sorry that I burdened you with all of this and you should know that you don’t owe me anything. It just needed to be said and I am aware that – how did I put it? It’s something I know I can’t have. I never should’ve-”
“For fuck’s sake”, Dean muttered and rubbed his face: “Cas. You had your time, you’ve said your part. It’s my turn with the chick flick moment and this would be a lot easier if you would just let me finish, capiche?”
He nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes,  I uh. I “capiche”.” Cas sat up straighter as if to get up. That was when Dean realised he was still standing in the middle of the room like a lost sheep. He motioned for Cas to remain seated and looked around the room. The chair with the trench coat was still there, but Dean doubted he could get another two coherent words out while face to face with Cas, so instead he sat down on the edge of the bed. He carefully adjusted his position so that Cas was sitting a few feet to his right. He could smell the familiar scent of the angel now. Great, just what he needed. Another distraction. Well at least Cas was no longer in his line of sight, maybe he could do this.
“I probably shouldn’t yell and curse that much. I’m trying to say something important here and I wanna do it right. I wanna do right by you after everything you’ve done for me. You deserve that. I’m just really, really not good at this, so. Be patient with me.” He looked at Cas once more for confirmation and he nodded. Dean took another deep breath and stared at his hands. No backing out of this now, Winchester.
“Cas, I need to be honest here. Before the empty took you, the thought of you and me together as something other than best friends never even crossed my mind. You’re an angel and I’m, well, I’m me. I never thought that I would ever have somebody like you in my life at all. It had been just Sam and me for such a long time. And sure he’s my brother, I love that nerd. But to have somebody else, somebody who I wasn’t responsible for, who I could count on without being related to them by blood – that was new for me. I never had a real friend like that before. We spent so much time together and we’ve been through so much. I know I took you for granted way too often, but I always considered myself lucky to have you in my corner. And I thought… Well, I just assumed that you felt the exact same way.       But then you summoned the empty and said all that stuff about me and at first I couldn’t process any of what had happened, it was just not right. Then after a few hours of at least trying to understand I just pushed it all away because there was no time. We still had Chuck to take care of. Save the universe and all that. Eventually Sam and I returned to the bunker though. He reunited with Eileen and with Jack gone, it was just me for a few days. I’m not proud of this, but I really didn’t take it very well. I kept myself busy drinking most of the time, I lost track of time. It didn’t really matter to me if it was 3 am or 3 pm as long as there was some kind of alcohol nearby. I don’t think I ever told you this, but you are one of the three most important people in my life, Cas, and I lost you.       So I settled into the depression phase quite well. No denying that. And then the anger came and I would just pace the bunker for hours asking myself why the hell it had to be this way and why on top of losing you I also had to deal with the romantic feelings my dead best friend had had for me and I felt even more guilty. It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t fair. At some point Sam and Eileen came back though, so I at least tried to get better. They deserved to be happy without having to worry about me. I stopped the day-drinking. Got sober, more or less. That was when I started to really think about what you said.       You mentioned it earlier. How “the one thing you wanted was something you knew you couldn’t have”. I started to wonder what exactly you meant by that. Did you want us to be a couple? Boyfriends? Live that apple pie life? Or would we have kept hunting, living our lives together Bonnie and Clyde style? Did you want us to raise Jack together and have family dinners on sundays? Hand holding in the park, making out in the back of the theatre? I don’t know. On the one hand I couldn’t imagine it. On the other hand I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. I became almost obsessed with the idea and it took me along time to truly figure this out.       I had trouble picturing it in my head because, for one, I had never thought about it before. That maybe there was a possibility to relabel our relationship. Not because you’re a guy. Well, angel, but you know what I mean. It may come as a shock for you, but I’ve actually known for a while – and believe me, I mean a while – that I’m not straight. The way I was brought up though… It was barely acceptable to fuck a guy here and there, but dating one? That was unheard of. So on those rare occasions when I thought about settling down I always saw myself doing that with a woman and I never told anyone about the men I met along the way.       Stupid, I know, but that’s how the story is supposed to go, right? Boy meets girl, et cetera. I know that gender works differently for you angels, but you look like a man and we call you “he” and “him”. I guess that threw me off. But still, I couldn’t stop thinking about us and I think that’s what really broke me at last.       Because the more I thought about all the possibilities and the things that might’ve been, the more I also realised what I had lost. You said a lot of good things, but there is one detail you were wrong about, Cas. That “it” you thought you could never have? I don’t care what it is. I don’t care what exactly you had in mind. Cas, whatever it is you imagined – I want it. Maybe I always have. You – you can have me.”  
Finally, Dean dared to look up again. He had tried to keep it together during his little speech, but now he could feel the tears burning behind his eyes and his heart hammering in his chest. Cas didn’t seem to fare much better. His eyes were glazed over and his bottom lip trembled.
“Dean”, Cas forced out. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Dean felt his heart break a little at Cas’ pained expression and he noticed his hands were trembling. He got up from the bed to kneel in front of Cas and carefully took his hands in his own. Cas held on to Dean as if he were his anchor. He seemed so overwhelmed, lost even. Dean began to wonder if he had said too much.
“Listen, Cas. If – if you changed your mind. If this is no longer what you want-” He didn’t get any further. Suddenly Cas was kissing him and it was like a dam had broken. 12 years of repressed feelings and tension finally unloaded. Dean closed his eyes and kissed him back like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Cas saying goodbye had felt like dying. Losing him was hell.
But now, in this very moment with Cas’ lips on his and his hands in Dean’s hair he felt alive, so alive and Cas was too. He was here with him and maybe they could just stay right here for ever. Maybe they would fall asleep in each others’ arms and sleep well past noon, they deserved the rest. Maybe he’d have to awkwardly come out to his brother the following morning and maybe he and Cas would have to discuss what this meant for their future. But none of that mattered to Dean right now. All that mattered was that they had a future. And let’s be real: It is kind of hard to think of anything else when an angel of the lord is kissing you senseless with his hands under your shirt.
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inviting-nonsenseworld · 5 years ago
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Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Pairing: Zukka
Trope: Damaged Vocal Cords
Word count: 1,992
Summary: Zuko mouths something back at him and stops. He opens his mouth again, but only a garbled noise comes out. He winces, putting a hand to his throat, and Sokka’s eyes widen when he sees the bandages wrapped around his hand.
AO3
Here’s my first fic for the @badthingshappenbingo! I saw this trope and I wanted to write for this pairing, so here you go. Lots of hurt/comfort and hugs for our boys. You can read it underneath here, or on AO3. If anyone wants to make a request, feel free to do it <3
----
Sokka doesn’t know what clued him in.
After long days traveling with the Southern Water Tribe commission to Ba Sing Se and arriving late in the night, hours after dinner had been served to the guests in the Palace, Sokka’s eyelids are heavy. All his notes had been scattered through their sleeping quarters during the storm from earlier today, so he’s trying to sort the mess he made when he shoved them back in his bag before disembarking.
He tried to convince himself it’ll be worth it to sleep in tomorrow, but he has half a mind to just say screw it and burrow under the covers of the comfy bed against Zuko.
Zuko had been asleep when Sokka arrived - Tui and La, it had been later than he imagined -  a scroll lying forgotten on his chest and dark rings under his eyes. Sokka had kissed his forehead, earning a sleepy smile, but Zuko had been too far gone to do more before sleep claimed him back.
Maybe that’s why Sokka freezes the moment the sound reaches his ears. It’s muffled, an unassuming little noise, and it stops just as soon as it came.
He stares unseeingly at his notes and holds his breath, waiting. And - fuck, there it is again.
Sokka is pushing away from the table and crossing the doorframe to his and Zuko’s room the second he pinpoints where the sound came from. It comes again clearer, and Sokka’s eyes flicker every which way, searching, hands twitching for his boomerang and his muscles tensing.
Then Zuko tosses on the bed, a strangled little gasp escaping his lips.
It takes Sokka’s mind a moment to make the connection over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears.
He curses the second it does.
“No, no, shit, Zuko,” he murmurs, climbing the bed and giving the empty, dark corners of the guest room one last glance. He resolutely doesn’t think about the letter he received just over a week ago and that has haunted some of his nightmares ever since, and shakes Zuko awake.
He tries to be gentle, but there isn’t any good way to wake Zuko from nightmares. 
Zuko’s eyes fly open and he jostles. A choked little noise escapes him, and he stares in bewildered confusion at Sokka, a hazy sheen covering his eyes with something dark. Sokka exhales - that always feels like a punch on his stomach.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here,” Sokka shushes him when Zuko mouths his name. Zuko’s shoulders are trembling when Sokka pulls him into a hug, but his arms don't hesitate to wrap around Sokka, his fingers gripping the back of his shirt. Sokka tightens his hold on Zuko. “It’s alright.”
It’s the fifth anniversary since the end of the war. Zuko’s nightmares always get worse around this time.
And despite all the times he’s had to do this after all these years, Sokka still fucking sucks at comforting people. He never knows what he needs to do because apparently even the same people sometimes want different things.
Zuko is trembling in his arms, though, so Sokka presses him closer and just talks. He talks about the newest project he, Katara and Pakku were working on the South Pole before they had to leave. He talks about the improvements they’re making in the buildings, and of the first waterbender child born in the South Pole after so long - born from a Northerner family that moved south after the war, but Katara had still been ecstatic.
Slowly, he feels the tension leave Zuko’s frame, his shuddering breath evening out. He slumps against Sokka, who trails off.
He keeps drawing little patterns on Zuko’s back with his fingers until he pulls away. Sokka takes him in, the way his loose hair is a mess and how his golden eyes are staring at Sokka in that soft way that always leaves him warm inside, and Tui and La, Sokka had missed him.
“Hey,” he says, giving him a small smile.
Zuko mouths something back at him and stops. He opens his mouth again, but only a garbled noise comes out. He winces, putting a hand to his throat, and Sokka’s eyes widen when he sees the bandages wrapped around his hand.
He swallows, remembering that letter from last week.
“You lost your voice?” He asks, breathless all of a sudden. “Are you feeling- did someone- did you drink-”
Zuko shakes his head, but Sokka only has eyes for the white bandages.
“Are you sure? We should get a healer to check you. Katara- Katara is in the next room, I think.”
Sokka, Zuko mouths. I’m fine. I had-
Sokka doesn’t understand the rest of what he says. He fetches a piece of parchment and a pen when Zuko makes a writing motion.
I had a sore throat earlier today, he writes.
“Right,” Sokka says. “So you're sure it’s not…”
Zuko nods.
“Right,” Sokka repeats. He slumps against the headboard, running a hand down his face. When Zuko inches closer, his brow furrowed, Sokka lets out a mirthless laugh. “Sorry. I’m the one supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around.”
And Zuko still looks ragged, his dark circles highlighting the redness of his eyes even under the soft moonlight coming through the window.
Zuko gives him a judging look. He runs his thumb under one of Sokka’s eyes, and yeah, alright, Sokka gets his point.
He sighs. He can’t help but look at Zuko’s bandaged hand again. He presses a kiss to it, feeling Zuko's hand tremble, and before he knows it, they’re tangled in each other’s arms. Zuko’s lips rest against the skin of Sokka’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine, and he props his chin on Zuko’s head, breathing in his spicy but sweet smell. It comes from a Fire Nation hair lotion, but it’s familiar and so Zuko, and Sokka loves it.
“I'm so glad you're alright,” he says. “I mean, I knew you were alright, I got the message from the hawk not one day after I arrived at the South Pole, but I still...” He takes a deep breath, and the words come tumbling out. “I’m sorry.”
Zuko jerks away.
“Sokka, ” Zuko says in a strained whisper before dissolving into a coughing fit.
“Shit. Don’t try to talk.”
He goes after the pitcher of water he had left in the other room and fills a cup for Zuko.
Zuko drinks it, still scowling at Sokka over the cup. He makes a frustrated noise when he still can’t speak afterward.
“Take it easy,” Sokka murmurs.
Zuko struggles to find the parchment and the pen lost somewhere between the sheets. He brandishes the paper on Sokka’s face, and the words “NOT YOUR FAULT ” are underlined a few times.
“Pot, kettle, Mr. Fire-Lord-I-carry-the-sins-of-my-nation-alone.”
That’s different.
“Not that much.” But that was a conversation for another day when they weren’t both so tired and frustrated. And when they could both talk too. “I’m just, it's good to see you're alright.”
Zuko’s eyes soften. He cups Sokka’s cheeks and leans closer, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s reassurance and warmth, and Sokka melts against him, feeling a knot of tension in his chest unravel. He sighs against Zuko’s lips and pulls him closer.
“I missed you,” Sokka says after they part. He doesn’t get all the words Zuko mouths, but he understands that he was repeating the sentiment. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
Zuko grimaces. He looks away for a few seconds. It was stupid.
"I bet it wasn't as silly as that dream I had about a pink hipo-elephant."
Zuko's mouth curls up at the memory, and Sokka grins back.
It's just. It was my father. Again. After the discussion I had with some of my ministers, I guess some things just came back to me.
"More Ozai supporters?" Sokka asks.
He hates the way Zuko's shoulders tense again. I think so. It seems the more of them we find, the more appear. I thought I was done weeding them out of my administration, but I guess not.
"Fuck."
Zuko nods with a wry grin.
“So, what, you had a yelling contest against them?"
More or less?
Sokka snorts. "How can you not know?"
It wasn’t that much yelling. Zuko shrugs. Just... long talks. Frustrating talks.
“I can imagine.” Sokka shakes his head. “I mean, I remember how loud you could be when chasing after us all around the world. You did a number on your voice this time.” He chuckles when Zuko rolls his eyes. "They didn't come to Ba Sing Se with you, did they?"
Zuko shakes his head. But we couldn't lock them up without further evidence on their standing. All I have is some unfortunate remarks here and there.
And Zuko didn't want to abuse his power and just go ahead and lock them up, even if leaving them unchecked for so long while Zuko went to this meeting was a receipt for a new scheme against him when he returned. "Then I'll go back to the Fire Nation with you when the meeting ends. Maybe it's time for the Gaang to make a new field trip."
You know you can't get too involved. The political uproar that would cause would be immense.
"Oh, but we won't get involved." Sokka grins at Zuko's confused look. "We'll just be there, visiting our friend, and if any assassins dare try anything, well. We can't be held accountable if we happen to be in the way. Nor if we happen to overhear any interesting conversations or find suspicious papers."
Zuko glares at him, but Sokka doesn't relent his smile until he makes another frustrated noise and mouths his name with an indignant expression.
"I know, okay? We'll be careful. But let us help you," Sokka says. He holds Zuko's hand, running his thumb softly over the bandages. "Let me help you, at least. I can't do nothing this time." He has had his share of keeping quiet and distant from this situation. He isn't about to leave his boyfriend to return home alone to an almost certain trap and wait until the next letter came, not knowing if it'll carry good or bad news. A court like the one of the Fire Nation is hard to clean, like Zuko often complains about, much less in a little time, but Sokka sure can try to gather as much information as possible at least. One of the perks of being the Water Tribe Ambassador in the Fire Nation is that people won't question him much if they see him wandering around. If the others join him - and Sokka thinks they will - then they can cover even more ground faster. And sure, they'll have to sit down and plan their steps carefully if they want to avoid any scandal, but it's achievable.
It won't be easy, but it'll be something.
Maybe Zuko can see some of that in Sokka's face because he pulls him in for a soft kiss.
We can talk more tomorrow. Zuko mouths. You need to sleep.
"You do too," Sokka says. "Do you think you'll be able to?"
Zuko hesitates. I don't know.
"I'll wake you up if you have another nightmare," Sokka says. He plants a kiss on Zuko’s temple, and revels in the small smile he gets in answer. "We can talk with Katara in the morning - she might be able to do something for your voice. It'll be better than not being able to talk during the meeting."
Definitely.
"I can already see it: the Fire Lord spits fire at a colleague after being ignored during the entire Four Nations annual meeting!"
Zuko swats at his shoulder, and Sokka laughs.
He considers changing out of his traveling clothes but deems it as too much work as Zuko burrows against him. He pulls the sheets over them, and soon they’re both asleep.
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johanna-swann · 4 years ago
Text
Whatever You Imagined
It’s here, it’s queer. My Supernatural oneshot. Read below the cut.
Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Jack Kline (mentioned)
Pairing: Destiel, Saileen (mentioned)
Rating: T (there may be a few f-bombs though)
Warnings: None
Summary: Jack saved Cas from the empty. Which is great because Cas, whom he loves, is alive and well. It also means Dean has to talk about his feelings though which he hates.
Words: 3k
It had gotten quiet in the bunker despite the relatively early hour. Dean was the only one still sitting in the kitchen, mindlessly staring at his phone and taking a sip of beer every now and then. It was more a force of habit than an honest attempt to get drunk though. Why would it be? Everything seemed to be perfect. That's why he was sitting alone in the kitchen at 9 pm after all. Because everything was so fucking perfect. Not to say that he wasn't happy with the very recent turn of events. In fact he was still brimming with excitement, at least on the inside.
Cas was back. After Jack had taken on the powers of capital-g God and skipped town to “be” in the flowers or whatever Dean had hoped of course. Hoped and prayed and cursed the whole freaking universe, but he had never gotten an answer until without any kind of warning and completely out of the blue Jack showed back up on the bunker's doorstep with a certain angel of the lord in tow.
Sam had immediately surged forward to hug Cas and their wayward son and there had been laughter and tears from all three of them. Everyone except Dean who had felt frozen in place, his mind trapped in a never-ending loop of “CasCasCas”. That had seemed to be the maximum capacity for his slightly hung-over head, so he had just stared at his best friend without any specific expression. They had hugged eventually and Dean was pretty sure that, like the fucking idiot he was, he had said something along the lines of: “Good to have you back buddy.”, as if the last time they had seen each other the angel hadn't declared his undying love for him.
Cas' face had gone through a rather confusing sequence of different emotions before it eventually settled on a worn, bittersweet smile and his lips formed the words: “Glad to be back.”
Half a minute of awkward silence later Sam had taken charge of the situation and guided them all down to the dining room where Jack had presented them with a detailed, animated version of their otherworldly prison break which somehow involved a backdoor between heaven and the empty that was hidden in Abel's (yes,the Abel) heaven, but to be completely honest Dean had spent more time staring at Cas or – the other way around – avoiding Cas' stares than listening to Jack.
After Jack had finished his story Dean had gotten started on making dinner for the sole purpose of escaping whatever awkward staring contest he and Cas had been about to get into. They obviously had to talk to each other sooner or later, but just the thought of starting that conversation had almost sent Dean into an anxiety attack. Hence his escape to the kitchen.
The awkwardness had stretched all over dinner and even Sam and Jack had noticed by the time the clock struck seven. At some point Jack had left to get Cas settled into his old room and shortly after that Sam, too, had decided to call it a night and with one more curious look at him he had left Dean to sulk on his own.
And that's how Dean found himself still sitting in the exact same position over an hour later. Logically he new that he should go talk to Cas. It wasn't fair on either of them to just leave this topic unaddressed, but once again Dean found himself unable to move. Maybe Cas was exhausted, he should let him rest. Or maybe he didn't even want to talk to Dean, maybe he was angry. Cas had put his feelings out there and Dean… well. Dean hadn't really said or done anything.
The anger might've been unjustified, but at least it shook him out of his interior monologue. He pocketed his phone, set the empty beer bottle down in the kitchen and made his way towards his room. When he passed Cas' door on the hallway though he stopped out of reflex. Staring at the brown wood he thought back to that day with Billie and the empty and to the time before that with Lucifer and how every single time he lost Cas it had sent him head first into a several weeks long downwards spiral. Now Cas was right behind that door and Dean still wouldn't talk to him, shoving his feelings aside yet again. Because that usually worked out so well. Fuck. “Just grow a pair and do it!”, he reprimanded himself and before he could change his mind again, Dean had already knocked.
Half of him feared that he might have messed up their bond permanently, but he other half doubted that Cas would hold his silence against him. Everything had happened so fast and Cas had left him with a lot of info to emotionally unpack. If anything, Dean thought, he should be angry. What had Cas been thinking unloading all of that on Dean and then just leaving him there!
“Come in!” Cas' voice sounded muffled through the wood. He took one last deep breath and then did as he was told. Cas was sitting cross-legged on his bed reading a book. Dean shot him a quick smile, then looked away and closed the door behind him. This was a private conversation. He walked a few steps into the room, then came to a hesitant halt, wringing his hands. Fuck this was hard. He hadn't even said anything yet. When he looked up again Cas was looking right back at him. He seemed a bit confused as to what Dean was doing, but smiled anyway.
“Hello Dean.” Dean almost started to cry then and there. It had only been a few weeks since he last heard those words, but god had he missed it. The deep rumble of his voice, the earnest yet benevolent blue eyes, that posture which looked both relaxed and tense at the same time. The trench coat was missing, but Dean quickly spotted it hanging over the back of a chair.
Dean cleared his throat. “Hey Cas.” He paused. He was certain there had been more words in his head just a second ago. Cas tilted his head curiously, but without insistence. Dean was pretty sure that Cas knew what he had come to talk about and that the angel didn't want to pressure him.
“Cas”, he said his name again: “We have to-” He closed his eyes and sighed. “We should talk.” He hesitated again, not knowing where he should start. Maybe addressing the smallest issue first might be a good idea. “I didn't wanna say anything earlier. Sam was there and Jack and I haven't told them… They don't know what happened with the empty. Not the details at least and you just got back and to be honest, I didn't know what to say. I still don't know for sure.”
“It's okay”, Cas said softly and put the book down on the nightstand: “I already told you, I never expected a response. You don't have to say anything. I mean, I know it was a lot and very sudden and you don't feel the same way, that's alright-”
“Cas, I mean this in the kindest way possible, but please shut up.” Cas' mouth snapped closed and he frowned. “Shit, I'm sorry. Sorry, it's just-. You said a lot of things while summoning the empty. And you're right, it was a lot and very sudden. I barely got a word in edgewise and then when you finished your speech and the empty-” He stopped again, his throat feeling unusually tight.
“You were gone, Cas. I barely had the time to process anything of what you were saying, much less come up with something myself. I just know that suddenly you were gone and I was left alone with that declaration of love which apparently you feel for me. And I know you did all of that to save me, save the universe or whatever, but honestly. You can't just drop all of that on someone and then leave!” He looked over at Cas again who wouldn't meet his eyes and seemed more agitated by the second. He wanted to move on before he lost his courage, but Cas was faster.
“I'm sorry, Dean. I realise now that that wasn't completely fair on you. I just didn't see another way. We were about to die and I could not let that happen to you. I'm sorry that I burdened you with all of this and you should know that you don't owe me anything. It just needed to be said and I am aware that – how did I put it? It's something I know I can't have. I never should've-”
“For fuck's sake”, Dean muttered and rubbed his face: “Cas. You had your time, you've said your part. It's my turn with the chick flick moment and this would be a lot easier if you would just let me finish, capiche?”
He nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes,  I uh. I “capiche”.” Cas sat up straighter as if to get up. That was when Dean realised he was still standing in the middle of the room like a lost sheep. He motioned for Cas to remain seated and looked around the room. The chair with the trench coat was still there, but Dean doubted he could get even two coherent words out while face to face with Cas, so instead he sat down on the edge of the bed. He carefully adjusted his position so that Cas was sitting a few feet to his right. He could smell the familiar scent of the angel now. Great, just what he needed. Another distraction. Well at least Cas was no longer in his line of sight, maybe he could do this.
“I probably shouldn't yell and curse that much. I'm trying to say something important here and I wanna do it right. I wanna do right by you after everything you've done for me. You deserve that. I'm just really, really not good at this, so. Be patient with me.” He looked at Cas once more for confirmation and he nodded. Dean took another deep breath and stared at his hands. No backing out of this now, Winchester.
“Cas, I need to be honest here. Before the empty took you, the thought of you and me together as something other than best friends never even crossed my mind. You're an angel and I'm, well, I'm me. I never thought that I would ever have somebody like you in my life at all. It had been just Sam and me for such a long time. And sure he's my brother, I love that nerd. But to have somebody else, somebody who I wasn't responsible for, who I could count on without being related to them by blood – that was new for me. I never had a real friend like that before. We spent so much time together and we've been through so much. I know I took you for granted way too often, but I always considered myself lucky to have you in my corner. And I thought... Well, I just assumed that you felt the exact same way.
But then you summoned the empty and said all that stuff about me and at first I couldn't process any of what had happened, it was just not right. Then after a few hours of at least trying to understand I just pushed it all away because there was no time. We still had Chuck to take care of. Eventually Sam and I returned to the bunker though. He reunited with Eileen and with Jack gone, it was just me for a few days. I'm not proud of this, but I really didn't take it very well. I kept myself busy drinking most of the time, I lost track of time. It didn't really matter to me if it was 3 am or pm as long as there was some kind of alcohol nearby. You are one of the two most important people in my life, Cas, and I lost you.
So I settled into the depression phase quite well. No denying that. And then the anger came and I would just pace the bunker for hours asking myself why the hell it had to be this way and why on top of losing you I also had to deal with the romantic feelings my dead best friend had had for me and I felt even more guilty. It didn't make sense and it wasn't fair. At some point Sam and Eileen came back though, so I at least tried to get better. They deserved to be happy without having to worry about me. I got sober, more or less. That was when I started to really think about what you said.
You mentioned it earlier. How “the one thing you wanted was something you knew you couldn't have”. I started to wonder what exactly you meant by that. Did you want us to be a couple? Boyfriends? Live that apple pie life? Or would we have kept hunting, living our lives together Bonnie and Clyde style? Did you want us to raise Jack together and have family dinners? Hand holding in the park, making out in the back of the theater? I don't know. On the one hand I couldn't imagine it. On the other hand I couldn't stop thinking about it. I became almost obsessed with the idea and it took me along time to truly figure this out.
I had trouble picturing it in my head because, for one, I had never thought about it before. That maybe there was a possibility to relabel our relationship. Now the next part may come as a shock for you, but I've actually known for a while – and believe me, I mean a while – that I'm not straight. The way I was brought up though... It was barely acceptable to fuck a guy here and there, but dating one? That was unheard of. So on those rare occasions when I thought about settling down I always saw myself doing that with a woman and I never told anyone about the men I met along the way.
Stupid, I know, but that's how the story is supposed to go, right? Boy meets girl, et cetera. I know that gender works differently for you angels, but you look like a man and we call you “he” and “him”. I guess that threw me off. But still, I couldn't stop thinking about it and I think that's what really broke me at last.
Because the more I thought about all the possibilities and the things that might've been, the more I also realised what I had lost. You said a lot of good things, but there is one detail you were wrong about, Cas. That “it” you thought you could never have? I don't care what it is. I don't care what exactly you had in mind. Cas, whatever it is you imagined – I want it, maybe I always have. You  – you can have me.”
Finally, Dean dared to look up again. He had tried to keep it together during his little speech, but now he could feel the tears burning behind his eyes and his heart hammering in his chest. Cas didn't seem to fare much better. His eyes were glazed over with unshed tears and his bottom lip trembled.
“Dean”, Cas forced out. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. Dean felt his heart break a little at Cas' pained expression and he noticed his hands were trembling. He got up from the bed to kneel in front of Cas and carefully took his hands in his own. Cas held on to Dean as if he were his anchor. He seemed so overwhelmed, lost even. Dean began to wonder if he had said too much.
“Listen, Cas. If – if you changed your mind. If this is no longer what you want-” He didn't get any further. Suddenly Cas was kissing him and it was like a dam had broken. 12 years of repressed feelings and tension finally unloaded. Dean closed his eyes and kissed him back like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Cas saying goodbye had felt like dying. Losing him was hell.
But now, in this very moment with Cas' lips on his and his hands in Dean's hair he felt alive, so alive and Cas was too. He was here with him and maybe they would just stay right here for hours. Maybe they would fall asleep in each others' arms and sleep well past noon, they deserved the rest. Maybe he'd have to awkwardly come out to his brother the following morning and maybe he and Cas would have to discuss what this meant for their future. But none of that mattered to Dean right now. All that mattered was that they had a future. And let's be real: It is kind of hard to think of anything else when an angel of the lord has his hands under your shirt while kissing you senseless.
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thegreenfaery · 4 years ago
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The Quarterly Review
I’ve been absent for a while so I’m going to treat you all to an utter shitpost of my year so far. You may want to sit down for this because it’s a thrilling ride (this is a lie, but there are pictures of questionable quality, so you have that going for you).
January 2021
Of all the things that have ever happened, January was one of them. As in it came, it happened, it went. It was a dull and dismal blur of a month that at the time seemed to never end.
I did, however, get promoted from “Kitchen Manager” to “Communications Officer” for our local WI. 
In celebration of this, I finally taught myself to knit. (Look, I’m an old person trapped in what often feels like an even older body. Sue me. Actually, please don’t. I can’t afford it.)
Anyhoo, here’s the result.
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This hat may be my single greatest achievement ever. Possibly second to the time my Abyssinian guinea pig, Bubbles, won a “Special” rosette at the Cavy Club show. I think I won a grand prize of 72p. 
[Before anyone asks, yes people breed and show guinea pigs. Shit’s more competitive than Crufts. If you want to see posh knobs being cliquey, two-faced and passive aggressive that’s the place to go. Mum’s favourite moment (after a run of winning Best of Breeds, much to the chagrin of said posh knobs) was informing everyone that her Best in Show boar was purchased from a lowly pet shop. ]
February 2021
For those of us in the UK, the end of December 2020 brought with it the entertainment that are Parish Council meetings.  The drama from one particular Parish Council and come February, it had gone viral. >>See here<< 
As much of the country was completely bewildered by what they were witnessing, for me, this was the stuff of nightmares.
I had been elected as Chairwoman of my local Parish Council in November 2019 after its own long-running pissing contest (which I am fairly certain has been going on since before I was even born) came to a head. It was pretty obvious that I was elected because certain individuals assumed that I would be a total pushover. Unfortunately for them, I actually took the time to read through and fully digest all of the policies and procedures and came to the same conclusion as multiple clerks- that those individuals were in the wrong. And so I put my foot down with a firm hand. Cue threats of legal action and months of harassment before I ultimately decided ‘Stuff this for a game of soldiers. I don’t get paid for this.’ and tendered my own resignation. (The straw that broke the camel’s back was the recurrence of psychogenic blackouts and hemiplegic migraines caused by the stress. They are not fun, and I can think of much better ways to spend my time.)
Are all Parish Council meetings like Handforth’s? No. But I certainly witnessed the same level of hostility and venom at my local meetings, it was just displayed in a much more covert and conniving fashion. This is what happens when people of a certain age with far too much time on their hands and an unbelievable sense of self-importance are given a whiff of what they think is power. 
March 2021
With all of this in mind, when my queen and hero, @recurring-polynya​, posted this gem in March, I nearly died. 
Also in March: the bathroom and en suite were officially finished!; I got my anaesthetic infusion (for fibromyalgia); and our WI delivered one of these little gift bags to each member:
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April 2021
Which brings us neatly to April and Easter. 
I got to see my Mum for the first time in forever, and we both sat there wearing rabbit ears for over three hours, triggering an existential crisis in Sherbet the cat. Are there photos? No. This is standard behaviour.
Remember Jack?
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Well, if you think you’ve had a bad year so far, imagine being a dog and being told on the very first day of January that you are allergic to: chicken, beef, turkey, potatoes, rice... This is by no means the complete list. He can, however, eat venison. Which, according to Mum, is very expensive. I guess you could say it’s very deer.
Ay? Ayyy? Ahahaha! Geddit? Deer. Ahhh... I’ll see myself out.
Anyway, Mum and I went on a walk with the gruesome twosome (Jack and his brother, Teddy), and this muppet tried to pull me into the very muddy, very smelly, very wet dyke. 
Thankfully, I didn’t quite make it all the way there, and so was only mostly covered in mud, not completely covered in mud.
Turns out that Jack really likes watching telly. He especially enjoyed whichever iteration of Jurassic Park was on at the time. Big, noisy dinosaurs are very much his thing.
Being a sensitive soul, Teddy is somewhat less interested what’s on the screen, and would much rather ponder the deep and meaningful questions in life, such as ‘Who is a good boy, then?’.
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April was a month full of sharp, pointy needles for me. Which is to say I am now vaccinated against ‘The Covid’, have been stuffed full of botulinum type A (39 injections in my head, neck and shoulders in one go), and been visited by Nurse Dracula for blood tests. Is this why the earlier photo of me in The Hat shows me to be the same colour as the wall? Quite possibly.
I’m also excited for the possibility of starting immunotherapy (Fremanezumab) towards the end of June. This is the treatment that will complete my transformation into a hamster. (Or will hopefully relieve the constant pain that is chronic migraine. One of the two.)
Of course, April means that we’re well into spring, which means what better time to start making Christmas cards? I mean, that’s normal, right?
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Spring also means getting the garden summer ready. The roses are looking healthy. The triffid cosmos’ are coming back. The self-seeding linaria are taking over. The wildflower lawn is full of cowslips and violets. Our baby fruit trees are covered in blossom. (One of which was subject to a minor mishap last spring when the wind upended an entire packet of loose Scabiosa Atropurpurea ‘Black Knight’ seeds next to it. And there are most certainly a lot of something growing quite merrily in a perfect square around it, only I am fairly certain that the things that are growing are Papaver Paeonies. This is doing me a heckin’ bamboozle. Either way, I am steadily thinning them out and moving them to a more suitable spot. Preferably not 0.0002mm away from my Worcester Pearmain apple.)
We have fat birbs. We’re talking full on chonkers. The blackbirds have munched their way through £25 of mealworms in less than a fortnight. Plus half a tub of fat balls. The sparrows are the same shape, as are the robins. As for Gilbert the woodpigeon...
The solitary bees have hatched from their tin can bee hotels. So far, we have determined that we have ash and tawny mining bees as well as masonry bees. We have also spotted a parasitic (possibly cuckoo) bee, which seem to target mining bees for their cosy homes. There are bumble bees and honey bees. There are so, so many bees. **Insert customary Oprah gif here**
I have ordered ALL OF THE PLUG PLANTS for hanging baskets. Which ones? ALL OF THEM. I am going into direct competition with Mr Britain-in-Bloom-Winner Begonia-Baskets down the road.
Pfft. Who are we kidding? 
He doesn’t stand a chance. 
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