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lanadane1 · 2 years ago

Text

About You

(Late November 1984) Chapter 1: The Car Ride

Eddie Munson x female!harrington!reader

Chapter Summary: In the weeks following the breakup, it’s been hard to not be in contact with Eddie. You let your desires get the best of you.

Word Count: 4.2k

series masterlist here

Chapter warnings: Angst, smoking (reader), nightmare, mention of panic attack or sorts (just reader experiencing triggers), partying, +18 for general mature topics and content

You felt like you were suffocating. It was a sensory deprivation and overload all at the same time.

Your goggles were clouded from the particles that floated freely around your head. You had no idea what that stuff was, and it scared you that it surrounded you like a cloud. The makeshift mask covering your mouth, nose, and ears felt like it was preventing any kind of airflow to your lungs, making them burn. It was dark all around you, no sense of direction, and the croaking from the hound like creatures seemed to echo around the tunnel making it impossible to tell where it was coming from.

You screamed for somebody, anybody, to help you- but your voice was trapped in your throat.

You leaned against the wall of the small tunnel and sank to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut. Hands clamped over your ears and head between your legs to try to stop the world from spinning.

Suddenly a hand settled on your shoulder blade and your head jerk up.

There, in all his glory, was him. Him with his halo of dark curls that framed his face perfectly. Him with his worn leather jacket that was surprisingly soft and smelt like home. Him with his snarky smile that made him seem like he always knew something you didn’t. Him with his heart full of love and head full of songs.

“It’s just a dream y/n.”

He knelt to your level and pulled your face into his hands. He slid the goggles off your eyes and down to hang around your neck along with the bandana mask that was previously suffocating you. His face was so close to your own that if you moved forward even an inch your lips would brush.

“You’re perfectly safe. You can wake up.”

And with that command, your eyes drifted open and made contact with the soft light spilling into your room. You smiled and shuffled down into your sheets as the memory of him was still firm in your mind. You let yourself revel in the phantom sensation of his lips close to yours before reality hit you. Like, it did every morning.

The reality that he was not yours anymore. That he would not be driving you to school. He would not kiss you at your locker before 1st period. And since its Tuesday, he would not be driving you to watch a Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout tonight.

Ignoring the melancholy that had taken root in your bones for the past few weeks, you rise from your bed and begin another monotonous day.

Steve and you made your way to school, arriving much earlier than usual. Steve still hadn’t gotten use to not having to pick up Nancy on the way and this threw off your schedule a bit. As you pulled into the lot- one of the first ones there for the umpteenth time this week month- Steve sighed to himself.

“Well, this essay will not write itself. Sure you don’t wanna keep me company in the library?”

“We both know that’s code for wanna fuck around so I can avoid my responsibilities, Stevie.”

You both chuckle as he swats your shoulder and reaches for his backpack in the back seat.

“Always a ray of sunshine y/n. You’re still the one whose gonna proofread it for me out of the goodness of your heart.” He crooned to you while stepping out of the car.

“The weathers nice so I think I’ll read on the bench till class.” You give him a half-hearted smile.

He gives you a small sad smile. He is well aware that Eddie and you would frequent that bench before school almost daily.

“Old habits die hard.” You admitted and shrugged, the urge to defend your somewhat pathetic behavior bubbling up in your chest.

You grab your backpack and exited the car in a fluid move that had you gliding towards the picnic bench towards the side of the parking lot. Once arrived, you rifled through your bag to find your favorite book and Walkman. A slow melody filled your ears as you dive in, forgetting your surroundings and circumstances. A craving burrowed into your bones right alongside the melancholy, though.

It’s a craving for him. The craving for the comfort he brings. A craving for home.

An insatiable craving that cannot seem to be quenched. You have unfortunately found comfort in smoking, however. The smell of the cigarette envelopes you in the aroma of him- lulling the buzz in your body for him.

Yet, of course, last night you had used your last smoke and not had time to buy another pack before school this morning. So, you sat on the bench with your book clenched in your cold hands, bending the pages, as the craving consumed your body and left you with not a thing to do about it.

So, it was going to be one of those days.

Just as the buzzing settled to a low hum, a screeching broke through the music playing in your ears. The sound of Dio clashed unsettlingly with the Tears for Fears song in your ears and a rickety van pulled into its usual spot in the lot. As he pulled into his usual spot in the lot. The sight of his van brought thoughts of him like a tsunami in your brain. You clenched your book even harder, as if it were the only thing keeping you anchored to earth during this assault of memories on your psyche.

So, it was really going to be one of those days.

He put the vehicle in park and you watched the van as it thrummed with energy. You felt akin to the car. Thrumming with energy but unable to move anywhere.

You knew you would regret the ultimate hurt the decision you were about to make was going to bring you, but you couldn’t find enough cons to out way the pros in your mind.

I need a cigarette. I know he will have one. I have been going mad not talking to him or seeing him. Just one conversation will hold me over for a while. Who cares if I have a breakdown afterwards- the high of the moment is going to feel so good.

Before you could even really decide, your legs were already moving you away from the bench and towards the van you know so well.

Before you could even really decide, your hand was coming up to knock at the glass window of the driver’s side door.

Before you could even really decide, you were jerking him awake from his cat nap in the driver’s seat before a long day at school.

It took him a moment to calm down from the initial scare of the knock startling him awake. Once he realized who was the perpetrator of the knock, his pulse picked up again.

Eddies eyes widened and he blinked in disbelief at who was standing in front of him, and he frantically rolled his window down to destroy the barrier between you two.

You both stared into each other’s eyes for a minute before daring to break to silence. You found a frail voice in the back of your throat and whispered out a small hi to him.

He took in the sound of your voice, ringing like a bell and replenishing his frazzled mind before greeting you back. You look down to your feet awkwardly before looking back up to him.

“I know this is weird but I- I was wondering if you didn’t mind me bumming a cigarette off of you?” you mumbled out.

“I- well- You smoke?” he stuttered out.

“Recently yea.” His eyes darkened understanding the implications of your words.

“Well, I- um yea. I’ve got one.”

He turned to his glove compartment and shuffled around for a moment. The black shirt he worse stretched across the expanse of his back and highlighted his muscles moving under his luscious skin.

You’d been practically drooling by the time he turned back around with a cigarette in hand. He reached out to hand you the smoke stick as you extended your arm and met in the middle. Your fingers brushed each other’s as you made the exchange- lighting your skin on fire. Even the smallest amount of contact had you wanting to jump into the car right through the window and hold him so close that you would fuse together.

“Thanks.” You mutter out as you hold it between your fingers, rolling it anxiously.

You slowly, and very awkwardly, began to turn around and back away from his van when it seemed that neither of you were going to say anything else.

Make her stay, make her stay, make her stay His mind rattled.

“Well, um, do you need a light?” Eddie offered up as he sensed you about to leave.

“Oh I’m- actually I’m good I’ve got one in my bag.”

“Right cool.”

“Thanks though.”

“Yea no problem.”

You both stared again.

“So, um I guess how- “

“Don’t ask me how I’m doing Eds. I think we both know the answer.”

“Then it’s good thing I was gonna ask how long you’d been smoking.” He halfheartedly chuckled out.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as tears welled up into your eyes. Of course, he wasn’t asking you how you were. He broke up with you, he doesn’t care.

“Oh right. It’s been like- wow I don’t know this is so embarrassing I can’t think,” you chuckle to yourself while gazing down to the asphalt under your feet.

Eddie could tell you were in distress; he could read you like a book. Regret flooded his body over his snide comment that reduce you to this stuttering mess in front of him. Desperately, he tried to backtrack.

“No but I want to know that too- I just figured you wouldn’t wanna talk about that. I figured you wouldn’t wanna talk to me period. I can’t believe you’re here and speaking to me.”

“Neither can I. My feet just kind brought me here.”

“I miss talking to you. I mean it’s weird going from talking to you every single day to not at all.”

“I miss talking to you too.”

You both knew what you really meant.

Eddies hands toyed with the rings that adorned his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with them in an attempt to release the anxiety in his chest.

After you walked out of his trailer that night, he knew he made a mistake. He let his issues get the better of him and it finally messed up the best thing in his life- you. He knew he shouldn’t have pushed you to tell him and trusted you to explain everything eventually. It was evident that this was not something easy you could tell him. They way you were pleading with him that it wasn’t safe for him to know yet and the look in your eye made it apparent to him, only after the fact, that this was serious. Something major happened, and it messed you up. This was bigger than you or him. And rather than being there for you when you needed him to pick up the pieces, he broke you apart further.

“Maybe we could… like… talk then? Sometime?”

You sucked in a breath and pause. Debating. Weighing your options. Deciding if the heartbreak is worth it.

“Eventually yea. I’d really like to.” You give him a meek smile. A beam of hope.

“Good. Cool. Whenever, no rush.” He means it. You believe him.

________________________________________________________________

The week flew by uneventfully. That’s how they seem to be as of late. You wake up, you go to school, sometimes you’ll have cheer practice after, you go home and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. You’ve only just now finally found the will to start engaging with your friends again. Nancy was there for you as best as she could- but it was difficult when she couldn’t enter your house in fear of coming face to face with Steve.

But this week seemed to be a little different. After your encounter with Eddie, you could feel his eyes on you everywhere you went.

You could see his subtle glances towards you in English and you could feel his stare across the lunchroom. His watchful eye ignited something in you that you hadn’t felt for what seemed to be an eternity. It was hope. Hope that he would wave to you in the hallway. Hope that he would pass you a note. Hope that he would offer you a cigarette. But it was also anxiety. Anxiety that he would watch you silently until he graduated in the spring- assuming he finally graduates this time. Anxiety that he was waiting for the perfect moment to tell you he had moved on and was letting you go. But you would take the bittersweet emotions over the numbness that inhabited your body like a parasite.

The end of the week drained you, however.

You jogged the sidewalk of your neighborhood, an afternoon exercise ritual you tried to participate in as often as possible. You found the adrenaline and endorphins of the activity helped to unfog your mind and raise your spirits.

Every so often, the setting Sun would brush your eyes, momentarily blinding you. As you rounded the corner of Shirley and Maplewood, the Sun obstructed your vision harshly, making your surroundings impossible to perceive. It was in this instant that Mr. Berkley’s dog, Flash, decided it was the perfect moment to bark as loudly as he could at your movement.

The sound of the growl startled you, and as your spotting vision flickered towards the black hound, your temporary blindness comprehended the dog and something it wasn’t. A creature. The kind the kids found in October. The kind from the tunnels.

For a split second you brain told you This is a demo-dog. You are in danger. If it’s this close to you, you’re already dead.

The scream that ripped from your chest was instinctual and piercing. The tears that sprung from your eyes were involuntary and violent, just like your collapse to the ground.

You registered what had happened, picked yourself up, and jogged off with tears in your eyes before Mr. Berkley or a neighbor could exit their houses to question you and your seemingly bizarre behavior.

Maybe I’ll give running a break you decided.

And stay away from dogs.

________________________________________________________________

The weekend brought better fortune. You made an appearance at a party with your friend, Chrissy, but didn’t stay long.

“I think I’m gonna head home Chris.” You muttered into her ear as you found her smushed against a wall in a pack of cheerleaders and basketball players, all rambling on overzealously about the typical gossip and trying not to puke on each other.

She looked into your eyes and understood. Your social battery was drained. You had no more energy left in you to pretend that you were okay. You had no more energy left to pretend that you weren’t praying to every force in the universe that he would walk through that door and take you away. But he didn’t and he wasn’t going to.

She pulled away from the huddle of drunken teenagers and hugged you close.

“Hey, you did good. A whole hour! Now that’s what I call progress.” She gave you a radiant smile and you returned it with a limp one of your own.

You stalked out of the house with your head down as to avoid getting roped into any conversation. Once on the safety of the porch, you finally rose your head all the way up to the sky and breathed in the chilly night air. You wrapped your jacket tighter around your body and reached into your pockets to put on your gloves. As you reached in your hand was met with a crinkled cylindrical stick. You removed it from your pocket and there in your palm rested the cigarette Eddie gave you.

After the conversation that one morning, you completely forgot about the cigarette- leaving it unsmoked. You put it in your mouth and reached into your purse to find your lighter. A minute of hopelessly rummaging through it informed you that it was not on your person.

“Dammit Stevie.” You muttered, taking the cigarette out of your mouth to have it lazily relax between your index and middle finger.

You recalled just how your lighter was taken from you forcefully by your brother on the night of the tunnels. They needed fire to ignite the gasoline and to complete the mission you involuntarily sacrificed it in the process. A shudder passes through your body- not from the chilly night air. You closed your eyes and leaned upon the banister of the porch to steady yourself.

A voice drifts towards you, carried out of the dark expanse of the night in front of you by the winter wind- rescuing you from the dark memory, “Finally need that light?”

Your eyes snap up. Emerging from his beat-up van was the man you’d been praying to see all night. You heart skipped a beat, and it took you a moment to respond. “Oh um, yea I guess I do, now.”

He slinked towards you in that way in only Eddie did. His body moved fluidly and confidently, almost feline like, as he approached your shivering figure on the doorstep. He produced a metal lighter and ignited the cigarette you had placed back to your lips. You muttered a thank you and took the first inhale as he clinked the metal contraption shut and stuffed it back into the pocket of his leather jacket.

He paused a moment and watched you. Eddie always liked to watch you do trivial things like washing dishes, taking notes, or riffling through your bag. He appreciated your existence and observed you like the most fascinating creature in the world. His breath left his body at the sight of your lips wrapped around the smoke stick, a sight he’d never seen before, and tilt your head to the side to expel the air.

After a beat you worked up the courage to break the silence. “So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” He smiled at your question. “My services were required. Donnie promised me double for making a house call.” “I see I see.” You nodded your head awkwardly.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yea I’m not really in the party mood. I was just about to walk- “

“Walk?” He interrupted you. “Y/n you were not seriously about to walk home from here.”

Your eyes rolled, “It’s like a mile and a half.”

“Can’t Steve come get you?””

“He’s busy and I’m fine. I’m a big girl and I walk home by myself.” You insisted laughing at his franticness.

“It’s pitch black out.” “It’s 7:30 Eds.”

His voice hitched in the back of his throat at the sound of his nickname. He decides to potentially cross a boundary that exes shouldn’t cross.

“Let me drive you home. I’ll be 5 minutes just enough to drop off with Donnie, get my cash and get out.”

You hesitate. “You really don’t have to do that.” “I would sleep better tonight knowing I didn’t leave you trek across dangerous lands all by your lonesome.”

“This is Lock Nora Eddie. It’s more Hundred Acer Woods than Mirkwood.” You chuckle out.

You both laugh at your remark. Then the silence creeps back in. But it’s not awkward this time. Its comfortable like a warm blanket had been wrapped around the two of you. You look into his eyes and discover the seriousness to his request.

“Only if it’s not an inconvenience.”

“You’re never an inconvenience y/n.”

Silence.

“Wait here and finish up. I’ll be 5 minutes.”

He enters the house and takes the warm blanket with him, leaving you alone again on the freezing porch with a half-burnt cigarette in your fingers.

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

The car ride brought on the strongest bout of déjà vu you’d ever experienced. Apparently, nobody had been a passenger since the breakup because the seat was still in the perfect position for you. The music he usually blasted was reduced to a low hum that drifted throughout the cavernous car and his driving was abnormally slow and safe- as it always was when you were present.

The moment was a perfect replica of so many late-night car rides, except your thigh lacked his strong grip on it and his face was now replaced with an anxious grimace instead of a content grin.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and willed yourself to speak. “So, how’s Wayne?”

Eddies body relaxed into his seat as your voice filled his ears. As he basked in your presence, he reminded himself that he might not have another opportunity to talk to you in such an intimate setting ever again or at least for a long time- so he needed to man up and respond.

“He’s good but tired. He picked up a bunch of late shifts for his buddy whose wife had a baby- but the extra cash is nice.”

“He ever figure out where he left is tweedy bird mug?”

Eddie grinned at the memory of the three of you ransacking the slovenly trailer for any sign of his uncle’s precious yellow mug. “Yea he brought it over to a neighbor while sharing a smoke and left it. Damn near cried when they called saying they had it.” “That man and his mugs.” You giggle out.

“How’s Steve? Heard Wheeler and him split.” Eddie cautiously inquired hoping to not drudge up any undesirable topics in the little time he had with you. You closed your eyes and sighed at the thought of your brother’s pain. “Yea it’s been difficult for him. He just doesn’t know what to do. He was sad about it and he still loves her, but he’s moved on from the initial heartbreak and he’s left in this sort of limbo right now. It’s stressing him out- and on top of that he’s trying to figure out colleges and what his plan for next year is.” You admitted to him in a word vomit- try to avoid the nitty gritty details of the breakup seeing as his situation mirrored yours and Eddies.

“Man, that’s tough. I can’t even think about my plan I just gotta see if I can make it through this semester let alone graduate or go to college.” Eddie chuckled out in a lighthearted jest. “Eddie- “

“I know I know y/n the whole shpeal about my potential. I get it and I really thank you for believing in me, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry than fucking high school right now.”

“What could be more important than trying to pass Eds?” You questioned him exasperatedly, gazing upon his profile- eyes transfixed on the road. “I can think of a few things.” he snuck a glance at you out of the corner of his eye only to be met with the sight of your cheeks dusted in a red hue- like a polaroid developing in front of his eyes. Your gaze returned to the road and you both stared at the inky night that stretched before you.

“I just want the best for you Eds. I get it’s not my place anymore, but I can’t just stop caring about you and being invested in your life like flipping a switch off. That’s not how it works.” You muttered defensively about your intrusion on his plans. “You don’t have to be sorry for caring about me y/n and certainly don’t have to ever stop.”

The car stopped moving. His statement shocked you so deeply you didn’t even realize you’d arrived home, his van parked at the edge of your lawn. The lights illuminating the windows of your home we warm and inviting- beckoning you to come inside and escape the unpleasant car ride you’d endured if only to be in Eddie’s presence for a split second. Your hand wrapped around the handle of the door, and you craned your neck around to peer at his face. You were met with an expression you’d never seen cross Eddies face before- it was one of a thousand words all trapped within the confides of his body: chest, brain, mouth, lungs, tongue.

You couldn’t discern a single thing he wanted to tell you, but you understood none the less. You turned the corners of your mouth upward in a petite smile and thanked him for the ride. He shook his head up and down wordlessly and tried to pin you to your seat in the van with his gaze. Unfortunately, it didn’t work, and you exited the car- swiftly and quietly, leaving Eddie alone yet again.

He couldn’t understand what brought him to this moment. How he let his emotions get the better of him. How he let you get away from him. How he let you just walk out of his van without pleading for forgiveness and a second chance. All he knew was that the world would not be right until you were back and his arms, and he vowed to himself that he would reconcile with you if you would have him; just as soon as he worked up the balls. Which might take a while.

He sighed, rubbed his eyes in an irritated manner and put his van in drive, steering himself away from you and towards the isolation of his empty trailer.

Alone again.

________________________________________________________________

So excited for the next chapter (it’s truly so long get ready) :)))))

#eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x harrington!reader #stranger things #stranger things season 2 #angst #eddie munson fanfic

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honeycombstrawberry · 3 years ago

Note

ik this isn’t from the prompt list but i am absolutely begging for some possessive/protective adrian content. like on my knees begging

please, not like this

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: m

word count: 2,745

one-sentence synopsis: you and adrian piss off the wrong people and have to go into hiding— and adrian can't stomach what happens when you're found.

author's note: okay one thing everyone has to know about me is that i LOVE possessive/protective tropes SO FUCKING BAD. if anyone ever has ANYTHING specific they want to see in this specific genre PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD feel free to request it. that also goes for hurt/comfort stuff and domestic stuff (especially little family scenes). they are my bread and butter. also i genuinely don't know if this is good but it's certainly what i wanted to read so it's what i wrote!! i hope you like it!!

read on ao3!

It was supposed to be so much easier.

You and Adrian were just supposed to patrol the perimeter of the farmhouse that you were all using as a safehouse. Since you both wanted to keep fighting bad guys after everything happened with Project Butterfly, you and him had kept working as Vigilante and (Y/Superhero/N). A crime-fighting duo that wants to protect the ordinary citizens in your county, if nothing more.

That had quickly broadened when the two of you tried to untangle a new organization that had come into Evergreen. They were shutting down small stores, threatening landowners into selling property— and you’d even ended up finding evidence that they were secretly planning to destroy the entire town.

Of course, you and Adrian had to do something. You couldn’t let your hometown be destroyed, and so the two of you had set out to stop them.

You had, ultimately, succeeded. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that one single person had escaped— the head of the organization’s right-hand man, a younger guy named Jason— and he had made it his life’s mission to destroy you and Adrian for what you did.

Once Jason had tried to burn your house to the ground, you and Adrian had set out for the safehouse that Leota offered up for you.

Now, you’re holed up in the farmhouse for the third day in a row, waiting for Chris and Leota’s all-clear that Jason had been caught and you could return home. Still, you’ve heard nothing, and so you and Adrian patrol the grounds outside the farmhouse, making sure nobody’s hiding out there. So far, nobody’s shown up.

Tonight, things change.

You’re in the back of the house when you hear it. A sharp crack, in the distance. You’re on high alert immediately, whirling, aiming your weapon into the high grass surrounding the farmhouse.

You slink forward, silent, observing. You start to step forward, listening closely, trying to find whoever is out there.

Just as you think you’re about to find whatever made the noise, you hear a loud clang before Adrian cries out from the front of the house. Your head snaps up, and you’re running in an instant towards the noise of it. He sounds pained, and your mind blanks out. You can’t let anything happen to him, not on your fucking watch.

You get to the front lawn just in time to see Adrian on the ground, helmet tossed aside, prying apart a trap that’s clamped around his ankle.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, then run towards him.

“I’m fine,” he grunts. He tears the trap apart with a burst of brute strength, the two pieces coming apart in his hands. You lift his ankle, examining it. “I don’t think it even broke the skin, I think the armor—” Adrian looks up at you and cuts off when he looks behind you, suddenly exclaiming, “Watch it—”

You’re suddenly jerked backwards with a hand in your hair, twisting up and yanking you down to the ground. You cry out at the sharp pain of your roots getting pulled. Lashing out, you aim your weapon to try and fire at the unseen assailant, but the weapon gets knocked out of your hands.

In a breathless moment, you’re suddenly spun around, pressed hard to someone’s chest. You’re panting, legs weak as you’re shoved upright. Whoever it is holds you up with a strong arm, pushing the muzzle of your own weapon against your temple hard enough to bruise.

You lift your eyes, looking up at Adrian in front of you. He’s— You have never seen him looking so horrified, terror written into every square inch of his face, his body language, his being. His eyes are locked on you, his hands spread.

“Put your gun down,” a voice says behind you, and you recognize it as belonging to Jason. Adrian hesitates, and Jason shoves the muzzle harder into your temple. “Now!”

“Okay, okay, I’m putting it down,” Adrian says quickly. He tosses his gun to the ground, holding his hands up, palms empty and facing outwards the both of you. You can’t stop your heaving chest, your racing heart; you can feel how close death is, and you’re shaking, unable to take your eyes off of Adrian, terrified that this will be the last thing you ever see.

“Get rid of everything,” Jason demands. “Everything else you have. And— And throw it over to me.”

Adrian evaluates you, then lets his eyes flick up to Jason. He nods, says, “Okay,” and reaches down to unbuckle his utility belt.

“Don’t—” you start to say, but Jason pulls back and draws your weapon down hard into the side of your skull. Your vision explodes, white stars bursting in front of your eyes, and your knees crumple under you, your center of gravity getting knocked sideways.

“Hey, hey!” Adrian shouts. “Don’t touch them! You don’t want them, you want— You want me, hey, hey, just— Take me! Take me instead, I’m the one you really want, right?” His voice gets faster, higher, more frantic as Jason takes a step backwards, dragging you with him. “No, hey, fuck, just— Stop it! Get off of them, take me, asshole! Fucking—”

Adrian starts to reach for his belt again, and your heart leaps into your throat. You cry out as Jason yanks you further backwards, his arm wrapping tighter around your neck, cutting off your air. You gasp, clawing at his arm, but he doesn’t release you. Instead, he only tightens his grip, and you choke.

“No!” Adrian screams. “No, stop— Stop, let them go!”

Jason cocks the gun at your head, and you whimper involuntarily, a choked-off sound that tears up out of your chest in instinctive terror. Adrian’s eyes meet yours, and you see all the fear you feel echoed back at you tenfold, agony on every inch of his face.

When you’re looking at him, Adrian’s frantic anger and panic has him twitching towards his weapons again. This time, Jason actually aims his gun down and fires at the ground. He just barely misses you; you can feel the heat from the blast, the vibration in the ear. You scream, the sound cutting off when Jason tightens his grip again, your ears ringing.

You blink, trying desperately to focus your eyes again. You find Adrian in front of you, looking like a man who’s seen unspeakable horrors. You try to suck in air, but it’s almost impossible, now.

Reaching out for him, you try to say his name, but you can’t get any words out. Adrian’s eyes leave your face for only a moment, meeting Jason’s above your head. His anger spikes into a furious rage that plateaus him into an otherworldly, distant thing you’ve never seen before. He barely even looks human for the grief and fury rampaging through his expression, his body.

“If you touch,” Adrian warns Jason, his voice low and threatening, more terrifying and serious than you’ve ever heard it, “one goddamn fucking hair on their head, I swear to you, I will cut off your fucking hands.” His voice is hard, but it breaks when he says, “And if you kill them, I will kill you. That is a fucking promise, you fucking— bag of fucking dicks, you worthless fucking piece of shit—”

Jason cocks the weapon again, and you panic, throwing your hand backwards on instinct and knocking the gun aside just as he raises and fires it. The blast goes off right next to your ear, the bullet grazing the side of your head. Jason releases you in shock, dropping you to the ground, and you collapse, pain rocketing through your skull like a burning fire, an explosion through your senses.

“No!” Adrian screams. He doesn’t sound human, either. He sounds like a dying animal, something acting on instinct, a creature without sense or thought. The next sound he makes isn’t even a word; it’s just a scream, a sound that tears up out of his chest like it has claws, horrible and bone-deep and broken and grieving.

You wish you could move, to reassure him, but your body’s not listening to you. It’s still in shock, in pain, trying to respond to the injury that has happened and the terror of what almost happened.

Your ears are still ringing, but you hear Adrian’s sobbing, even if you can’t see him, your face pressed into the dirt. Through his mania, his rabid frenzy, you hear him spit, “You— I will make you regret this,” his voice like bullets, like fire, like death. He sounds like an omen.

There’s noises you can’t make much sense of, then. Scuffling, and shouting, and, finally, a bang. You can’t move, heart pounding. You can feel blood start dripping from the side of your head, soaking into your hair.

Suddenly, there’s a gentle hand on your shoulder. The touch turns you over, moving so impossibly slowly, gingerly, tenderly. You know the hands holding you, and you could sob in relief for recognizing them as Adrian’s, overwhelmed with pounding gratitude and love for him.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian whispers. His forehead presses to yours, his arm coming to wrap tighter around you, tugging you into his chest. He makes a broken noise, a keening sound before he falls into you, pulling you up closer into his arms. “No, no, no, no, no. No! Please, I can’t— I can’t—” His words fall apart again into nothing but incoherent, wordless agony.

You’re trying to get a grip, desperately clawing back into your body. Your limbs are shaking, now, your body starting to shiver. You suck in a deliberate breath, finally, and Adrian’s crying ramps up twelve notches above you.

“Oh, my God,” Adrian says, and his hands are grabbing your face, then. It makes the pain in your head explode, and you cry out. Adrian’s hand disappears from the side that hurts, gently laying you down to the ground. “Oh, my fucking God— Thank fucking God—”

You blink your eyes open and find him above you, making yourself focus. His face is a mess, red and tear-stained and spattered with blood. There are even droplets streaked across his glasses, dripping off the frames.

When your eyes meet his, Adrian drops over you, his forehead pressing into yours again. He kisses you desperately, a hard, messy press of his lips to yours.

“Hey,” Adrian whispers to you. “Hey, I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re going to be just fine, baby.” He gathers you closer, presses a hard kiss to your cheekbone. “Hey, you’re shaking. You’re okay, just— Here, okay, let me—” He rips his jacket off, wraps it around your shoulders. “You stay right here, okay? I’ll be right back.” At your terrified expression, he says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe. This won’t take long.”

You nod, and the motion causes a new rocket of pain to slither through your skull and down your spine. Adrian gently tilts your head so he can examine the side of it where the bullet skimmed you. His glove gingerly touches your hair, and you flinch, unable to control it. His hand comes away, but not before you both see your blood on the leather.

Adrian’s staring down at your blood on his hand with an unreadable expression. After a moment, he bows again, kissing you hard before he separates you. Laying you gingerly on the ground, he leaves you there for only a moment. You watch as he walks behind you, out of your line of sight.

You hear him say, “I warned you,” just before you hear him cock his gun and fire once, then twice. There’s a beat, and then he’s unloading his gun, bullet after bullet fired until both your ears are ringing and he’s panting and you’re shaking, even with his jacket.

When there’s no bullets left, you just hear empty clicks. Adrian keeps hitting the trigger a few times before it seems to register the gun is actually empty. Once he does, there’s a soft thud as he tosses the empty weapon aside.

Swiftly, he returns to you. His arm slides under your shoulders, beneath your back, the other under your knees, and he lifts you in one fluid movement.

When you flinch, he says, “I know. I know, it hurts. You’re going to be okay, though.” He kisses you on the forehead and starts walking. The truck you borrowed to drive out here is at the end of the long driveway, and he just starts walking towards it, carrying you as if you weigh nothing, his strides long and fast. “It’s all over now, he’s gone. I’ll take you to— to Chris, he’ll know what to do. I’ll call him— I’ll call everyone on the way, they’ll help us.” He kisses you hard between the eyes, then exhales raggedly. “Oh, shit. You cannot fucking do that to me again, I can’t— I can’t take it, I can’t do that. That’s too fucking much.”

You huff, letting the side of your head that doesn’t burn with pain fall against his chest. Clinging to him, you manage to say, “I’m sorry,” your chest aching.

“Oh, God, don’t be,” he tells you. He finally gets you to the truck, opening the door without losing his grip on you. He loads you carefully into the front, maneuvering so he can climb into the driver’s seat and get your head into his lap, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Can you drive like this?” you ask him, holding him tight. His jacket is heavy across you, warming you up, holding you close.

He starts the car with one hand, that same hand then moving to take the wheel. His other hand stays under your head, cradling you close.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says simply, and that’s that. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, still barely processing the pain in the first place, and you’re sure you’ll have a full meltdown over this later, but—

—But, right now, you’re only comforted by Adrian’s closeness, and you hang tight to him, even as you drift into a foggy sleep.

Your sleep is dreamless, aimless. It’s a hazy nothing, and you’re awoken by shouting, by hands on you, someone jerking you by the shoulders.

“Don’t!” Adrian’s voice calls, and you’re abruptly terrified. You’re disoriented, you have no idea where you are, and you’re suddenly sure that Jason has somehow returned, that he didn’t actually die and that you’re back in his arms.

You realize then, though, when you open your eyes, that the ceiling is white and rushing above you. You tilt your head, and you see a nurse at your side, a doctor behind her. Both of them are looking ahead, not looking at you.

Behind you, Adrian says, “Goddamn you, let me come! You can’t take them away from me—”

You try to twist back to find him, but a hand stops you, keeping you flat to the bed. You contort to push it away, but your hands are attached to something that stings when you pull. You cry out, then throw your head back again, heedless of the pain it brings.

“Adrian,” you call backwards, terror making your pulse spike. You can’t see him, can’t find him, don’t know where you are. You look up to a face above you, tearfully begging, “Please, I need him, I—”

The nurse gives in, in the face of your mounting hysteria. She motions backwards, and suddenly Adrian is bursting into your vision, sprinting alongside the hospital bed you’ve been placed on.

He takes your hand, soothing the sting, kissing your palm.

“Hey,” he says, and squeezes your wrist. “You’re in the hospital, okay? You’re going to be alright. Emilia knows some people here, she said. You’ll be okay, and I’ll be right here the whole time, I promise.” He kisses the center of your palm again, hard, then pushes his face into your hand. “I’m not letting you go again, I swear. I swear.” His lips brush the pulse point in your wrist when he says, “You’re mine.”

As long as Adrian’s with you, you’ll let them take you anywhere they want you to go. If he’s here, you can trust that he won’t let anything happen to you. You turn yourself over to them— to him— knowing that everything is going to be okay because he’s here to make sure of it.

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy

#anonymous #answered #reader #reader insert #honeycombstrawberry #gender neutral reader #gn reader #adrian chase #vigilante #peacemaker #peacemaker tv #dcu #dceu #dc comics #dc #adrian chase imagine #adrian chase x reader #vigilante imagine #vigilante x reader

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

Note

Aloy and Beta and fun sibling shit? (or angsty sibling shit 👀)

{I don't know if this is any good ahhhhhh, will defo write more sibling bonding stuff at some point tho, no worries. Still working on pinpointing their speech patterns (it's much easier for me to notice their physical habits). Anyway, this has some spoilers for the main story of Forbidden West, but not much is directly stated? I tried to keep the plot references vague enough for those wanting to read this before getting that far in the game.} {Side note: Probably could/should have spent more time editing this, but I was having a lot of anxiety with it, and if I tried to keep editing it until I was satisfied... I would never actually post it.}

Splitting Hairs

Fandom: Horizon Forbidden West Rating: G(eneral audiences) Warnings: None Summary: Beta needs a haircut, and Aloy is slightly more qualified for the task than the others at the Base. Semi awkward sibling bonding session.

-----

“Here goes nothing…”

Stepping into the basement was never fun. At best, it was a necessary evil, just another obligation that came alongside trying to save the world. That was the way Aloy used to see it, at least. But the more social of her allies (Varl and Zo, mostly) had been urging her for weeks to try a different approach.

“Maybe,” Zo had said, “you would enjoy speaking with Beta if you did not go in expecting to hate it? It’s worth a try.” At the time, Aloy had made an excuse about priorities, about how the world was literally going to end if she did not accomplish her tasks in time.

And then she had returned from Landfall. Preparing to trap HEPHAESTUS within Gemini, needing to enlist Beta’s assistance, leading to a long overdue conversation. While they hadn’t exactly become the best of friends, they had reached a mutual understanding. More than that, they had finally established a trust in each other, a foundation that the rest of their interactions could be built upon.

That had been two days ago, now. Although everyone was getting antsy about their plans, Aloy was still recovering from her trip to the isle of spires. For once in her life she agreed that she needed to rest. Securing HEPHAESTUS was too important to take unnecessary risks, and going in injured was practically begging for things to go wrong. As such… she had been staying at the base as much as possible. Thankfully, there were plenty of things she could do to further prepare for the upcoming mission, which alleviated the restlessness she felt.

At the moment, that meant seeing if Beta needed any assistance. Maybe also, you know, checking to see if she was doing alright.

“-sorting out the malignant data will be easier if we divide the processes into their relevant streams, but focusing too much on one section could cause HEPHAESTUS to adapt, shoring up the other areas,” a voice becomes clear as Aloy descends further into the Base, undoubtedly Beta speaking to herself. A habit gained from her isolated childhood, one that she shared with Aloy. “Having two Sobeck clones should help with that. What if it’s not enough? What if we don’t finish in time and Zenith- no, no, stop it, we have to do it. Failure isn’t an option, failure isn’t an option, failure is not an option.”

“Everything okay down here?” Aloy calls out, leaning against the doorframe as she does. The question has an obvious answer, but asking it was her way of announcing her presence, as well as her intentions.

“Yes?” Beta stutters, every bit as unconvinced by her answer as Aloy was. For a moment she avoids making eye contact, wringing her hands together, carefully selecting her next words. “Not really. But I’ll be fine, it’s a minor inconvenience and it shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, I really just need to adjust to it-” she runs a hand through her hair as she speaks, only to flinch halfway through the motion, eyes clamping shut. When they reopen, she gives Aloy an apologetic smile. “You’d probably think I’m crazy.”

“And you’d probably think I’m crazy for fighting a Thunderjaw on my own,” Aloy counters with a shrug. Although Beta does nod in eager agreement, she does not immediately open up about what’s bothering her, and Aloy decides to pry just a tad further. “I won’t judge you, okay? I can’t promise that I’ll understand, but at this point I think I can accept that we’re different people, with different experiences. Besides, maybe I can help.” With a deep breath, Beta at last relented.

“My hair is getting longer,” she explains, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I can see that,” Aloy replies, stiffly, only after several seconds of silence. Now that she thought about it, Beta’s hair was getting messier than when she first arrived, the style not quite meshing with its growing length. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything on its own. Seeing as Beta didn’t offer up an elaboration, however, Aloy figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a guess at the actual root of the problem. “Do you… want me to cut it for you?”

At that, Beta fumbles a little. First she goes perfectly still, then her eyes dart between meaningless spots, her head tilting to the side. One of her hands moves forth to her chin, and she becomes lost in thought. Something about her expression (the way her eyes went wide, perhaps) made it seem like she hadn’t previously considered a haircut. Or, more likely, she just hadn’t realized that Aloy would be willing to help. After a few moments of relatively awkward silence… Beta looks back up with a tiny nod.

“That would be better than doing nothing,” she practically squeaks, exuding as much nervous energy as she always did. “You would certainly do a better job than if I tried cutting it myself. Or if Erend tried. Zo might do a good job, now that I think about it, and she is always offering to help me,” she starts to ramble, voice trailing off into a quiet murmur. Suddenly she seems to realize what she’s doing, and cuts herself off mid sentence, clearing her throat before once more speaking at a regular volume. “But you’re here and you already asked. So… if you can spare the time, I would be grateful.”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I couldn’t. Let me grab a couple things, then we can get started, alright?”

-----

“So… just want it shorter, or do you want to try something new?” Aloy asks, internally hoping for the former option. Honestly, she wasn’t even a hundred percent confident about just giving Beta a quick trim. Over the past year or so, she had only needed to cut her own hair once, and the effort was made much easier by the fact that the length was uniform. By the looks of it, Beta’s hair was a bit more varied. No fancy layering, or anything like that, but it wouldn’t be as simple as pulling it into a ponytail and chopping off the end.

“Just a couple inches off, please,” Beta answers, quickly. She’s sitting in front of Aloy, facing away, some scrap fabric laid over her shoulders to catch fallen hair. Though they’re still in the basement, they elected to sit away from the servers. The last thing either of them wanted was for a few stray strands to end up in the casing (and potentially causing a plethora of problems).

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Hopefully,” Aloy said, muttering the last part under her breath. A spark of nervousness forms in her chest, even though she’s starting with combing, as opposed to skipping straight to cutting. Part of her is already regretting volunteering to do this. Were the stakes particularly high? Not at all. But she had barely started to bond with Beta, and messing up a task that she offered to do would not be a great second step. It’s okay, Aloy, she thinks, if you can hit a Thunderjaw in the heart, while sliding downhill, at fifteen or more meters, then you can handle giving a haircut.

Running a comb through Beta’s hair is surprisingly easy. There aren’t any real tangles or knots, and the strands aren’t terribly thick. More than that, the hair is incredibly soft, despite the basic nature of tribal shampoo. Aloy can’t help but wonder what it felt like back when Beta had access to whatever fancy conditioner Far Zenith used. Up until this point, she hadn’t fully understood why the Ancient Ones cared so much about hair care; beyond taking basic care of it, that is. They did seem to enjoy soft things, she muses, setting the comb aside for now.

“I didn’t think my hair getting long would bother me so much,” Beta mumbles, out of the blue, more to herself than to Aloy. All the while she’s fidgeting with her hands, doing her best not to move her head at all. For someone as twitchy as her, she was doing a great job, channeling her nervous energy into something inconsequential.

“Your hair is pretty short,” Aloy says, still confused about the exact nature of Beta’s discomfort.

“Comparatively,” Beta all but snaps, much harsher than she had intended. “It’s long to me, alright? Longer than it’s ever been. My ‘caretakers’ never let it get any longer than it was when we met.” With that said, she moves her head the slightest bit, staring down at her hands. Though Aloy cannot see her face, it’s not hard to guess that Beta is frowning- that there’s a tremor to her lips, a shake that will not be denied.

“If that’s the case, do you really want to cut it now? If you’ve ever wanted to let it grow out, now is as good of a time as ever to start,” Aloy carefully offers. There’s more that she wants to say, comfort that she wants to provide, but has no idea how to articulate. All she can bring herself to do is place a gentle hand on Beta’s shoulder, a gesture of reassurance that Rost had shown her many times.

“I’m sure. I,” Beta stutters a little, then takes a deep breath and tries again, “I’m sure. The sensory input has changed too much to be comfortable. If we weren’t working under limited time I could afford the distraction… but right now I feel strange every time I turn my head to the side and my hair tickles my neck, or when I try to sleep and it takes longer to find a good spot- though I suppose that second one might just be because of my bed’s quality. Or lack thereof.”

“I think I understand. Once Gaia is fully restored, and we’re in the clear, you’ll be free to try all sorts of new things. Maybe I can even pass on some of the braiding styles Rost taught me.” With a pair of fine Oseram scissors (picked up during her last trip to Chainscrape, as part of a set of tools) in hand, Aloy lines up the first cut, only slightly less nervous than before.

Snip. Snip. The first few strands of hair fall, and the two of them both release the breath they had been holding. No turning back now, Aloy thinks. At this point her attention shifted entirely to the task at hand. There were more things she could say, either of kind visions of the future or questions about Beta’s time with the Zenith, but they were better saved for another time. One where she wasn’t holding a bladed tool adjacent to someone’s neck.

A few minutes pass in relative quiet, with the worst offender being the sound of Erend’s music drifting through one of the vents. At this distance, with the way the notes twist within the metal, it actually makes for decent white noise. Mixed with the sound of the scissors clicking together, Beta finds herself more relaxed than she had been in quite some time. And soon enough she would have one less thing to worry about! Even now, she can feel the first signs of change, as the air moves around her. Already her hair seems less suffocating (to put it as dramatically as possible, of course).

“Does your hair ever bother you?” Beta asks, eventually, once Aloy sets the scissors aside. There’s still a bit left to do, mainly checking to ensure that she hadn’t completely messed up the cut. At Beta’s question, Aloy pauses briefly, then gives a soft noise of disagreement. “You’re always running across the country, climbing and jumping around, fighting mechanical animal amalgamations with hundreds of complex, interconnected parts… wouldn’t it make sense to minimize loose materials? What if your hair got caught in something? Couldn’t someone grab you by it?”

“Most people who get close enough for that don’t really bother. If they’re close enough to grab my hair, they’re close enough to try and stab me… which is why I do most of my fighting at a distance,” Aloy explains, sounding oddly amused considering the subject matter. “Besides, my hair has been this way for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure I could get used to even having it pulled all the way back, let alone cutting it short.” Satisfied with how Beta’s hair looked, Aloy reaches for a handheld mirror she had borrowed from upstairs (she wasn’t entirely sure who it belonged to, but it had been left in a shared space, so she didn’t feel guilty about taking it). Handing it over to Beta, she all but held her breath in anticipation. “What do you think?”

Several long, quiet seconds drag on, as Beta moves her head around, inspecting every aspect of her haircut. Admittedly, she did not care much about how it looked. But the movement also helped her experience the shift in sensory input, so, well, might as well see if everything looked alright. In the end, she gives a small nod before setting the mirror aside. Then she turns in place to better face Aloy.

“This should be a lot less distracting,” she says, smiling softly. A beat passes before she suddenly speaks again, as if suddenly remembering her manners. “Thank you!” They both laugh a little at that.

“Anytime. If you need anything else… don’t be afraid to ask, alright?” Aloy stands up as she speaks, smiling all the while. “We’re all in this together- even with the little things.”

#aloy horizon #hfw aloy #hfw beta #aloy & beta #clone siblings #what the fuck do i tag this as #i dont think i have ever published a platonic fic on this site before lmao #at least ao3 has different tags for platonic vs romantic #no idea how to express that here

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shockinglysubmissive · 3 years ago

Text

One Day Down

WARNINGS: Stripping, Fingering (Reader receiving), Squirting

This is my piece for @missuga Love and Lockdown Collab

WC: 2K

“One day down, 13 more to go. Care to play a game to kill some time?” Your boyfriend asks, looking through your closest of board games. The pandemic had shut everything down, and Kuroo was unable to take the bus back to his apartment, so you two were trapped together for the next two weeks. He doesn’t wait for your response, finding a box and tugging it out of the stack carefully. “How about this one? It will kill at least two hours.” He holds out Monopoly, a smirk spread across his face.

“No way Tetsu! You get way too competitive! We still have nearly two weeks together. We can’t start hating each other already.” Despite your disagreeing words, you start to clear off the coffee table in front of you for the board. He sits down across from you, using a pillow to make the hardwood floor more comfortable.

“Oh. You are so mistaken. It won’t be a normal game of monopoly. Oh no no no Kitten, this will be so much more.” His eyes narrow, sliding a piece of paper over to you. You unfold it and scan over it quickly.

Shoes: $50

Socks or Tights: $50

Sweater or Jacket: $50

Shirt or Top: $100

Pants or Skirt: $100

Dress: $200

Bra: $300

Underwear: $500

“Are… are you serious? Strip monopoly?” You can’t help but giggle as he starts sorting cards. You don’t notice when he slips a stack of cards from his pocket, mixing them into the stack until they are mixed in fully. “If you wanted to see me naked you could have just asked to join me in the shower.” You add.

“ But this will be so much more fun. Seeing you all angry, your pretty tits pushed together with crossed arms because you realize you have to sell your panties and lose the game.” He sets the chance cards on their spot and sets the player pieces out on the board for you to pick.

Your fingers trace the ship, smirking as you pick it up and hand it to him. “Here you can be the ship because you’re going down.” You flash him an innocent smile as he picks up the dog.

“Fine, but you’ll be this one because I’m going to make you my bitch.” He says simply, eyes shining with joking excitement. You distribute the money, rolling your eyes as you start the game.

After a few turns, you had to sell your shirt for money to buy a property, and Kuroo sold his pants to pay for landing on your space. On your next turn, you land on a Chance space. You read it and blush bright red, having drawn one of the cards he had slipped in.

“Money is tight. Give another player a lapdance to steal an item of clothing from them.” Not giving him the chance to tease you for blushing, you move to his side of the table, straddling his lap and give him a half hearted dance. Tugging on the bottom of his shirt, you pull it over his head and put it on yourself. “Thank you for your shirt. Looks like I am fully dressed again.” You take your seat on the other side of the table again. He blinks at you slightly taken aback. “What? I never said that I would make this easy on you.“ You look at him innocently, Adjusting his shirt, which is too big for you.

A growl rumbles in his chest. He knows that you are winning, that doesn't stop him from being competitive. “The game's not over yet. I said I would make you my bitch, and I still intend to do that. I'm just letting you win for the moment because you look so cute when you smile.” Although he is smiling, there is a bit of anger in his words. You have known him for years, and Tetsu can be very competitive. He enjoys being the cunning one who wins. He hates when you are able to beat him without even trying to.

“ Mm.. Ok whatever makes you happy. I’ll let you believe that you will win.” You count your money, and organize the properties that you have collected so far. Unaware of the anger filling your boyfriend, his dick hardens seeing his shirt slide down your shoulder some.

The game continues for many more turns, clothes being sold, but chance cards giving clothes back. In the final few turns, Kuroo buys hotels for his blue properties, and you land on them. One having $50, and your panties left, you had to give up, letting your boyfriend win. Despite getting exactly what he wanted, he didn’t look happy. Your arms are crossed over your chest, a small pout settling on your face wanting him to look at you. Instead he just packs up the game.

“What’s wrong with you? You won! You get to see me naked and you’re still huffing and pouting like a child. What more do you want?” You demand, knowing that this game would end poorly. He glances up at you, his expression is unreadable. He stays silent, still refusing to acknowledge you, a slight scowl on his face. “Kuroo! I knew this game was a bad idea. I’m just going to bed. You can sleep on the couch if you want to keep acting like this.”

“You’ve been teasing me this whole game.” He says simply. You look shocked. Of all the reasons for him to be mad, it was because you teased him. Your boyfriend is known for being a giant tease, and he can’t handle receiving any.

“Hate to break it to you, but you were taunting me way more than I was with you. You get too competitive.” You mumble, grabbing your clothes to get dressed again. “I played the game that you wanted! You always tease me, so I thought I could do the same. Guess I was wrong. I will give you your space.” Houses and hotels are scattered as he drops them to grab your wrist, pulling you to make you sit on your knees so that you can see how his boxers have a large spot of precum soaking through. You swear that you can see him throbbing, even though the fabric.

His grip tightens as he begins to speak. “Biting your lip while thinking, letting your tits bounce when you get excited, slowly sliding off every piece of clothing. Oh and let's not forget the way that your fingertips would absent-mindedly drift to your exposed nipples. You would play it off like you were playing with your hair, but I saw the way your breathing changed.” He leans his face closer to yours, letting his warm breath fan against your ear. “We have 13 days let before we can leave this apartment, and I intend to fuck you so good you can’t walk right until then, understood?” He whispers in your ear. You swallow hard and nod, knowing that he will do just that.

Even when the sex between you both is slow and full of love and passion, he never fails to leave you so fucked out that you lose all ability to think. Seeing the look in his eyes from wanting you so bad, you knew that you were in for a lot of aches tomorrow.

He shoves the remaining game pieces on the floor, setting you on the coffee table. Using the fact that you lost, and were fully undressed to his advantage, he settles himself on his knees between your legs. “Think you can take me, or do you need me to stretch you out?” His voice is gentle as his fingers trace along your already slick folds. Unable to wait for you to answer, he slips his long middle finger into you. A soft moan leaves his lips as you lift your hips to feel his finger deeper. His own need is overshadowed by the desire to make you cum.

“Want more. Please Tetsu. I want you to stretch me out.” Your voice comes out a bit whinier than you hoped, desperate to feel the deep feelings that only he can give you. Taking mercy on you, he slides his ring finger in, curling both until he finds your g-spot. He quickens his ministrations, savoring in the way you react to him. His cock twitches, but he ignores it, too lost in the moans coming from your mouth.

When his thumb starts to circle your clit, you instinctively try to pull away, feeling pressure building in your core. “Ah. No moving.” He presses down just above your pelvic bone, creating more stimulation against your sweet spot. You squirm even more, feeling as if you may explode if the pressure builds any more. “Let go baby. Stop holding back. Relax.” His lips graze down your inner thigh.

At his words, the pressure releases, and you soak his hand with your cum. Your vision blurs and your hands roam to find something to hold on to. Settling for gripping your chest, your hips grind weakly against his hand until you become too sensitive.

He finally removes his hand, fingers dripping with your cum. Popping his fingers in his mouth, he lets out a soft moan. “Fuck I will never get tired of how good you taste.” He leans down and laps at your cum soaked folds. His delicate kitten licks move to your clit and you try to pull away.

“Tetsu… I want you to fuck me. I want you to feel good too.” You tug his hair to pull him up to look at you, eyes begging him to stuff you full. He hesitates for a moment, wanting to continue tasting you, but also wanting to fuck you so hard that neither one of you can think straight anymore. “Baby.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he is hovering over you.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you attach your lips to his, opening your mouth just enough that his tongue slips into your mouth. His tongue tastes faintly like your cum, and you can’t help but blush. You slide your hands down his chest, clumsily tugging his boxers down. Pumping his cock to smear the precum, you move to line him up with your entrance.

“My needy girl. Don’t worry. I’m going to make you feel so good. I’m gonna make you cum all over me.” He pushes into you with one fluid snap of his hips. Your walls clamp down around him, already trying to milk him for all the cum he has. “If you aren’t… fuck… if you don’t stop I won’t be able… oh god… to move.” He half begs, trying to keep control as he rocks against you.

“Can’t help it. You just feel so good in me. I want to cum around you already.” Your voice comes out as needy, body already teetering on the edge just from his tip kissing your cervix as he rocks against it. Still sensitive from your first intense orgasm, then his tongue teasing every inch of your pussy, you feel as if you could cum again.

“Not yet baby. Just hold off for a little longer. I want you to cum with me.” He grits his teeth as he builds up to a steady pace. Tears start to well in your eyes as it becomes almost painful to not cum. “It’s okay. Just breathe. It’s going to be okay. A little longer. It will feel so good when you finally cum with me.” He tries to calm your nerves, kissing away the tear that slipped down your cheek.

You cling to his shoulders, mind going numb, and only being able to think about how good his dick is making you feel. “Cum for me. Fuck.” His voice tugs you back to reality just enough to realize you no longer have to hold back. Creaming all over him, you moan his name against his neck, trembling in his arms as he fucks his cum into you.

It takes you both a few moments to come back down from your highs, suddenly aware of the discomfort you feel from the coffee table. “Game night was fun, but can we fuck somewhere more comfortable tomorrow?” You ask softly, giggling softly against his shoulder.

@bummie @izukine @writesmcgee

#kuroo tetsur��#kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #hq #haikyuu #hq smut #haikyuu smut #✨.crystal warnings

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peachbear88 · 3 years ago

Text

Unrequited Love (Pt 3)

A/N: Last part. I think. Yeah. WEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Sorry ending was a bit rushed

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

"I need to talk to you."

You and Nat look up to see Wanda, fidgeting nervously. Nat's eyebrows narrow as you gulp, nodding you consent to Wanda.

"I'll be back in a second." You tell Nat as Wanda drags you off, her fingers entwined with yours.

-----------

Your back hits the wall of cool metal lockers, knocking the wind out of you as arms go up on either side of you.

"W-Wanda, what are you doing?" You stutter, your breath hitching as her face inches closer. She ignores your question, her nose practically touching yours.

"What do you think I'm doing? Same reason as why I invited you over to my house." She arches an eyebrow, her breath tickling your neck.

"For h-help? You need help?" You ask weakly and she sighs, mentally facepalming.

"No, Y/N, I'm a straight A student, I never needed help." She leans impossibly closer and you gulp, the smell of cinnamon and cranberries infiltrating your senses. "I just wanted to be with you." She leans in, kissing you passionately, her tongue exploring your mouth. You sigh, melting slightly before pulling away.

"No. You can't do this. You have Vision and oh god, Vision..." You gasp, remembering Nat's warning from the other day. "If he finds out, he'll kill me." Wanda watches you pace back and forth frantically. "Oh jeez- I gotta go." You mutter, making your way towards the door but Wanda catches your wrist.

"I know you like me too." You freeze, your heart stopping. You gently pry her fingers off your wrist before exiting the locker room.

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

"What did Wanda want?"

You stiffen but Nat doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh. uh, she just wanted to ask about some homework stuff." Nat snorts but leaves it at that, not pushing you further. The two of you arrive at the lockers, ready to go home and pass out. Visions of Wanda pushing you up against the lockers flash inside your head but you shove them away, opening your locker as another rose falls out. Nat snatches it away as you lunge for it.

"Seriously? Another one? This person must be a serial rose killer." Nat jokes and you snort as she reads the note aloud. "Meet me at the bleachers, 8PM." She squeals as you snatch the note from her, your eyes scanning the note for yourself. "God, that sounds like a trap. They could be a serial killer!" Nat frets and you chuckle.

"I thought you said they were a serial rose killer?" You tease and she elbows you, making you double over playfully.

"Jerk. I'm just looking out for you." She mutters and you take pity on her, slinging an arm over her shoulder while adjusting your backpack with the other.

"If you're that concerned, you can come with me." You say but she brushes you off, laughing.

"And ruin your secret date? No thanks." She retorts before slipping into her car. "Good luck, don't die and tell me everything tomorrow." You smile as you hop onto your bike.

"Don't worry, I will." You reassure her as your engine roars to life, steering you home.

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

You pull the baseball cap further down on your head, leaving only a sliver over your face visible as you climb over the rusty metal fence surrounding the school. Falling into the shadows, you make your way to the football field where the metal bleachers stand. You slip behind the bleachers and let out a sigh of relief as you got here with no problems whatsoever. You check your watch. It reads "8:13". A voice comes up from behind you. A familiar Sokovian accent to be specific.

"I thought you wouldn't come." You jump, clamping a hand over Wanda's mouth who looks equally surprised at your sudden movement.

"Jesus Wanda! What are you doing here?" She raises an eyebrow and you quickly remove your hand.

"You're quite dense aren't you?" She teases, raising her left hand. A hand with at least half a dozen rings. Suddenly the metal ring on your metal finger feels tighter.

"You- Wha- You're the serial rose killer?" You sputter and she stares at you. "Sorry, just a nickname Nat came up with." Wanda's eyebrows furrow at the mention of Natasha.

"Nat? That girl that's always hanging around with you? The one that held hands with you the other day?" She growls and now it's your turn to smirk.

"What? Jealous?" You prod her teasingly. She looks so furious that you can practically imagine steam coming out of her ears. "Hold on. How did you know that we held hands?" She stares at you, stepping closer.

"So you are dating her?" You backpedal a little, trying to increase the distance between the two of you.

"What? No. Holding hands can be a platonic thing." You mutter, tugging at your shirt collar nervously. She moves even closer, pinning you against the brick wall behind the bleachers.

"Do you define kissing as platonic?" She whispers and your eyes drop to the floor before she yanks your chin up and kisses you roughly. You gasp a little and she smirks against your lips. Eventually, you break apart for air.

"Wanda. I already said no. Vision will literally-" She cuts you off.

"Vision won't be doing anything. He's out of the picture." Your eyes widen.

"He's dead?!" You cry in distress and she bursts into silent fits of laughter.

"No! I broke up with him doofus." She whispers, grabbing your hands with her own, soft hands. The cold metal of her rings makes you shiver. "So what do you say?" You contemplate your situation. She likes you. You like her. Vision is no longer there. By the time you've come to a conclusion, it's like Wanda lost all her confidence. "I mean, it's okay if you don't want to." She retracts her hands, rambling. "Sorry for making you do this. I'll just go. I don't even know why I-" You interrupt her by grabbing her waist and pulling her closer to you.

"Wanda Maximoff, shut up and kiss me."

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

Hi everyone! That was the rushed ending of Unrequited Love. The last line of the story was inspired by @silver-lotus's "Not Into Guys" story.

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikuismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda fluff #wanda angst #wanda maximoff #marvel #wanda x y/n

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hispipsqueak · 4 years ago

Text

Just One Time

Asahi x F!Reader - NSFW

TW: Angsty, cheating, scumbag reader, manipulation, pregnancy trapping, unprotected sex, sugar daddy Asahi, age gap (reader in mid twenties tho not specified) Asahi in 50′s, unprotected sex, daddy kink

WC: 2.5K

Summary: Asahi’s in a bad marriage and you are there to liven it up...or are you?

A/N: I woke up today and chose violence I guess. @cozykozume and @hiskittyyywrites read this and yelled at me so if you want to yell, I feel that. This started off as a sugar daddy Asahi fic but....we got this instead. Also I really want to hug Asahi. I apologize in advance.

All characters are 18+

It was only supposed to be one time.

Fuck.

It wasn’t even supposed to be one time.

Asahi wasn’t sure how the hell he ended up like this. You were hired to work on his show, doing makeup for the models. His job in the fashion industry put him around beautiful men and women every day, dressing them and posing them. Hell, he saw them naked and yet you, just you sitting there sipping on the glass of champagne at the after party for yet another successful campaign launch had his stomach in knots.

You smirked into your glass as you saw the older designer not so subtly watching you from across the room. Standing up you walked over to the tall man and placed a hand on his chest.

“Great show Mr. Azumane.” You smiled at him. You could feel him tense under his button up shirt.

“Uh, oh you can just call me Asahi. Y-yeah, you did an excellent job on their makeup as well. Your name is Y/N right?”

You laughed, “Oh it’s so sweet you remembered. Most designers never pay attention to the crew...though you are certainly not like most designers.” With this, you slid your hand down his chest. “You’re so built for a fashion designer too.”

Asahi’s face reddened, and he choked on his drink.

“Uh, I uh, used to play volleyball a lot...and work out and stuff...sort of.” He stammered out and you let out another flirty giggle.

“Clearly. You look amazing. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Asahi was hyper aware of your hand on his chest roaming toward his bicep. Your nails grazed his skin. You gazed into his eyes and winked, before finishing your drink and putting the empty glass on the shelf behind him.

“Well...I guess I’m going to head out. Would you walk me out? I’m a little tipsy.”

The next thing you knew, you and Asahi were in the bathroom, his mouth on your neck. Your dress was tugged down below your chest and his fingers made quick work of your bra, throwing it across the room. He groped your tits, pinching and tugging at your nipples. You moaned out and he clapped his hand over your mouth.

“Shh...we can’t get caught.” His dark eyes stared into yours and yours widened.

“Of course.”

Your eyes fell to the silver band on his left hand and your heart raced. Yes of course sleeping with an older married man was probably going to send you to hell, but fuck...it was hot.

You could see him becoming unsure, so you slid your hands to his belt, undoing it before dropping to your knees. You gazed up at him, doe-eyed and Asahi’s resolve crumbled, as he nodded. Your fingers grazed his boxer-clad member.

“Fuck, you’re so big. Can’t wait to taste you.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his lower abs.

Asahi groaned out as you pulled out his cock, stroking him. Your other hand cupped his balls and he bit his lip to stifle his moan. Slipping him into your mouth, you swirled your tongue around the tip, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“Fuck that f-feels incredible.” Asahi’s panted out. He placed his hands above your head, nervous to put any pressure on you. You grinned.

“You can touch me. Let me take care of you daddy.”

You took him further down your throat, and his hands fell to your hair as you bobbed up and down his cock. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to grip your hair tightly.

“F-fuck Y/N. You feel amazing. You’re so good.” Asahi muttered, his eyes closed. It had been so long, too fucking long since someone had worshipped him like this. Your mouth was divine and your moans caused his whole body to tremble. He could feel your throat clench around his cock, as you took him impossibly deeper and he looked down at you. Your eyes were glassy, your lipstick was smudged and you looked so incredibly lewd as you swallowed around his cock.

“Want to make you feel good. Let me have you.” Asahi grunted, pulling you up and bending you over the sink. You met his eyes in the mirror as he lined himself up with your entrance, before digging around in his slacks.

“Shit, condom. What…” He started. You giggled.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You arched your back more and looked up at him.

“Please, daddy?”

Fuck it. Asahi sunk into you and you pressed your hand over your mouth. The stretch burned, and you felt like you were being split in half on his cock. He towered over you as he continued pushing his length into you and finally stilled to a stop.

“You okay?” He asked, seeing your body quivering in the mirror. You grinded your hips slowly as a response, stretching yourself on him. As you moved, the pain subsided until all you felt was pleasure. Seeing you work yourself on his cock had Asahi feral. His hands kneaded your ass and hips, feeling how your body begged for him and craved his touch,

“God, beautiful. You take me so well. You’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered out, slowly pumping himself into you. He looked in the mirror as he fucked you, watched as your lips parted to spill moans that sounded like heaven to his ears. He could see your tits bounce with every thrust and it spurred him on even more. He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn’t be fucking a girl twenty years younger than him in a bathroom at his party but when you looked up at him in the mirror, your eyeliner running down your cheeks and begged for daddy to fuck you harder, well he could only thrust into you faster and harder.

The sound of slapping skin filled the small room, only broken up by soft pants from both of you in an attempt to keep quiet, though you were failing. You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and felt yourself slamming towards your peak as well.

“I’m so close, so close angel.” Asahi mumbled, his hand clutching the counter so tightly you were sure it would break.

“Cum inside me, fill me up. Fuck fuck FUCK!”, you moaned out as your cunt clenched around his cock. His hips stuttered and you felt him shoot his load deep inside your hole. You could feel his cock throbbing as it filled you, and he could feel the fluttering of your pussy as it sucked every drop out of him.

The two of you collapsed in a heap on the counter, and as you cleaned yourself up, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek before sneaking out of the room. Asahi ran some cold water, splashed his face, and tried to bury the memory of this occurrence.

It was just supposed to be one time.

But when he got home to a dark house, he couldn’t help but be consumed by thoughts of you. He quietly slipped into his bedroom, praying his wife wouldn’t suspect a thing. He undressed, slipping into bed.

“Sorry I’m so late, the party ran pretty…”

“Can you just hush? I’m trying to sleep and you have to be so loud.” his wife snapped, turning her back to him.

Asahi mumbled a soft apology, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Asahi, seriously I’m not in the fucking mood, can you just go to bed?” She shrugged him off. He turned to stare at the ceiling.

It was just one time...right?

Days passed and he tried to push past the guilt he felt by going out of his way for his wife. He set up a reservation for a fancy dinner at an exclusive restaurant in the city, The owner had a daughter who was apparently a big fan of Asahi’s designs so he was able to pull some strings and get a table.

“Hey honey, I got us reservations for dinner tonight. You can wear that pretty red dress I like.” He smiled at her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“I hate that dress. Why are we even going out? That place is ridiculously expensive.”

Asahi felt his face get hot.

“W-well okay, what would you like to do tonight?”

Still fiddling with her phone, she shrugged.

“Why do we have to do anything? We aren’t young people. God, you don’t get enough partying with your little fashion stuff?”

Asahi looked down at the floor.

“The place was pretty hard to get in. We really should go.” He stammered out, hoping she would change her mind.

She yawned. “Can’t you just take someone from work or something?”

-----

That was how one time turned to two.

Asahi couldn’t help it. You were so...fun. You hung onto his every word, asking him questions and laughing at his jokes. Your hands were always on him, his thighs, his arms, his chest. You looked at him like he hung the moon.

In turn, he loved spoiling you, lavishing you with high fashion pieces, unreleased from his collection. His guilt for not spending all his time with you led to him making up for it in material goods, which you definitely didn’t mind.

And the sex. God the sex.

You worshipped his cock, begged for him to ruin you. You were adventurous, letting him take control of you, teasing him in public, your fingers grazing his cock through his slacks, shooting him flirty looks as he blushed furiously.

Two times turned into five times, which soon led to a full blown affair. Asahi “worked late” so often, he was sure he’d be caught, but his house was always dark when he came home, his wife in bed asleep.

Yet, his phone had pictures of you, pictures you had taken in his clothes, in the lingerie he bought you that cost more than some people’s entire outfits.

His body still thought about you, the faces you made as you pleaded for his cock. He could imagine the chanting of “daddy” that fell from your lips as he fucked you brainless. Many nights, like tonight, he headed to his shower just to jack off to pictures and videos of your escapades. Your breathy moans filled his ear buds as he gripped the wall, imagining your writhing body underneath him, your warm cunt clamping down on his cock instead of his hand.

He came with a groan, cum splattering on the tile wall. Breathing hard, he turned the hot water on full blast.

Coming down, he watched the water wash his mess down the drain. He hated this feeling, the aftermath of his actions. Knowing his wife was asleep in the next room while he was getting off to his side piece. What kind of man was he? Yes, things had been not so great with his wife recently. But he still loved her...right?

Even if he didn’t want to answer that question and unpack that whole mess, she deserved respect. Not a husband who snuck around behind her back. He had to decide.

His eyes cast themselves down to his wedding band. It felt heavy on his hand.

He had to end things with you.

----

“Y/N, we need to talk.” Asahi’s voice shook, as he sipped his glass of water. The two of you were at his studio, a place he knew his wife would never be at. He hadn’t wanted to be in public when he broke the news to you so he invited you over, though now he was a little nervous to be alone with you.

“Asahi, I feel the same way.” You looked at him, biting your lip.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God. This was fun but I feel terrible and I really need to work things out with my wife…”

Your eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?” There was an edge to your voice, something he hadn’t heard coming from you.

Asahi’s dark eyes widened. “U-uh, this affair? We need to end it. Isn’t that what you meant?” His voice stammered as he watched your arms cross over yourself.

“Asahi, I’m pregnant.”

The room started spinning. The overhead lighting became harsh and he felt like he was underwater as those words repeated in his brain.

Pregnant....pregnant...pregnant

“Wh- what?! What about the pill?” He practically yelped, his face heating up.

“It didn’t work I guess. I’m carrying your baby...and you’re trying to leave me?” You asked, your voice rising as you stood up.

“I’m not trying to, I mean, I’m, I…” Asahi fumbled his words.

“You just said you want to work things out with ‘your wife’.” You spat the words out in disgust.

“I didn’t know you were pregnant! Are you...are we…?” He trailed off, looking at your stomach, which obviously had no visible changes and yet had visibly changed everything.

“Are you asking me if I’m keeping our baby?” Your eyes widened and Asahi could feel your anger seeping through the air. He quickly shook his head, desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

“No, no I’m n– I just meant...what should I do?” Asahi’s mouth went dry. His body felt like it was going to explode and he wanted the earth to swallow him, anything to get him out of this situation.

“You’re going to help me raise our child, Asahi. It’s our baby.” Your voice was cold. No longer the carefree, fun person he knew but instead a disconnected stranger, who he was now tied to forever.

Asahi put his head in his hands. He was ruined. His marriage was over. And now he was a father, at the ripe old age of 50 to a 20-something year old’s baby. This couldn’t be happening.

He felt your hands touch his shoulder and he looked up at you. Your eyes glittered with a look he couldn’t identify.

“We have some announcements to make, don’t we daddy?” You smiled at him. He stared into space, before taking your hand and following you out the door.

Your heart soared as you prepared on how to tell his wife that she’d be moving out. Maybe you weren’t pregnant yet, but he didn’t have to know that. It’s not like you wouldn’t be soon enough.

After all, it was never just one time.

#asahi x reader #asahi angst #asahi smut #azumane asahi #hq smut #hq angst #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Love at first Bite

Pairing: Bucky x reader (shy!reader)

Word Count: 1,414 (apparently I forgot how to drabble)

Summary: You’re making pizza and Bucky wants to help

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club drunk drabbles and the super sweet prompt below from @buckobucho I also got a fun pizza prompt from the lovely @skkye that was great inspiration for this. I also clearly have a love for Bucky and food so...haha yay! I hope you both enjoy this! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: super soft fluff, shy!reader being cute and Bucky loving it, pizza fun, a Bucky kiss or two :)

You walk into the kitchen carrying the supplies to make your pizza, the ingredients piled so high you can barely see over the top of them. It isn’t until you hit something solid that you realize you’ve bumped right into Bucky. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. I have all these things and I wasn’t paying attention and I should have been but…”

Realizing you’re rambling you promptly clamp your mouth shut and look down, shuffling your feet. Bucky carefully starts to take some of the cans from you and places them down on the counter, “it’s fine doll. No problem at all. You didn’t get hurt though, did you?” You shake your head no and try to look him in the eye but his soft smile and the crinkles around his eyes make you lose focus.

“What are you making?” You knit your brow, “huh?” He motions to all the stuff on the counter and you look over, shaking your head to clear it. “OH! Um, pizza! I’m making pizza!” You quickly start moving around the kitchen and gathering the things you need, hoping it will hide the blush creeping up your neck. “That’s awesome! I love pizza! I’m about to workout with Steve but if you need some help I’ll stop by after.”

You immediately get nervous and don’t know what to say. You want him to help but you just know you’ll somehow manage to make a fool of yourself. Before you get a chance to mumble a response he waves and trots off toward the stairs. You blow out some air and let your shoulders slump, running your hand down your face, “shit.”

Making the dough is the hardest part so you get started on that right away, mixing the ingredients and kneading and rolling it out. Once that’s done you set it aside to rise and start making the sauce. The kitchen is really starting to smell amazing and you hardly notice the faint scent of Bucky, his fresh out of the shower hair still wet and his soft tee shirt clinging tightly to his body.

“How’s it going in here beautiful?” You’re so startled that you spin around with the wooden spoon still in hand and spray Bucky and his shirt with sauce. “Oh no! It’s hot! Quick, take it off!” You rush over to him and start to pull his shirt from his body, squealing when it gets stuck on his metal arm, “I don’t want you to get burned.” Bucky laughs, his whole body shaking with the gesture, “it’s ok doll face. I’m fine, I promise. Doesn’t even sting.”

He’s now standing in front of you shirtless and the moment you realize it you start to feel lightheaded, “oh. Well. Thank goodness. I, uh, I’m really sorry! Let me clean this for you.” You turn around so fast that your head spins even more and you have to clutch the countertop. “Woah, you ok? Don’t be upset. Really. It’s all good.”

You swallow hard and try to smile, “ok, thanks. I’ll just rinse this out a bit.” Your eyes drop to his chest before they go wide and you look away, dipping your head and scrubbing entirely too much soap into the sauce spots. “Thanks doll, I’m gonna go grab another tee shirt, be right back.” You don’t answer him and just continue trying to get his shirt clean, feeling the tightness in your shoulders ease slightly when he comes back, now fully clothed.

“Ok, I think I got most of it out, just needs to be washed.” He smiles, “thanks,” and takes the shirt, flinging it over his shoulder, “so what part are you up to now?” Trying to get your mind out of the gutter you stir the sauce and start explaining your next steps, “so I have to stretch out the dough then put the sauce and toppings on before it goes into the oven.”

“Cool. I’m always amazed at how anyone can do the whole throwing the dough in the air thing!” You laugh awkwardly, “uh, yea well I’m not necessarily any good at it but I try.” Uncovering the dough, you start to roll it out with the rolling pin and Bucky stands behind you, his closeness enveloping you in a comforting warmth. “Give me a job so I can help.”

You look around, finally pointing to the ball of fresh mozzarella cheese, “would you mind slicing that up real thin?” Bucky takes a knife and expertly twirls it around, “not at all.” You giggle, watching as he makes great work of the cheese, “that’s perfect! I like it thin.” “Me too,” he chimes, popping a whole piece in his mouth. “Hey Buck, don’t eat all the cheese on us!”

He shoves one more piece in his mouth before winking at you, “oh yea, what are you gonna do about it? You turn his way and throw the dough up once, not very high, but enough to make Bucky raise his brows in awe, “nothing I guess. What could I possibly do to stop you?” You try to make your comment sound flirty, but it comes out sounding more like you’re constipated.

Inwardly cringing you put all your concentration into tossing the dough higher this time and smile when it rises above his head and lands back in your hands. “Beautiful.” You almost don’t realize what he said or that he’s even talking to you until he’s standing only inches away. “What?” you mumble, trying to keep your gaze from dropping to his lips.

“He does nothing to hide the way his eyes wander over your face, landing on your mouth before he says, “I said, you’re beautiful.” You stare at him, unable to talk and when he takes a step closer you toss the dough up between your bodies so hard and so high it sticks to the ceiling. By the time you look up and then back down at him, his face is so close to yours you can see the gray hairs that pepper his beard, “nice throw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to not be a fool, “thanks.” It comes out as a squeak and Bucky chuckles, lifting his thumb to your cheek and brushing it over your soft skin. He tilts his head and brings his chest flush to yours, humming at the feel of you pressed so close, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

He gently cradles your jaw and brings you forward, lightly brushing his lips to yours, “is this ok?” You can only nod, letting your eyes flutter closed just as his warm lips press to yours. Your fingers comb through his hair and drag him closer, your small moan making Bucky growl eagerly. Pulling away to catch your breath you keep your eyes closed a moment longer, opening them only to stare into Bucky’s lust blown pupils.

“Wow,” you whisper, standing motionless in his arms. “You can say that again.” You lick your lips, wanting him to kiss you again but unsure about what to do. “I’m not done. Not even close,” he says, grinning and then looking up at the ceiling. “But, uh, Doll? We might want to get the pizza off the ceiling and into the oven. It’s gonna collect ants.” Your confused look makes him laugh and you finally bring your eyes up, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh when you see where the dough is.

“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I did that.” You look from Bucky to the dough and back to Bucky. “I can’t reach it. Can you?” He stands on his tippy toes and raises an arm, trying to carefully peel it off with one hand while the other waits under in case it falls. Just when it looks like he’s about to succeed the whole thing slooshes off and lands on his head and half on his arm.

This time you don’t hide your laughter, pointing at him and bending over at the waist. “Oh man, I wish you could see yourself right now!” Bucky smirks and grabs your wrist, trapping you against his chest, “oh yea? You better stop laughing.” You don’t, instead picking at the dough and laughing harder. Without a warning he crashes his lips to yours, dough and all. You melt into him immediately, paying no mind to the dough now tangled in your fingers and on your clothing.

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @breezy1415 @buckys-henley @bisousbucky @buckstaybucky @book-dragon-13 @chuuulip @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @harrysthiccthighss @ikaris-whore @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @loricameback @lorilane33 @lokilvrr @lookiamtrying @littleredstarfish @littledarlinhavefaithinme @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @saiyanprincessswanie @this-kitten-is-smitten @yansi1923

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teddy06writes · 4 years ago

Text

Come Back Home

requested by this anon: “ hello!! i was wondering if i could have a karl x sapnap x quackity x reader where the reader falls out with one of them and there’s loads of angst, but it ends in fluff and just cute stuff. i love ur writing so much, thank you <3″

as well as this one: “ hello :D may i request some angst then comfort scenes for a karl x quackity x sapnap x reader? “

so....

sapnap x karl x quackity x reader (lowkey musician!reader)

trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, mentions of hook ups, drinking, angst

premise: you think you might be falling out of love, or something close to that with your boyfriends, so you ask to take a break until you can figure things out, and nothing seems to feel right till you go back; song credit is Come Back Home by Anthony Ramos {I changed parts of the second verse}

(y/n/n)- your nickname

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“I- I never said I knew that I was!” You argued.

Alex folded his arms, “What about them? You fucking lying to them too?”

You ran a hand through your hair, “I’m not lying about anything!”

“YOU JUST SAID YOU WERE FALLING OUT OF LOVE!” you jumped, surprised at his yelling, “So if that’s true why’d you fucking tell us you loved us last night?”

“I don’t know if I am Alex! I need time to figure this out!”

“So it’s just me then. You just want to leave me!”

“I might be falling out of love with all of you!” You shakily admitted, desperately searching your boyfriends eyes, “And I’m terrified! I don’t want to fall out of love! I don’t want to leave any of you! I just need time to figure this out.”

Alex sat in silence, refusing to look at you.

Shakily you grabbed the bag you’d been packing when he found you, just a few of the outfits you kept at that apartment, along with your music stuff, “I’m going back to California, just for a month or so.”

“I thought you sold the apartment.” He sounded to blunt, to broken.

“I pulled out of the deal, and my stuff hadn’t been shipped yet. I- I don’t want to leave Alex,” You slipped your bag over your shoulder, “I- didn’t want it to be like this.”

“So you were going to leave when they were out.” He spat.

You froze in grabbing your guitar, “I was going to try and make this hurt less. If me leaving to find out if I should stay or not is what it takes, then why make it hurt more?”

“What am I suppose to tell them?” Alex asked desperately.

“The truth. I’ll be back when I figure this out.”

“And if it isn’t what I want it to be?”

You took a deep breath, “I think you’ll know.”

You walked out the door, trying to ignore the way small sobs filled the apartment as you left, tears working there way into your own eyes.

California, though isolating you enough to sort out your feelings, was far too numbing to provide Alex the technical closer he thought was coming.

Karl had been heartbroken when he found out you left, and the few months that you’d been gone had only helped to break him more, especially as the only news they got about you came from the updates on your upcoming album.

Nick had been equally heartbroken, though somewhat mad, he’d learned to live with it, instead focusing his angry energy into keeping his boyfriends together and functional.

You sighed, sitting up as your apartment door closed.

You knew it was wrong, deep down, these one night stands, and evenings lost in a haze of alcohol, deep down, you missed them, and none of this was making the feelings you’d tried to press back down after the first experimental hook up.

Rubbing at your eyes you quietly began to get dressed, ideas running through your mind.

Pulling up twitter you found yourself scrolling through Alex’s twitter, he seemed to be doing okay, Nick was, well he hadn’t been active on twitter before, but Karl’s twitter remained silent.

That was what got you worried.

Karl was never not active on twitter, but even his second account had remained quiet since you left.

Grabbing a bottle of water you sat down, thankful for your moment of clarity as you picked up your guitar, ready to get to work.

“I only feel the ground under my feet...”

This was going to be a huge gamble.

“Guys!” Karl called softly from his place on the couch.

“Yeah baby?” Alex yawned.

“(y/n) just posted a new single on youtube.”

“So?” Nick asked, bitterly, “Why should we care?”

“Oh, I- I was just wondering, if we could watch it. We- we don’t have to.” Karl said softly.

Nick softened upon hearing his voice, “Alright, lets see it.”

They cuddled together next to Karl as he pulled up the video, the description reading, ‘come back home, less of an apology, more of a plea’.

The video opened on a dark room, partially lit by a lamp in the corner, only about half of your face was visible, as well as the guitar in your hands.

You took a deep breath a sighed, before beginning to play.

The screen split to show the recordings of you playing the other parts, both in similar dark rooms.

“I had to leave, to see, how good I had it, I had it, I had to go, to know how good I had it. Would you have me if I came back home?”

They watched as the scene shifted, you as you walked through a park in LA, “My mama said when I was six years old, I would always sit up by the window, I would always say this city way too cold. Wish there was another place I could go She would ask where and I would say,”

There was an arieal of the same park, “Where, anywhere, tell me where 'cause I'm scared, If I'm here then I'll never see paradise, I just wanna see paradise.” As you repeated the chorus, back in your room, and then moved on to singing about them, “Yeah I’d been dating Nick for three years, we’d made a promise, cause we were just kids in college, thinkin’ bout our tomorrows,

“then we met Karl, course we had to keep ‘im, he made the grass even greener, cause theoretically he made us even more complete,

“but then along came Alex, and we pulled him in, but he looked me in the eyes when I said ‘my heart isn’t in it’ , he challenged that thought, asked me ‘So where is it?’

Alex clamped a hand over his mouth, burying his head in Karl’s shoulder.

“I said, where, anywhere, tell me where ‘cause I’m scared, if I’m here then I’ll never see paradise, I just wanna see paradise.”

The scene changed from the park back to your room, “So I had to leave to see, How good I had it, I had it, I had to go to know, How good I had it, Would you have me if I come back home?”

The room remained dark, though your voice became a bit more upbeat as you sang, “Nothing better than my mama rice and beans, All the sound, the people yellin' on the street, The lights when I land at JFK,The cold wind when it hits me in my face,

“I only feel the ground under my feet when my boys are standin' right there next to me and Those the things that make me feel at home And that's the only paradise I know, so..”

The room began to brighten, just a bit, as the extra voice overs were added. “I had to leave to see, How good I have it, I have it, I had to go to know, How good I have it (How good I have it) I have it (So I'm comin' home)”

Pictures began to flash on the screen, pictures of you all together, during streams, while you were working on music, a video of you and Karl, trapped by an Alex sleeping across your laps while Nick laughed.

The beach day you’d had last year, Karl and Alex decorating your recoding spot with fairy lights, Nick with you up on his back, you and Alex singing, behind the scenes of one of Karls mr. beast videos, midnight moments, and small moments, all flooding the screen.

“Nothing better than my mama's rice and beans (Ooh, ooh, I'm comin' home) All the sound, the people yellin' on the street, The lights when I land at JFK, (Oh, I'm comin' home), The cold wind when it hits me in my face I only feel the ground under my feet when my boys are standin' right there next to me and (Yeah, I'm gon' come back home) Those the things that make me feel at home, And that's the only paradise I know.”

The pictures faded, and you smiled softly at the camera, “Would you have me if I came back home?”

The video faded away, and the boys were knocked out of there trance by a knock at the door.

Shakily Alex stood up, blinking away tears as he moved to answer it.

“(y/n).”

You smiled, “You saw the video yeah?”

He practically burst into tears, “Yeah.”

“So? Will you have me since I came back home?” You sang softly.

Alex surged forward, throwing his arms around you, tears falling from both sets of eyes as he pulled you inside.

In the living room Nick was holding a still crying from the video Karl, glaring up at you, “You had to make him cry one more time?”

Karl sniffled, “These are good tears.”

You smiled, setting your bag down before maneuvering to sit down with Alex still wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left for that wrong. I do love you all.”

“We love you too.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #sapnap x reader #karl jacobs x reader #quackity x reader #sapnap x karl x quackity x reader #karlnapity #karlnapity x reader #teddy06 writes

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beskarhearts · 4 years ago

Note

can i request a din blurb w/ a female reader where they've been friends for a long time & confess feelings for each other? maybe some kisses in there too if you'd like 🥺

Nervous (Din Djarin x reader)

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Word Count: 1850

Warning: cursing, nothing else I can think of but let me know if I missed one

Notes: I loved these request. It makes me so soft when I read/write friends confessing their love to each other. I hope you like this!

As always, anybody can leave any request for a blurb/imagine they would like for our wonderful Din Djarin!

________________________________

“The kid is finally asleep.”

You let out a relieved sigh upon hearing the words, not turning to the speaker as you continued to work away at the wires in front of you. You had now spent hours in front of this panel of the Razor Crest, working and prying away at the complex set of wires that just never seemed to work right, no matter what you did with them. A small tool was held in your mouth while both of your hands twisted away at them, your neck leaning forward and eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration. You hadn’t look at yourself, but you were sure you looked like a frazzled mess with your awry hair and glazed eyes from all the staring.

“Good. I couldn’t concentrate with the kids yelling.” you mumbled awkwardly, the tool still clasped between your mouth.

Din let out a small sigh and you would of turned around to face him normally, but you had to keep working. You swore you were so close. Just a few more minutes and you’d probably have it. “You have been going at that all day.”

You heard the concern laced in his voice. Din had known you for far too many years now, enough to know when you were pushing yourself or immersing yourself into something. Much like himself, you were a work hound and while he’d never let someone tell him to relax, he’d always insist doing it to you. You were his closest friend, perhaps his only true one, and he always wanted to keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe and heathy and staying sane. Instead of stopping, you simply grabbed the tool from your mouth and brought it to the wires as you spoke to him. “I think I’ve almost got it. Just give me a second.”

You finished one last twist of a wire, finally believing you had it in place. A big grin broke out on your face as it appeared to be working as it should. But to your dismay, the wires started to spark and a light burning smell filled the space you were in. “Dank farrik! This piece of kriffing bantha fodder has been messing with me all day!”

Din let an eyebrow raise at your words. You usually were calm but when something like this happened, you’d let it bug you to no end. Out of all his time knowing you, he’d never heard you speak ill of anyone or curse very often, unless it was at some type of machinery or wire that wasn’t working. “You definitely need to stop for the night.” Din said calmly and you finally turned to look at him, face twisted up in utter frustration.

“And let these wires think they bested me? Oh, no way. Not letting these wires win. Not today.” You said, shaking your head emphatically. You were going to solve this problem, no matter the consequence.

“You do realize the wires can’t think?” Din asked, amused by your dramatics but also partially annoyed with your insistence on continuing to work.

“That’s what they want you to think.” You went to turn back to the panel when Dins hand reached out and grabbed the bicep of your left arm, pulling you away from the panel and towards him.

You finally faced him fully and couldn’t help the small smile that quirked your lips as you got a good look at him. You had been with him on the ship all day but you hadn’t gotten a good look at him, being too consumed by the wiring. He wore the same armor as usual and his face way hidden away as always, but you still liked to look at him. Admire the friend that had been by your side for many years now. The friend who cared for you and who you harbored many strong feelings for. “You look exhausted.”

You let your shoulder sag and huffed at him as he looked down at you, hand still holding onto you but now lightly and delicately. “Well, thanks so much sir. Exactly what a person wants to hear.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh yes. I’m just some tired looking creature. Probably a horrendous sight.” You let out a small, theatrical sigh as you looked up at Din with a fake pout. At this point, Din was used to your antics but he still let out a sigh.

“You are not a horrendous sight.” Din paused for just a moment, his helmet tilting. “You are beautiful.”

You froze at his words. It wasn’t like Din had never paid you a compliment before, just as you had with him. But never one like this, and never had his voice seemed to waiver as he did so. You felt your face get warm and you tried to look away, but it felt like your eyes were stuck on him. Your heart slammed in your chest as you tried to think of anything to say. This was the man you had been swooning over for longer than you cared to admit and he was calling you beautiful.

In the midst of your silence, Din finally let go and cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.” he quietly said as he began to drift away from you.

Before your brain could process your movements, you reached out for him quickly and pulled him towards you. “No, no. It’s fine.” You paused as he slowly looked back at you and gave him a soft smile. “You are beautiful, too.”

“You’ve never seen me.” Din responded plainly.

“I don’t need to see your face to see that you.” You told him and you swore you heard his breath hitch in his helmet. You had known him for so long and had learned to read him so well, but right now you felt lost. You reached out for him more, placing one hand on his shoulder, and looking at him. “You, Din Djarin, are beautiful.”

Din’s helmet remained frozen in the spot it was and you worried that you had ruined it. Ruined the delicate balance of the friendship you had. Some moments you thought there was something there, that maybe he shared the same thoughts you did. But you never dared to step over the line and see what would happen. Until now. And now Din was saying nothing and your chest was heaving. You began to pull away but Din grabbed onto your arms, keeping you in place.

“You’re nervous.”

Your eyebrows quirked up at his statement. “W-what?”

“I’ve known you long enough to know when you are nervous.” You shyly looked down at your feet but Din didn’t tear his gaze away from you. “Why?”

Your mind was going so fast and you felt your hands shake in the areas where they rested on Din. “These wires are really getting to me...” you tried to lamely joke but knew it was no use. You let out a sigh. “Din, stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop touching me and looking at me like that and saying stuff like this.” You finally let out, looking up at him with an expression that conveyed just how tangled up you were in your own emotions.

“What do you mean?” Din asked, seeming genuinely confused by your words.

“You can’t just call me beautiful and care about me and be so nice to me cause then it makes it so much harder.” You huffed, trying to pull away but Din kept you in place.

“So much harder to do what?”

He was going to get an answer out of you whether you liked it or not. You felt like you wanted to cry or yell at him or you didn’t even know what. You were too nervous to do this. “Din-”

“Tell me.”

“So much harder to pretend I’m not in love with you!” You finally spat out, feeling your nerves reach a breaking point as your eyes drifted away from him. You didn’t want to see or hear his reaction. Hear him tell you no. The silence continued on and Din said nothing to ease your worries. You tried to pull away again only to fail and you grunted. “Let’s just ignore this. We are friends and that is fine. I’m good with being just friends and pretending that-”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika.”

You had known Din long enough to pick up a few things in Mando’a but you looked up at the Mandalorian completely perplexed. “What does that mean?” you asked, your eyebrows raised as he just looked down at you.

“Close your eyes.”

“Din, what are you-”

“Close your eyes.” Din repeated, a little sterner this time. You hesitantly let your eyes flutter close and Din finally let go of your arms so they could drop to your sides.

You waited for a moment when a hiss and a click rang through the hull of the ship. “Din, did you just take off your helmet?”

You waited for his response, still keeping your eyes clamped shut in case your suspicion was correct. Instead of a verbal response, you heard his boots on the metal floor stepping closer to you and you sucked in a breath. “You are making me nervous. What are-”

“Can you stop talking?” your heart froze as you heard his unmodulated voice. How could it sound even better without the helmet? Still deep and masculine, but a little softer and more Din.

You finally clamped your mouth shut, biting back the urge to ask him once again what he was doing. You almost finally said something after a few moment of silence but any words you had planned to say became trapped when you felt a warmth on your lips. Your brain seemed to short-circuit and it took you a moment to realize it was a pair of lips. Din’s lips. They were warm and a little chapped, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, it perfectly encompassed him. You realized for a moment you were standing completely still, your body almost rigid. You immediately snapped out of it and move your lips against his, conveying that yes, this is what you wanted.

You let out a small noise of satisfaction as one of Din’s gloved hands reached up for your face, cupping your cheek softly as his lips moved against yours with the same amount of delicacy. You slowly brought a hand up to his neck, letting it travel upwards so it became tangled in the hair that sat at the base of it. It was soft and longer, and you couldn’t see it but you could just tell it was a beautiful brown color.

Din pulled away from you and you almost whined in response, but instead focused on the sound of him breathing in and out. “It meant I love you.” he finally said, and you couldn’t help the big grin the broke out on your face.

Instead of saying another word, you just pulled him back in and let yourself become one.

#request #din djarin blurb #the mandalorian blurb #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian fanfiction

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn.

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up.

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you.

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

pt. i: an opening

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop.

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter.

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine?

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back.

Odd.

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order–

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ]

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands.

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic.

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft.

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down.

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day.

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression.

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites.

Wait. Favorites?

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment?

No. You must be joking.

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face.

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray.

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands.

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips.

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils.

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much.

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ]

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now.

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none.

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.”

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!”

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum.

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.”

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now.

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features.

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask.

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips.

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.”

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine.

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face.

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?”

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles.

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence.

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards.

It’s stupid; he’s stupid.

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.”

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it.

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath.

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso.

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans.

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game.

Wait. You asked him something?

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway.

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit.

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice.

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked.

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia.

It could be any number of things.

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs.

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that.

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp.

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team.

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind.

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs.

They won.

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken.

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms.

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh.

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually–

Ah, it’s you.

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted.

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him.

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care.

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him?

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose?

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes.

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks.

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe.

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you.

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here.

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back.

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned.

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve.

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding.

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say.

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way.

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you.

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree.

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him.

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes.

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask.

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy?

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it.

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl.

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

What is there to say?

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours.

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!”

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his.

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.”

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care.

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number.

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love.

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years ago

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A Reading: Part 7 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Witch Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death/blood/killing, implied canon typical violence, witchcraft, kissing??

Word Count: 2.6k~

We love having a plot- exposition chapter bay-be

"You let them go?"

You couldn't help but wince at the words. You stared at him, at the snow-white haired vampire in front of you. He had been hard to read before, but now his reaction was plainly clear. He was livid. With the way he was staring at you, you thought that he may even look murderous. You gulped, glancing at the others. As if any of them would possibly be any help.

Paul looked between the two of you, but he lost his usual smile and clamped his mouth shut. Dwayne had sat up as well, but he was staring at David. For a moment, you thought perhaps he was silently communicating with him. Trying to help. Quickly, that thought was dashed from your mind. Your eyes flicked to Marko, who had suddenly become very interested in his own nail-beds. It had only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity of silence had passed when you looked back at David and gave him a nod. Before he could say, or do, anything, you started,

"They're just kids-" But David was cutting you off.

"They're hunters." You could hear the anger in his voice. You were half expected him to grab you, to drain you dry and call it a night. "You're the one that saw our deaths. Those kids? They kill us." He said, and you quickly looked away at the reminder. You knew. You were the one that had seen it in the cards. You decided to take a page out of Paul's book. You shut your mouth, avoiding his eyes as you opted to stare at the blanket you were under instead. But David had stopped. He didn't continue, and you knew that you were going to have to plead your case. Change his mind before he decided you weren't worth keeping around.

"I can't just kill a couple of kids, David." You whispered. You almost expected him to grab you, kill you then. You knew he was probably considering it. But when he didn't, you continued. "The course is changed anyways. Marko didn't die. They took Star, but-" And you were cut off again, but this time by the blonde besides you,

"They took Star?" And you looked over at him. You thought that was what you heard, and you gave him a shrug. You weren't sure.

"Laddie?" Dwayne asked, and this question truly had you stumped. They were quick to see that you didn't have any answers, and the boys exchanged a look. Your potential death was put on pause for now, as the boys realized they had a cave to investigate.

You had gone through the cave first. You were supposed to see if they had left any traps, and you were near certain that they hadn't. You remembered how the boys had screamed, running away from potential danger like a couple of terrified toddlers. It made you more sure of your decision, even if you knew David was still pissed. He hadn't spoken to you since you'd left their hideout. The boys were looking around, but all of their stuff was still there. Nothing had been taken or set. Well, besides the two half vampires. Dwayne picked up Laddies bear, holding it as he stood besides the bed where the little boy slept. You watched him, biting your lip.

You wished, for a moment, that you had done something to stop them. But, you couldn't have without leaving the sub-cave. Without abandoning the boys and leaving them for anyone who slipped past you. You went over to him hesitantly. None of the boys had really spoken to you, and you carefully reached to hold Dwaynes hand. He let you, letting out a sigh as he placed the bear back on the bed.

"He won't sleep without it." Dwayne said quietly, and you looked down at the little stuffed animal. Dwayne was frowning, and you could see the distress in his brow. You gave his hand a squeeze. You hadn't known them long. Not long enough to know much about the younger boy. But, you could guess that, to Dwayne, he'd been like a little brother. Perhaps to all of them, you thought as you glanced around the room. You were even considering that, in another timeline, maybe Star had been like their sister. You saw it in the way Paul hung around her room, frowned at the things she left behind as he went through them lightly. You could guess what he was thinking, because you were thinking the same. Would she come back for them when things were all over? When they were dead? You watched as he picked up one of her books, throwing it against the wall. She'd betrayed them. That was clear. Marko was yanking the taller blonde away from Stars room before he had the chance to destroy it. You watched as they passed, and you could practically see the telepathic conversation they were having in their heads.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment before you looked to where David had stopped. He was standing by the chandelier, looking around the room meticulously. Looking for anything that may be out of place. Anything that may harm them.

"They're kids, David." You reminded him. "They probably don't even know how to set up a trap." You said, and, from the glare David gave you, you were almost positive that he wasn't going to respond. He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette, before he said one singular cold word.

"Yet."

You sat on the floor of the cave, shuffling your cards. Paul sat besides you on the floor, Dwayne perched on the side of the fountain, and Marko stood. David was busy looking unimpressed in his chair. The boys were too anxious to see their new futures, so you'd chosen a different angle. You knew what Michael looked like, and now even knew his full name. You knew that, for the boys, he was the harbinger of death. If you could glance into his future, perhaps the four of you could avoid it. If only you could actually pick three cards.

You slammed your deck against the ground, letting out a noise of frustration. You'd shuffled it for five minutes, but nothing was happening. Nothing was calling you to stop. You ran an angry hand through your hair and said,

"Something's wrong. It's like his future- it's like Michael is being blocked." It had never happened to you before. You didn't even know why it was happening, but you had a few ideas. The first was that it was because he wasn't right in front of you, but you knew that wasn't a cause for an entire block. You'd get his future, just not a clear picture.

"Blocked?" Marko asked, and you couldn't even think of a way to explain. You reached for the cards again, but even with just the intention of the brunette in mind made you feel a disconnect. You sighed,

"Hidden." You clarified. Protected, you thought. It was like he didn't exist, as if the name had no relation to the boy you had in mind. Quickly, Paul suggested,

"Try his brother." And try you did. Again, nothing. No call from the cards. It was exactly the same as before. You ran another hand through your hair. Both of them, both of the Emerson's were being hidden from you. You wished you had known the name of the boys Sam was with, then you could get somewhere. You knew, in the eyes of certain boys, your usefulness was quickly seeming to run thin. You had to think of something quick, so you went with your intuition.

"Something is blocking me. Protecting them. I think-" The second you tried to think of who it could be, what could be blocking you, a haze went over your mind. You reached for your forehead, grimacing when your head began to swim. It was a haze that made you pause, before you were standing up and pushing yourself to find your journal. The boys watched you, watched you scramble. "Something's wrong." You said, standing and flipping through your pages. You stopped when you reached a drawing you'd done. It was a map of Santa Carla, and you ripped it out to put it to the side. "Do you know if there are any witches in Santa Carla? Any besides me?" You asked, and David scoffed.

"What?" Paul asked, and David was quick to say.

"Besides you? Of course not." And when you gave him a look, his face flattened into a frown as he said, "We'd know." For some reason you doubted that. You gave him a look before waving a pencil towards you. You used the map you'd drawn a few days before, sketching it out and using it as a guide. "What are you doing?" He asked, and you had half a mind to ignore him to focus on your sketch. You were doing it quickly, not paying attention to detail. Instead, you said,

"This is a trick my mother taught me. Sketch a place with a map as reference and whatever you can't draw," You paused. You hadn't paid fully attention to what you were doing. Hadn't put any intention behind it as you finished it. You looked up at David, and showed him the messy sketch with the more detailed one besides it. "Is protected."

In the messily drawn picture, there were two houses missing. Ones that you'd been able to draw before.

You and the boys had looked over the pictures. You were quickly told that one of them was the Emerson house. The other one? They had no idea. You'd explained that whatever was going on, whatever was blocking you from the Emerson's, was blocking you specifically. And that they hadn't started blocking you until you'd aligned yourself with the vampires.

You'd moved to the couch, staring at the chandelier. It was well past sunset. Well past whenever the boys would probably search out the Emerson's. You were thinking about how stupid you'd been. Not only had you walked into vampire territory, but you'd walked into another witch's territory. You almost wanted to blame yourself for not having scoped the area out enough, but not even the boys had known about them.

"Whoever this is, they're protecting the Emerson's." You said. You wondered why. What would a witch have to do with a family like the Emerson's? The boys had told you that they'd just moved to town, so how were they able to score protection so quickly? Especially from someone as powerful enough to block another witch? But David didn't let you linger in your thoughts for long. He was sitting in his chair, seeming half ready to explode at any second. You knew he liked control, you could guess that. And now everything seemed to be out of it. With the block, you weren't even sure you'd be able to get an accurate reading of their futures.

"What do we do?" David asked. You looked over at him. You could tell that the question practically pained him to ask. You stared at him, before your eyes flicked to the others.

"Honestly?" You said, lifting your hands just to let them drop. "Move." And David didn't seem particularly impressed by your answer. But, really, what else could they do? They'd lost to a couple of kid hunters and halves before. Now, there was a witch? A powerful one? Even you had to admit that they were screwed. Even if it meant your own potential death.

"We should just go to their house and end this." Marko suggested, but neither you nor David seemed impressed by that suggestion either. David took a drag of his cigarette, and you shook your head. "We have the numbers!" Marko said, his voice rising. But even that wasn't for certain. Five vampires and a witch? Against three humans and two halves? And whatever witch they had protecting them, or whoever else they had on their side? It was too risky.

"You'll get yourselves killed." You said flatly, and even David didn't argue with you on that. Despite the attitude he'd been throwing your way all night, he seemed to silently agree with you. It was a stupid idea. It made sense when Paul agreed with him.

"Listen, we didn't have Marko last time. Now, we do and he's- He's our fighter. Whatever we get into- We can take those little shits" You could hear the emotion in his voice, see it in how he punched his own open hand. The desperation to do something. Anything. He wasn't thinking clearly, though he hardly did, and you shared a look with both David and Dwayne. Even if you couldn't hear their thoughts, you could guess. Definitely not happening.

You motioned for Paul to come closer, to sit besides you. He listened, sighing heavily as he settled next to you. You reached up to hold his cheek when he rested his head on your shoulder. You could practically feel the worry radiating off of him. You could guess why he was so tightly wound, so ready to spring. Sure, you'd made it past the first phase, but now you were blind. You couldn't tell them what was coming, or how to stop it. But, he seemed to relax some when you stroked his cheek. Marko seemed to take personal offense from how quickly the taller blonde had been swayed.

"Well, then what?" He snapped, and Dwaynes eyes went to you. You looked back for just a moment, before your eyes retreated to David. He didn't say a word. He was staring a hole in the wall, and you finally sighed. You had an idea, one you'd been keeping from crossing the forefront of your mind.

It was a bad idea. One even worse than all of theirs. But it was the only one you had, and the only one that could possibly result in not having the wannabe hunters show up at sunrise.

You looked at your detailed drawing, and then up at the house in front of you. You knew, to some degree, that this was the worst idea that you had ever come up with. But, really, what else could you do?

You were alone. The boys had dropped you off down the street, their bikes rumbling as they sped away towards the night. They were going off to get something to eat, something to build their strength. You were here to confront the other witch, and, hopefully, come to some sort of understanding. For a moment, you briefly thought about how hesitant Dwayne had been to let you walk up the street. He'd cupped your cheek, his eyes telling you everything. Though, it had been Paul that had said,

"You sure you wanna go alone?" And you'd given him a nod. You'd given both Dwayne and Paul a kiss, even sparing one for Markos cheek. When you came to David, you'd met the same icy eyes that you had before. Though, they seemed to have melted a fraction. This was dangerous. For you more than any of them. He'd brushed your hair out of your face, before he told you,

"Try not to get yourself killed." And you could see that he'd meant it to be reassuring. In his own way. But, now, you'd wished for something a little kinder. You half expected to not be able to walk up the driveway, for something to push you back or turn you around. But nothing did, and you made it all the way to the front of the house. You'd had to pass by a couple of cars, one of them being a truck with imposing spikes piled into the back. You gulped, trying to push down your anxiety as you approached. You held your crystal out of instinct, trying to ground yourself.

You stood on the porch, taking a second to breathe before you lifted your hand. Just before your knuckles could make contact, the door opened. Startled, you pulled your hand back. You watched as an older man appeared, one with gray hair that looked as though it was tied back in some sort of ponytail. He was wearing a suit, and, despite your initial startle, he was wearing a warm, broad smile.

"Ah, she told me you were outside. Your friends with you?" And you stared into the scruffy face of the old man. You hadn't been expecting more than one person in the house, and, for a moment, you wished they were. You shook your head, and he said, "Good." Before he was leaving the door and leaving it open. He hobbled inside, and you stared after him, thinking once again about what you had gotten yourself into.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #marko the lost boys #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #the lost boys x reader

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tanjamikaelson · 3 years ago

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BITTERSWEET - CHAPTER 5

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 5: | I WILL WAIT FOR HOWEVER LONG IT TAKES |

“I can’t believe we almost had a threesome with Damon." Lorena remarked as Rebekah and she were walking, "And that you didn’t tell me the whole plan.”

Rebekah chuckled, “I didn’t tell you because you would never say yes to that plan.”

“You tricked me. I could’ve said no when we were standing in front of him.” Lorena pointed out.

“At least everything turned out great, without either of us sleeping with him.” Rebekah stated.

“But I think deep down you actually wanted to sleep with him again.” Lorena said, smirking at her.

“I did not.” Rebekah was quick to protest.

Lorena raised her eyebrow at her, “I don’t believe you.”

“Well believe what you want.” Rebekah replied.

“Are you going to send my stuff over to my new house?” Lorena asked her.

Rebekah shrugged, “Or you can come tomorrow morning and take them.”

“But Klaus will be there.” Lorena told her.

“Why don’t you two just have a make up sex and get this over with?” Rebekah suggested.

Lorena gave her a look, “Bekah..”

“I know I’m right. You two should just get over yourselves and do it.” Rebekah spoke determinedly.

“So you want Klaus and me to get back together?” Lorena questioned.

“Well I never had anything against that..” Rebekah told her, “Or at least get everything out of your system with one night of mind blowing sex. It will do you both some good.”

“That’s not gonna happen.” Lorena assured her, “And you better send me my things.”

“I’m not going to.” Rebekah said firmly and turned towards her, “If you really don’t want to see him, Klaus and I will go to find Finn tomorrow morning and then you can come.”

Lorena gave her an annoyed look, “You could’ve said that right away.”

Rebekah only smirked.

・ • ・ • ・

When Rebekah sent Lorena a text that she and Klaus are not at home Lorena left to the Mikaelson mansion to get some of her stuff that she left there. Lorena walked up the stairs and in the study room she saw Sage and some girl reading a book, Lorena didn’t know who she was but she saw her around.

“Sage.” Lorena greeted her, “Waiting for Finn?”

“Yes. Rebekah and Klaus promised to bring him back here.” Sage told her, “You live here with them?”

“Not anymore, I just came for some of my stuff.” Lorena replied.

"Why not? I thought you and Rebekah were best friends or at least Damon told me that." Sage said.

"Well, it's not because of her. Klaus and I are not on good terms." Lorena replied.

Sage nodded in understanding, "I wonder why. Klaus is not the easiest person to be on good terms with."

"That's something we agree on." Lorena told her, then pointed at the girl who was sitting on another couch, "Who is she?"

"Just some witch, Klaus told me to keep an eye on her. She needs to unlink them." Sage explained.

"She better do what she's told, or else.." Lorena spoke.

"Klaus already threatened me, you don't have to." The witch spoke.

Lorena glanced at the witch, "It's called giving you motivation."

"Well, you definitely are part of the Mikaelsons." Sage remarked.

Lorena chuckled, "Yeah, I've learned from the best." she told her, "Anyway, I better get going before he comes back."

Lorena was half down the stairs in the foyer just as the front doors opened and Klaus threw Finn inside. She didn't dare to move a step closer to them.

"Let's get his blood and get on with it." Rebekah said following him into the mansion.

Finn lifted himself from the floor, "You can't force me to help you."

"Oh, I most likely could, but why force when I can persuade?" Klaus pointed his hand toward the staircase and as if on cue Sage came down, whilst Finn looked up.

"Hello Finn." Sage greeted, smiling warmly at her long lost love.

"Sage!" Finn recognized her immediately and rushed to embrace her.

"What do you know, true love prevails." Rebekah remarked and glanced at Lorena.

Klaus' eyes followed hers and landed on Lorena, but he quickly looked away as he got a message on his phone.

"It does occasionally have its uses. Easier than torturing him." Klaus responded to her remark while writing a message back.

"Lorena and I have something to do. What do you need from me for this spell?" Rebekah asked.

"Just your blood and your blessing." Klaus grinned, "Where are you two going?"

"I have some unfinished business with Damon Salvatore and Lorena is going to help me." Rebekah informed him and Lorena walked down before leaving with Rebekah.

・ • ・ • ・

When the two of them kidnapped Damon they returned to the mansion. Rebekah clamped bear traps around Damon's wrist and hanged him from the ceiling.

"Maybe you should have hanged him upside down to drain him from vervain." Lorena commented.

"No, I will torture him slowly." Rebekah said as she picked up a knife from the table, then walked around Damon, "You pretended to be interested in me. And then you almost slept with the two of us only so you could steal my thoughts. Ever since then I felt this incessant need to one-up you." She ripped open his shirt and cut Damon's chest with a knife. He groaned in pain.

"You want to compel me to be your boyfriend?" Damon asked.

Lorena laughed at how stupid he sounded, as Rebekah told him, "Actually, I'd rather compel you to kill your brother. Or Elena. But, since vampires heal, bleeding you may take a while. We should probably stick to the major arteries." She cut Damon's neck, he bled profusely.

Then Klaus entered a room, smiling delightfully, "Well.. look what you've caught. If you're trying to bleed him of vervain, don't you think it would be easier to hang him upside down?"

"That's what I said." Lorena said.

Rebekah glanced between both of them, "I'm perfectly capable of inflicting pain, thank you very much."

“Well, excuse me, it's not like I have any expertise in the matter." Klaus rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"You know, why don't you just leave us and go and manage your witch?" Rebekah shooed him away, Klaus grinned before leaving.

Rebekah turned back to Damon, but spoke to Lorena, "See I think he cooled off so it's safe for you to come here."

"Uh, trouble in paradise?" Damon asked looking up at Lorena, "What did you do?"

"None of her damn business." Lorena snapped at him.

Damon felt a knife dig into his skin and he tried not to scream. Rebekah repeatedly stabbed him.

"Let's go and get something to drink, I'm feeling thirsty." Rebekah said as she put the knife down.

"Are you sure you're feeling thirsty for a drink or for me." Damon remarked with a cocky smirk.

"Don't worry Damon, we'll be back in a couple of minutes to continue." Rebekah replied before the two of them left.

She poured them both a glass of whiskey before saying, "I'm going to play with his head a little bit."

"Yeah, show him how it is." Lorena encouraged her.

After some time Rebekah and Lorena walked back to the room where Damon was, he was asleep but he suddenly woke up when they walked in.

"Uh, you bitch." Damon winced.

"It's not fun when someone messes with your thoughts, is it?" Rebekah told him.

Actually, I was having a pretty good time in there." Damon replied.

"Mmm, well I hope you were nicer to Elena than you were to me." Rebekah hummed.

"Oh, come on, I couldn't have hurt you that bad. You didn't really think I had a thing for you, did you?" Damon said and Rebekah looked hurt, "I get it. If Klaus bossed me around for a thousand years, I'd probably be pretty desperate for attention too."

Lorena grabbed the knife from the table and flashed at Damon stabbing it right into his stomach in one quick movement and he screamed, "You don't get to talk to my best friend like that. Understood?" She twisted the knife and he screamed more.

・ • ・ • ・

Later, Rebekah and Lorena came out of the room as Klaus was escorting the witch out of the house, "Aw, leaving so soon?" Rebekah commented.

"Sister, be nice." Klaus warned.

"Thank you, Bonnie." Rebekah faked a smile, waving her fingers shyly, "See you in physics class."

"Oh my god." Bonnie gasped out as her eyes fell upon Damon in snares in the room that Lorena and Rebekah just walked off to.

"Yeah, you'll have to excuse the mess. Apparently Damon hurt her feelings. Go on, help him. Save the man who turned her mother into a vampire.” Klaus said with a coy smirk.

Bonnie looked at Damon again and then the pain and anger of what he did to her mother rose to the surface, “Just get me out of here.”

“Very well.” Klaus agreed and escorted Bonnie out. Then he came back to the room where two girls were still torturing Damon.

“Maybe I should punish you for hurting me.” Lorena heard Klaus whisper as he stood behind her.

Lorena turned around and moved a step back, “Kinky, but I’m not interested.”

“You wouldn’t have a choice if I decided to do that.” Klaus shrugged.

“Just to remind you if you forgot, you were the one who hurt me first.” Lorena reminded him.

“And you slept with my brother.” Klaus spat out.

“Didn’t expect that one coming.” Damon remarked.

“Mind your own business, jerk.” Lorena turned to him and dragged a knife across his chest, “We all know how you look at Elena. Isn’t she your brother's girl?”

Damon groaned in pain but didn't say anything else.

Rebekah sighed before speaking to Lorena and her brother, “And I'm tired of you two bickering about the same thing, over and over again when I know that both of you want to get into each other's pants.”

“Seriously Rebekah?” Lorena shot her a look, “We can’t just smash and think that’s gonna fix things.”

“Right, I tried that method in 1972, but it didn't work out as I wanted to.” Klaus agreed with Lorena.

“Well at least you two agree on something, that's progress.” Rebekah told them, “And it was different then, she wanted me back and you wanted her. Now I’m back so that only leaves one thing.”

“What are you now, a therapist?” Lorena asked her.

“Maybe a couple therapy would do you two some good.” Rebekah suggested.

The conversation between the three of them was cut short when they heard Stefan shouting for Klaus.

Klaus exited the room and Lorena and Rebekah followed him, “Oh good, a hero. What do you want?” he asked.

Stefan dropped the duffel bag with the stakes and Klaus' feet, “I'm here to make a deal.” he stated, “Eight stakes made of white oak. The part of Wickery Bridge that you forgot to burn.”

Klaus looked over at Rebekah and Lorena, seeing the stricken look on their faces he released that both of them thought that they burned all of the wood.

“That's impossible.” Rebekah said confidently.

“Actually it's not. Finn is dead.” Stefan said casually.

Rebekah looked appalled, while Stefan avoided her eyes, “You killed my brother?”

Stefan chose to look at Klaus instead, proposing a deal, “Damon in exchange for the last eight weapons that can kill you.”

“And how do I know there aren't any more left?” Klaus questioned, raising his eyebrow at him.

“Because there aren't.” Stefan answered simply.

“Let's be certain, shall we?” Klaus asked, a murderous glint in his eyes, then he walked over to Damon, “Leave.”

“No.” Damon denied.

“Go on. Leave.” Klaus said again.

“Nik, he's my plaything not yours.” Rebekah objected, but Klaus simply ignored his sister.

Klaus grabbed Damon by the throat and compelled him, “I said, go home.”

Damon started to pull a wrist out from the snares, peeling the flesh off of it in the process. He screamed in pain.

“Alright, stop, stop, stop, before you hurt yourself. Well, seeing that he can finally be compelled. Now.” Klaus grabbed Damon by the throat and compelled him again, “Minus the stake that's in my brother, how many more stakes are out there that can kill me?”

“Eleven.” Damon answered through gritted teeth.

“Eleven! Really? So, not eight then.” Klaus exclaimed with fake excitement.

Rebekah looked at Stefan disappointed, “You really shouldn't have lied.”

“So, should we send you your brother piece by piece or are you going to hand over the stakes willingly?” Lorena said to Stefan in a dangerously calm voice.

“I'll get you the other three.” Stefan swore.

“Yeah, that'll be nice." Klaus nodded before raising up his finger as a matter of factly, "Or since you lied, maybe I'll just compel your brother to chew out his own tongue.” he suggested.

“What is wrong with you?” Stefan shouted at him.

“What is wrong with you?! Do you really have no appreciation for me? I have given you someone to hate, to loathe, a target for all of your anger; so you don't have to turn it on yourself. I have given you life purpose, as your friend.” Klaus laughed, before adding, “I really think you should be thanking me.”

Stefan rushed at Klaus and pinned him against a wall with a white oak stake in hand.

Suddenly Lorena lunged towards Stefan grabbing the back of his throat and twisting his arm that was pointed at Klaus.

“Step down, or I’ll gladly kill you and your brother.” Lorena growled into his ear and Stefan loosened his grip on Klaus and he took the stake from his hand.

Klaus looked surprised at Lorena as she moved away from them, thinking about what took over her body to react like that.

Then he said to Stefan, “Now you only have to get me the other two.”

Rebekah rolled her eyes, “This is ridiculous.” she said before she walked over to Damon and released him from the traps. Damon fell to his knees.

Klaus walked towards her, “What are you doing?”

“I brought him here. I get to release him. My rules now. Bring us the stakes and you both live. Take her brother as a sign of good faith.” Rebekah said as she picked up the duffel bag with the stakes and left.

Lorena started walking towards the door but Klaus grabbed her arms, not letting her go just yet, then looked at Stefan, “Bring us the stakes. All of them. Or I will wage a war against everyone you love. I hope I'm being clear.”

Stefan nodded and sped off with Damon.

“Klaus.. let me go.” Lorena said quietly.

Klaus tightened the grip on her arm, “Why did you do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” Lorena replied uncentrain, not meeting his eyes.

“You acted on an instinct. You were afraid that he’s going to hurt me.” Klaus pointed out.

“I don’t want you dead. I never did.” Lorena quickly told him, then she turned to look at him, “Please Nik, just let me go.”

Klaus gasped in surprise and gave a longing look before saying, “We both know that we belong together, but I’m not going to force you, instead I will wait. For however long it takes.”

Lorena was touched by his words and her eyes filled with tears so she moved them away from him and looked down at the floor and as soon as he let go of her arm she vamp-speeded away.

・ • ・ • ・

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