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#I meant to do that last chapter lmao
spotaus · 2 months
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Me frfr ^
I've been reading a fic today as a treat for finally being on vacation, and when I say I've just been entranced I mean it. (Also. The fic in question is @ancientschampionau 's well, Ancients & Champions fic lol! It's captivated me >:])
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gizkalord · 4 months
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looking at this as objectively as possible, i can see why gege chose this route. it fits into the theme of sorcerers not being heroes, and it fits the conclusion that yuji came to at the end of shibuya—he realizes there's a point where he's willing to do everything possible to achieve a goal (killing mahito and curses in his case). he's willing to be a cog, he's willing to throw away everything in pursuit of it. he's no different from mahito.
and i feel like this is now the conclusion that yuta and the main cast have reached against their fight with sukuna. they're not heroes, they can't afford to hold onto humanity and morality and idealism in a fight like this.
and since the beginning, i feel like the idea of a "proper death" has been upended over and over again—for all of yuji's determination to ensure people die properly, we see people dying in a variety of ways that aren't traditionally proper, so we're kind of meant to question what a proper death even means. is any death proper?
so i GET where this is all coming from, but i guess personally i'm having difficulty finding much satisfaction from the angle that gege's been taking for the last however many chapters, because i do feel like there were more... optimistic ways of approaching these same themes. jjk's been bittersweet for a long time now, but it's rapidly approaching an oversaturation of "bitter" for me LMAO
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✨Dress Up, Part 2: The Ceremony✨
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Well well well, looks like you guys won. You get a continuation of this fic that was meant to be a one shot lmao! I had some awesome people to bounce ideas off of and I couldn't do this without them. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's time for the wedding! But you know I can't go a chapter without writing a little smut hehe~
*** - Scene change ~~~ - Flashback
Part 1, Part 3, Part 4
Lucifer x f!sinner reader
Summary: It's wedding day! And Lucifer is more than willing to try and convince you to the leave the reception early...
Warnings: 18+, smut, hand job, oral (m receiving)
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"You know, if you don't quit your pacing back and forth, you're gonna wear out the carpet..."
***
It had only been a week since the proposal and the wedding was already here. But this is what you both wanted; a nice quiet wedding with only a handful of people with everyone else in Hell being none the wiser. You had to beg Lucifer for the week you got in between, he was practically ready to say "I do" once he put that engagement ring on your hand. It may have seemed like you two were moving a little bit fast considering most weddings take months, sometimes years to plan out! But when you're marrying the King of Hell, there really was next to nothing to worry about when it came to your special day.
The new hotel was the perfect venue, complete with a beautiful ballroom that could rival any chapel on Earth. The guest list was extremely exclusive consisting of only the occupants of the hotel, minus one Radio Demon, not that he would attend even if he was invited. It was Charlie who suggested that he protect the hotel today from any threat that might make itself known. On top of that, Charlie was more than happy to be the officiant, as being the Princess of Hell granted her that authority. Money was no object to the Morningstar family, so no expense was spared.
But regardless of any of that, Lucifer couldn't help but worry. You had one other request for him after he popped the question.
~~~
"I hate to ask more of you after asking for a week to prepare," you started, putting on the last of your clothes that you had discarded during your fun little teasing display, "but..." Lucifer approached you suddenly and held your hand in both of his.
"My love, you can ask of me anything you wish. There is no limit when it comes to you. You've already given me the best gift of becoming my future bride. Anything in my power is yours for the asking, you just name it!" He leaned down and planted a small kiss on the back of your hand. You couldn't help but blush, he never failed to charm you.
"This may sound a little odd, considering what just took place a few minutes ago," you breathed out a sigh, "but...what would you say to refraining from any...intense intimacy?" Lucifer cocked his eyebrow and smirked, seemingly intrigued. "B-but only for this week, I promise! Kissing and cuddling would still be on the table, of course. And no deliberate teasing from me, that wouldn't be fair. I was just thinking that...I want our first night as a married couple to be special. And I figured holding off for the time in between would only heighten the experience. If that's not something you want, I completely understand that-MMPH," you were silenced by Lucifer's soft lips on yours.
"Oh darling, was that all?," he flashed his signature toothy grin at you. "That's hardly a request! I think that's a wonderful idea...n-not that I don't want to ravish you at any given time! But you're right, I couldn't imagine a better honeymoon than getting the chance to feel you again after being denied for a few days, even though it may feel like an eternity. I'll be on my best behavior; you have my word!"
~~~
And Lucifer was on his best behavior, for the most part, at least. There were a few instances where his hands had traveled a little too low on your body and some kisses became deeper than they should have. But both of you managed to make it through the week! But today was the day, and his anxiety was at an all-time high. You decided to sleep in separates rooms the night before, wanting the next time you saw each other to be at the altar. That was the plan, at least.
It had been a while since Lucifer had slept alone. Suffice to say he couldn't sleep. He assured you that he would be alright sleeping alone for just one night, but that ended up being easier said than done. The empty bed he laid in brought back painful memories of his first night without Lilith, something that still haunted him to this day. There would be times where Lucifer would wake up in a cold sweat, only to glance over to see you peacefully asleep, and he could breathe again. Anytime you felt him tug you closer to him in the middle of the night, you knew what had woken him up. He never hid his feelings from you when he confided in you about his ex, and you didn't mind that he would wake you when his nightmares overwhelmed him. You loved him and he loved you. You would never leave. So when you heard your door creek open in the middle of the night to see your fiancé standing ion the door frame, you only smiled and gestured him to you.
~~~
"I-I'm sorry," he sobbed quietly, "I tried...I really did...I-I had a dream, a nightmare, you were there but you started to fade away in front of me. I reached out but it was no use. I woke up and…and you weren’t there, I panicked…I’m so s-sorry…”
"Hey, hey, shh, it's alright," you soothed and brought him into a tight embrace. You felt a tear that had fallen from his face make its way down your collarbone. "Don't cry, Luci, I'm not upset, not at all." You lifted his head up to wipe away his remaining tears. "Let's get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow." You planted a kiss on his forehead, and from the dim red light that shown through your windows, you could see a small smile appear on his face. He laid down, his back facing you as you wrapped your arms around him and brought him flush to your chest. You could hear his breathing start to even about again.
"I don't deserve you," he murmured.
"You know I think the same thing every day," you respond.
He interlaced his fingers with yours at your words, squeezing you hand softly. "Promise me you'll never think that again. Please. You deserve everything and more."
"Alright," you conceded, kissing the back of his head, "as long as you promise me the same thing. You're my everything, and I'll spend the rest of my afterlife showing you that."
"Okay," he spoke weakly. You intertwined your legs with his, bringing yourself as close to him as possible. "I still intend to keep my other promise. I'll be gone before you wake up."
"You can stay as long as you need to," you whispered before drifting off to sleep once more.
~~~
True to his word, Lucifer had managed to sneak away before you woke. After adorning his typical attire, he found himself wandering the halls of the hotel, finally stopping when he reached the lobby. Thinking he was alone, Lucifer started talking to himself and paced back and forth like a madman.
"Was this a mistake? Are we moving too fast? No, no, no it's alright, it's fine! We're fine! Get a fucking GRIP, Lucifer! You're panicking for nothing! She loves you...right? Yes, yes of course she does! Why would she say yes to you?! Unless...NO! No, none of that! Relax! Need to relax..."
"You know, if you don't quit your pacing back and forth, you're gonna wear out the carpet," Husk remarked, attempting to get Lucifer's attention in his anxious state.
"WHAT THE-" Lucifer shrieked hearing the bartender's voice. After seeing Husk standing behind the bar, he breathed out a sigh of relief and clutched his hand to his rapidly beating heart. "Geez, warn a guy next time!" Husk huffed and returned to cleaning the whiskey glass he held in his hand. "How, uhh, how much of that did you hear?"
"Enough to know that you're a fucking mess right now," the cat demon replied, setting down his now clean glass. "Perhaps you need a bartender to talk to."
"Uhh, alright?" Lucifer made his way over to the bar and took a tentative seat on one of the stools.
"This is about your girl, ain't it?" Husk correctly guessed, "about the wedding?" Lucifer sighed and nodded. "Mhmm. You love this gal, don't you?"
"Yes, of course I do!" Lucifer answered almost defensively. "She's...my everything!"
Husk picked up another dirty glass to clean. "And has she given you any reason to doubt that she feels the same way?"
Lucifer huffed. "Well, I...no, no she hasn't. She's always been there for me. Listening to my ramblings, making me laugh, consoling me during the worst times, like last night...she's...she's just perfect!"
"So what's the holdup?" Husk asked after setting the other glass down.
"It's not as simple as you're making it out to be, Husker," Lucifer retorted, pushing his way back from the bar. "I loved Lilith with all of my heart and soul. And she said...that she loved me too. But then one day, she was just gone. Vanished. We fell together. We built a life here TOGETHER! And she just leaves? It's like the last 10,000 years together meant absolutely NOTHING!" Lucifer ran his hands through his hair, trying to keep his composure. "I-I can't lose her like like I lost Lilith. I just can't! I just want to be enough for her. I don't know what I would do if she...", he couldn't finish his sentence. He sat back down at the bar, resting his head in his arms. "The pain would break me..."
The sound of a glass sliding across the counter top caught Lucifer's attention. When he lifted his head, he noticed a full glass of scotch sitting next to him. "Calms the nerves," Husk spoke. Lucifer let out a deep breath and took a swig, choking slightly in the process not realizing how strong it was.
"Not much of a drinker," Lucifer admitted, setting the glass down.
"Sir, if I may..." Husk began.
"You can call me Lucifer," the angel smiled slightly.
Husk smirked. "Lucifer, all I can tell you that love is a vulnerable emotion. I understand that you're afraid. Afraid that history will repeat itself, that your love is not meant to be, and that you're going to end up alone all over again." Lucifer's face sunk, lowering his head against his arms once more. "But," Husk continued, "I know one thing for sure. That girl up there ain't Lilith."
Lucifer raised his head, now hanging onto every word from the bartender.
"If anybody thinks you aren't enough, that's their own fucking problem. And I can tell you that your girl ain't like that at all. She adores ya, can't get her to shut up about ya! Hell, I couldn't even tell you why she ended up down here in the first place! Another one of Heaven's fuck ups, for sure. But for your sake, I'm glad she did." Husk reached over and gulped down Lucifer's unfinished glass of scotch. "Be a shame if it went to waste."
Lucifer let out the smallest of laughs. "Thank you, Husker. And you're right, even in this God forsaken pit, she manages to make it just a little bit brighter. She saved me. And I'm going to devote every moment of my immortal life to her."
"Good to hear. Now..." Husk slammed his hand down on the counter, "get your shit together and go get ready! You got a wedding to attend."
*** You startled awake with the sound of knocking at your door. Your mind was still foggy, brief memories of last night flooded through your head. "Lucifer?" you sat up and looked around your room, but he was already gone, leaving you alone in an empty bed. He had kept his promise after all. There was another set of knocks at the door. "Coming!" you shouted as you ran to grab the robe you had left on the armchair. You opened the door to see Charlie bouncing giddily.
“Good moooorrrrnnniiiinnnngggggg~” she practically sang. “Did you sleep well? Are you ready for your big day?? Are we forgetting anything???” She rapid fired questions at you while you were still rubbing the crust from your eyes.
“Charlie, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re more excited than I am,” you joked, gesturing her to come in. “In order: Yes, I slept…well. Yes, I’m ready...mentally speaking. And no, we’re definitely not forgetting anything. You’re the most meticulous and thoughtful person I know, you definitely have everything planned to a tee! You practically leapt out of your skin when we asked if you would officiate.”
"Aww, thank you!" Charlie smiled as she skipped into your room. "And of course! I would never turn down such an opportunity! Being the princess of Hell does have its perks! You can never be too prepared, ya know? Especially for a day that's so wonderful and magical and full of love!" You saw tears welling up in her eyes out of pure joy.
"Hey now, I thought I was the one that was supposed to be crying today!" you joked.
"Right, right! Sorry!" She wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed your hands excitedly. "Let's get your hair and make up done!"
Charlie dragged you over to the vanity and sat you down in the chair. You weren't one to wear much makeup typically, but Charlie insisted. And when Charlie asks for something, it's pretty much impossible to tell her no. So you obliged. But you made her promise that she would not go overboard, only the basics. Thankfully you showered the night before, so your hair just needed a good brush through. Charlie grabbed the hairbrush and began to comb through your hair, gently pulling out the knots out of the nasty case of bed head you were sporting. She truly was the kindest soul you've ever met. But that didn't stop you from feeling a little awkward.
"Charlie," you mumbled, "can I-oww...can I ask you something?"
"Yes, absolutely!" She grabbed the the already plugged-in curler and started working on adding some volume to your hair.
"Are...are you sure you're alright with this?" you asked timidly. "I mean...me and your father. I just don't want you to think I'm trying to, you know...replace your mother. I know I don't know much about her or your relationship but..."
Charlie put down the curler and kneeled down next to you, gently grabbing your hand. "You don't need to worry about that! I promise, it's alright with me. It's more than alright, actually! I haven't seen my dad this happy in a long, long time. He loves you so much! You wanna know how I know that? Because he tells me. Every single day. His eyes light up when anybody mentions your name! And I know you would never do anything to hurt him, or me. You're too kind and good hearted for that. I know it may feel like you're inserting yourself into the picture, but I'm more than happy to have you as part of our family! I know the love you have for my dad is genuine, and I wouldn't change a thing!"
A smile formed on your face. "Thank you, Charlie."
"Now," Charlie hopped up from the floor and grabbed the large make up bag sitting on the counter, “time to make magic happen! I have the perfect idea! Close your eyes and no peaking until I say so!”
*** You could feel your heart beating out of your chest as you stood in front of the closed ballroom doors. You knew just on the other side of that door was the love of your life, and he was waiting for you. Husk linked your arm with his, flashing you a warm smile. "You ready?"
You let out a few shaky breaths before you could answer him. "Y-yes."
"Don't worry, I gotcha," he comforted, "one step at a time, alright? Trust me, whatever you're feeling now, he was in much worse shape this morning. Nearly had to kick his ass to the altar myself. But I straightened him out for ya."
You could help but laugh. "Thanks, Husk. And thank you for walking me down. I know this isn't really a traditional wedding, but I appreciate everything you and everyone else have done for us."
"No thanks is necessary," Husk replied, "for what you do for Charlie and the hotel, it's the least I can do. You're a good one to be sure. And the King is damn lucky to have ya." You smiled and tightened your grip on Husk's arm as you heard the faint sound of music start to play on the other side. "It's time."
Without another word, the large wooden doors opened in front of you, and the music could be heard much more clearly now. The Bridal Chorus. Husk waited on your command as you took the first step. You scanned the room. You saw Vaggie and Cherri standing to one side, Angel off to the other, while Niffty skipped in front of you throwing a mix of flower petals and roaches. You noticed Charlie straight ahead of you in a lovely blue suit, a color you've never seen her wear before. You also took notice to the fact there didn't seem to be any organ in the room, despite the music that continued to play as you walked. You guessed it was some of Lucifer's magic. He really knew how to set the scene for the occasion.
Finally, your eyes found Lucifer. He looked at you as if you were the most angelic being he's ever laid his eyes on. You couldn't quite make out the details of his face yet, but you could tell that tears had begun rolling down his face. You saw his suit for the first time. A beautiful black velvet suit with embroidered gold detailing on the jacket. He looked like royalty.
Lucifer stared back at you, fighting every urge in his body to run to you and scoop you up in his arms. Your dress was immaculate. A stunning flowing sleeveless white dress adorned with fluffy scarlet feathers that were scattered across the skirt and completely covered the bodice. An homage to your future husband. You were only a few feet from him now. His smile could have lit the darkest of rooms. The tears continued to flow from his eyes, and you could feel tears threatening to leave yours as well.
"Deep breaths," Husk murmured to you before stepping to the side to join Angel. You inhaled deeply, holding your breath until you stood directly in front of Lucifer, only exhaling when he reached out and held your hands in his.
The music stopped. Your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear now.
Charlie cleared her throat. "Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to join these two souls before us in holy matrimony. I understand that the couple have written their own vows." Charlie glanced your way and beamed. "Ladies first!" You smiled back at her then turned your full attention to Lucifer, staring lovingly and longingly into his eyes. You had spent the entire week practicing and memorizing your words for this very moment. You breathed in, and you breathed out.
"Lucifer, words cannot begin to describe how you make me feel. You have shown me so much compassion, understanding, care, and adoration that I had never experienced on Earth. My promise to you is that I will always stay by your side, I will never abandon you, and I will love you for the rest of my after life. You've changed my life for the better, and I will make sure that I do the same for you. You are my one true love, forever and always. I love you, my angel."
Lucifer pulled one of his hands away to wipe away the tears the refused to stop flowing. Angel pulled out a handkerchief and brought it over to him and began patting it across his cheeks. You looked at Charlie who had also started to cry. She quickly composed herself and turned towards her father. "D-Dad?" she squeaked out.
Once Lucifer was able to compose himself, he took hold of your hands once more. "My love, I have existed since before the dawn of creation. And in my thousands of years of existence, no one has brought me as much joy as you have. You came into my life suddenly, like a thief in the night, and stole my most precious possession. My heart. It is yours now, for eternity and even beyond. I promise that you will never know another day of sadness, of heartbreak, or of loneliness. My devotion to you is boundless and unfathomable and never ending. I am yours. I love you, my queen."
Razzle appeared in front of the two of you, displaying the silver wedding rings for each of you. You and Lucifer took your respective ring to to place on the other's hand.
"Lucifer," Charlie spoke through her sniffles "will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife; will you love, honor, and cherish her, hold her up in the good times and the bad, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do, forever," he answered, sliding the ring onto your finger.
Charlie turned and repeated the question to you.
"Yes, I do," you proclaimed, sliding the ring onto his hand in the same manner.
"By the power vested in me, as princess of Hell, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
You and Lucifer smiled at each other, no longer able to hold back any of your tears. Lucifer cupped your face and brought your lips to his for a tender kiss. You heard the cheers from the others in the room, and you definitely heard Angel whistle as your lips connected. When you pulled apart, something had caught your eye. Your rings were glowing. Magic in the form of golden dust surrounded each of them, swirling around the metal bands.
"What's this?" You asked Lucifer, who didn't seem alarmed at all.
He chuckled. "You're the new Queen of Hell, my darling. This magic is a symbol. It signifies that you are no longer bound by the rules that govern the sinners; you are bound to me. You have free reign to travel anywhere you wish, including the other rings of Hell. You're now one of the most powerful beings in the realm! But we can get into the finer details later; for now," Lucifer pecked your lips once again, "let's celebrate!"
After wiping away her excessive tears, Charlie cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time ever, Mr. and Mrs. Morningstar!" The crowd cheered as you walked hand in hand with your husband back down the aisle.
"Who's ready to fucking PARTY?!" Cherri yelled behind you as you all made your way towards the bar in the lobby.
Drinks poured at the reception, everyone was cutting lose and having fun! You two had decided to partake in as many traditional reception activities as you could! Neither of you knew how you ended up with so much cake all over yourselves, but it was alright considering Lucifer easily snapped his fingers and both of you ended up back in pristine condition. You invited everyone to participate in the bouquet toss, but it was Vaggie who ended up with the flowers in the end. She absolutely failed to hide her blush from Charlie who was jumping for joy! But this next tradition was something Lucifer had really been looking forward to; the garter belt toss.
Ever the showman, Lucifer hiked up your dress to your thigh and rather than using his hands, he decided to use his teeth to pull the garment down. His head lingered near your thigh way longer than necessary, and you could Angel snickering as Lucifer dragged it down the length of your leg.
"Oh, you're gonna get it," you leaned down to whisper to him, hoping no one else could hear.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" Lucifer retorted with the garter belt still between his teeth.
To no one's surprise, Angel was the one to catch the belt once Lucifer finally tossed it.
The reception was going off without a hitch. Everyone was having the time of their lives getting plastered and gorging themselves on the enormous buffet Lucifer hand conjured up. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a new purple dress; the lavender one that you really liked that you had tried on a week ago before you got yanked out of the dressing room by a certain horny angel. Thankfully, you two were able to go back to the store the next day to properly purchase it. You and Lucifer were given your own large round table so you wouldn't have to sit at the crowded bar. Luckily for Lucifer, this gave him easy access to you. As the reception went on and with no one being the wiser, Lucifer's hand found your thigh once more, gliding it up ever so slowly before you shot him a knowing glance.
"What do you say we leave early," he proposed innocently, "I have a wonderful surprise for my new bride once we're on our honeymoon."
You playfully grabbed Lucifer's wandering hand and pushed it down towards your knee. "Luci, it's only been an hour! You can't tell me you can't wait just a little longer, can you?"
Lucifer stuck out his lip and pouted sweetly. "Oh, but my love, have you forgotten? It's been an entire week! And you know how well behaved I've been, I am nothing if not a man of my word." You felt his hand begin its ascent on your leg once more. You didn't stop him. "But I can only be a gentleman for so long..."
You didn't want to admit it, but you were in the same boat as well. That week apart had been almost tortuous. But you were more than willing to wait until the party was over. Your husband, however, appeared to have a different idea.
Alright then.
Before his hand could climb any higher, your hand shot down immediately to his crotch. Lucifer bit back a yelp as he felt you palm him through his pants. His hand stopped all motion, but instead started digging into your thigh, ultimately trying to remain calm. But that task seemed nearly impossible with the way your hand continued its ministrations, his pants feeling tighter and tighter with every passing second.
"D-Darling, please..." he begged through his clenched teeth.
You grinned wickedly. "You want me to take care of you, Luci?" He nodded his head vigorously. "We're not leaving early. But, I'll help you out as a good wife should, yeah?" Lucifer panted, his nails now dangerously close to breaking through your skin. "Head to the restroom just down the hall. Give me a minute and I'll follow you. I'll knock three times to let you know it's me. I have a plan. No touching yourself, understand?"
"Y-Yes," he breathed. When he was sure no one was looking, he stood up from his chair as fast as possible before making his way down the hall. Once you saw him disappear around the corner, it was time to give yourself some cover.
"Angel!" you yelled across the room, waving your hands to flag him down. The spider demon turned his head and smiled. He said something inaudible to Cherri before making his way over to you.
"Hey there, pretty lady!" Angel bent over and folded is first pair arms on the table, "Congratulations on the new gig! Being Queen of Hell sure is a status boost!"
"Yeah, I still need time to process that," you admitted. "So Angel, can you umm, do me a favor?"
Angel stood up and slicked his hair back. "Oh, anything for the new member of the royal family! What can I do ya for, doll face?"
You let out a shaky breath. "Can you...how do I say this...cause some sort of distraction?" Angel raised an eyebrow. "I just need to take care of something real quick."
"Uh huh," Angel chuckled, "you need to take care of something? Or someone?~" You pursed your lips, a light blush dashed across your cheeks. You really should have known better than to try and tiptoe around your means of leaving with Angel. "That's what I thought. Don't think I didn't notice the King almost sprint out of here just now. Man is absolutely smitten with ya! But you'll get no judgement from me, baby, I know how it is! Consider this your wedding gift, I typically end up being the most distracting person wherever I go! How much time do you need?"
"Five minutes?"
"Oh honey, I think you're giving him way too much credit, especially considering the state he's in." Angel laughed, "I can give you three."
"Four."
"Deal," Angel stuck a hand out for you to shake. He was ready to turn away when he flashed you a wink. "Get ready!"
As soon as you heard Angel shout loud enough to grab everyone's attention, you got up from the table and followed Lucifer's path down the hall. Once you stood in front of the restroom door, you knocked on it three times just as you said you would. It took less than a second for the door to swing open and for Lucifer to pull you inside. He locked the door behind you and crashed his lips into yours. You pushed him up against the door as you slipped your tongue further into his mouth. He was devouring you as his hands gripped your hips.
"We don't have a lot of time," you said breathlessly, "we have four minutes."
"How did-HHNG," Lucifer wanted to question until you began to palm at his now very apparent erection through his pants again.
"Let's just say I owe Angel big time." You started to fumble with Lucifer's belt, pulling it off of his pants with a quick flick of your arm. Your hands worked at the button and zipper of his pants next, going almost too fast for you to properly hold anything. You gripped the hem of his pants and boxers and were about to pull them down together until Lucifer grabbed your wrists.
"Wait, wait! What about you?" he asked. Even in such a lust filled state, he still only ever thought about you. God, you really hit the jackpot.
You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I appreciate it hon, but we really don't have the time to argue about this. Four minutes, remember? Probably closer to three now." You pulled your hands away from Lucifer's grip and went back to the hem of his pants, pulling down his boxers in the process, finally freeing his hardened cock that was already leaking precum. You placed your hands on either side of his hips, his back flush against the door. "You better tell me what you want quickly, Luci."
Lucifer gulped hard, staring at you through half-lidded eyes. "T-touch me...please...n-need you..."
Without another word, you moved to stand at Lucifer's side as your one hand gripped his shaft while the other cupped his mouth to keep him from making too much noise. "Shh, gotta be quiet, my love. You don't want the others to hear how your queen makes you feel." He nodded his head silently as you began to stroke him. You watched as precum dripped onto the floor below; it was obvious how pent up he was. You quickly picked you the pace as your hand moved up and down his cock, thumbing over the tip only for Lucifer to mewl into your hand and buck up into your touch. His breathing became more and more staggered by the second, he wasn't going to last much longer at this rate. But you knew you were running out of time and your hands alone were not going to be enough to finish the job. "Not a sound," you commanded as you released your hand from his mouth, dropping to your knees in an instant. Before Lucifer could protest, your mouth had already full engulfed his length. He threw his own hand over his mouth to muffle his screams as best he could. Your head bobbed up and down rapidly on his cock while stopping every few seconds to lap circles around his tip. He was close.
"F-Fuu-uuccckk," he whimpered, "I-I'm g-mmph...gonna c-cum...shitshitSHIT!" And almost on cue, you felt him empty himself inside you. Strings of hot cum hit that back of your throat while you continued to suck him off, helping him ride out his orgasm. Once he was finished, you let his now softened dick fall from your lips, not letting a single drop leave your mouth. You gracefully stood up and grabbed his belt that you had flung earlier and handed it to him.
"Feel better?" you whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
He turned his head to meet your lips once more. He always loved the taste of him on your mouth. "Immeasurably," Lucifer moaned into you.
"And only with a few seconds to spare!" Lucifer buckled his pants once more while you walked over to the sink and began soaking one of the wash cloths in cool water. You dabbed the towel on his forehead, attempting to cool him down. "Can't have you looking so disheveled, my king."
"I promise to make this up to you," Lucifer swore. "You should never be left unsatisfied."
You smiled and kissed him on the forehead sweetly. "My satisfaction is knowing I'm the only one who can pull those beautiful sounds out of you." Lucifer could help but look away from you in embarrassment. "Now, if you promise to behave for the rest of the party, let's just say I have a...proposition for you later tonight. I know exactly how you can pay me back." You unlocked the bathroom door and held it open for him. "Let's not keep our guests waiting!"
~~~
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IT'S SO FUCKING LATE RIGHT NOW HOLY GOD I WAS ON A ROLL I DIDN'T WANT TO STOP! I hope you guys are ready for the honeymoon ;)
Taglist: @ask-theradio-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj @bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps @ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel @seulace9 @fluffypinkpillows @starlightdreaming @k-n0-x @rosen-und-mondlicht @raindropsfromheaven @slutforlucifermorningstar (I'm sorry if I missed anyone!)
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sugoi-and-spice · 3 months
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Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission
Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.
CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
AO3 Link
A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.
Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.
I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.
Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)
Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD
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“Hey, hey— are you alright?”
She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days. 
“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?
The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.
She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”
And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.
But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.
Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.
“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”
“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”
“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”
“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”
“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.
She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.
“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”
She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.
Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:
“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.
Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.
“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”
And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.
The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.
But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.
It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.
And that was better than nothing she supposed.
Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”
Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.
“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”
She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head,  “Damn it— you can say that again.”
Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”
She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”
“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”
Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”
She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.
“If I do… Do you mind—”
“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”
She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person. 
The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.
And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.
She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.
She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.
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Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s. 
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”
She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.
“Yeah, I fucking told you.” 
Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.
She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.
If only for a little bit.
“What’s going on?”
She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.
“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”
“You start your period or something?”
He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same. 
Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.
“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”
She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.
“Are you nauseous at all?”
Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.
“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”
“Have you taken anything for it?”
She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.
“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”
He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.
And between her legs.
“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.
“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”
“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”
She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief. 
…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?
She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.
“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.
He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.
“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”
She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.
“No funny business?” she pressed.
He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”
More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.
So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.
Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.
She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.
“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”
Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”
In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.
With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.
A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair. 
He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.
“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”
“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.
She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”
He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.
Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.
She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets. 
“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”
She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.
By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.
Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.
“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”
Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.
“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”
She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.
“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”
It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all. 
Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.
Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.
He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck. 
Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met. 
Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.
Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.
And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.
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It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.
Shigaraki wasn’t here.
She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…
She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…
Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.
Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.
Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.
If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.
She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed. 
She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.
It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.
And really fucking nauseous.
She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.
A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.
“Let it out. Just let it all out.”
She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.
“Here.”
She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.
 “Drink some of it too.”
She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice. 
And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form. 
Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”
“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”
She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.
“Don’t like salmon?”
“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”
“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”
Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.
“W-What?”
Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—” 
Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something? 
Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.
“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.
She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…
“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”
She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest. 
He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”
She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.
“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”
Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last. 
“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”
He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach. 
She sighed.
“Yeah… Yeah okay.”
Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed. 
But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.
She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.
“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”
She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.
But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.
Like something was wrong .
Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.
There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…
And a little dish of four pills. 
Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…
“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”
As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.
And she was ready to get the fuck off.
“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”
“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”
Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping. 
“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”
He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”
He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…
“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”
He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.
“ Both of you .”
She froze.
No.
No, he couldn’t mean—
She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:
“... what? ”
Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.
“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”
She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.
He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!
“Th-That’s not funny.”
His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.
“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”
“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”
“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”
He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”
Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.
“B-But my birth control pills…”
“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”
Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.
And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came. 
Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.
Horribly fucking right.
Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly. 
“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”
His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.
“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”
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jazjelspen · 7 months
Text
scarlet and silver lining (part 1)
(alastor w/ daughter reader)
(fem reader/notproofread!/apologies for anything ooc qwq/apologies for the pacing as well!!!! It’s 1AM LMAO—)
[chapter 1]
Sure, you didn’t actually want to redeem yourself.
Personally, you knew you were in the right place and were meant to be in this spot in the afterlife. You weren’t bloodthirsty and power hungry like the rest of the monsters down here but your sins were from your reckless decisions and you knew you couldn’t take it back.
So in turn, you didn’t truly trust the princess’s claims and theories.
But here you were, in her hotel through her doorstep. Dragging you along by your wrist being gentle but also filled with such excitement that she might’ve tugged a bit too hard for your preference.
As she led you to introduce yourself to the other residents and staff, you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly you let yourself get into this predicament.
Then again, you didn’t really have a choice.
_______________________________
Your hands stopped from fixing your hair, you had been stunned from preparing yourself for the next twenty minutes you’d be on air. Your face contorting while your eyes stared dead at your reflection at the mirror decorated with bright little light bulbs all around it’s frame as they shined their lights on you. Your hands shaking slightly and barley starting to sweat.
Why exactly were you shocked? Your boss.
“See here ____, what I need you to do is to simply get in through inside the princess’s little hotel and spy for me for a few weeks here and there! Document everything for me, whichever way you can. “
Vox, your boss, was ordering you on a new mission for you to do. He wouldn’t have you do these kinds of things regularly unless he needed some kind of spy or a pretty face for a segment of his show to get more ratings or as a distraction of sorts. Although lately he’s been sounding more aggravated, annoyed—dying to get what he wants. He was facing the set his crew were preparing as they fixed a few lights, checked if the cameras were functioning, etc.
It was good that he was facing that way and you the other, for if he saw your look of shock and slight fear spreading across your face like a disease he would probably question you like some kind of unruly detective for it.
But why wouldn’t you react this way? After all, he was asking you to spy and be around your father. The man you were ashamed of being connected to. He didn’t know this— he didn’t have to know this. For you knew Vox would simply use and wear you out as a pawn, overwork you, maybe torture you and hurt you to get specific answers.
He wasn’t afraid of doing anything to get what he wants anyway.
“Tape recorder, journal, write it on some fucking menstrual pad I don’t fucking care. I simply need to know what that fucker is thinking of doing next with Lucifer’s daughter now on his fucking shoulder.”
He snapped, static overtaking his voice at the end of his sentences. Clearly absolutely finished with this entire situation especially since for all you knew the last time someone tried to sneak in for him they were caught in the matter of a day, and if you didn’t have a direct connection to Vox he would’ve sent you first.. but now you were one of his only options until he really got frustrated.
“Oh but do this for me and you’ll get your own little studio! Your own show! Be your own boss, have your own crew.. you get the idea. All financially supported by me! Oh and you even get to live by yourself.. although—
I still own you. Get that. But you get your little artistic freedom huh sweetheart? What do you say? Do this little favor for me? If you don’t I’ll simply.. kill you.
Or throw you in the streets. Depending on how badly you fuck up you’ll get either one of the two! You’ll die either way.”
You were left a bit shocked, the immense dump of information overwhelming you so. “I—I—“
“Good.” He cut you off.. geez. “You start in two days, two days to get what you need and to at least plan how you’ll keep me updated. And remember, you give me all the information either throughout your stay there or you spit it all out when I need you to still be here on the job.” He fixed his bow tie walking towards the set to start the broadcast, a strong frown decorating his screen before hiding his stress with a cocky smile for the cameras.
You looked at your reflection with a grim look on your face, heart sinking and a shaky sigh escaped.
You didn’t want to see him again. You couldn’t.. you— wouldn’t.
But you needed to do it whether you liked it or not. You knew this.
Survive, get a few more perks and bonuses that would very much make you live your afterlife a bit more comfortably.
It’s just gonna be a month right?— Fuck.. Vox didn’t specify how long simply just… a few weeks. Most likely he just wants you to be there as long as you could.
Keep your life, get a better job, better home home, stay protected. That’s what you’ve been focusing for all these years—
Why stop now.
____________________________________
Dragged by the princess you were stopped in front of a group of sinners, your other hand almost losing its grip on your suitcase but managed to catch it by the tips of your fingers. The sweat from the anxiety that was accumulating while on your way here.
It weirded you out a bit that Charlie didn’t react to your drenched hand. maybe she was too overwhelmed with emotions as well to notice?…
Charlie set you in front of a pink spider, someone you knew all too well from the constant advertisements, short interactions with him, and Valentino’s undying yapping, Angel Dust.
“Angel, meet ____, _____ meet Angel!! She’s going to stay here for a chance at redemptiooon!! How amazing!” Her excitement was pouring out like thunder and lightening, just simply uncontainable.
The pink soul darted its eyes at you with a sense of familiarity. You knew being a known figure would be a bit of a challenge but god— you really wanted that place to yourself.
“Heyy.. Angel..” you waved a little sheepishly, knowing how awkward this feels for you at least.
Angel eyed you a bit intensely, but you knew deep down he sorta understood why you’d be here as well— at least not knowing that Vox himself sent you here—maybe he thinks that your presence is due to the same reason he’s away from Valentino. Needing an escape from your abusers and bosses was something he understood all too well.
“Hiya cutie, didn’t expect to see you here of all places.” He smirked as he waved back at you but in a more confident and laid back way than you did.
Charlie paused at his words, “Oh? You two know eachother?—“
“Oh.. I know this adorable face anywhere!” Angel exclaimed proudly with one of his arms reaching over to squish one of your cheeks playfully, you laughing a bit due to the slight awkwardness of the situation but also because he was one of the very few people you never had issues with despite how much you guys never really talked much.
“She’s a real darling, hard worker and all. Although.. didn’t think your boss was that bad as to make you want to run in here of all places..”
“I was about to say— aren’t you that chick that is on TV for that one overlord’s show or somethin’…” a low and almost growly voice spoke from slightly farther away.
Looking towards that particular direction you are met with a cat-like person, a furry soul with fluffy ears and a seemingly insatiable thirst for alcohol the way he drank down a large bottle of cheap booze like water.
Your shoulders raised up a bit in embarrassment, smiling as a way to cover up your nervousness that was already slipping.
“Didn’t we also literally catch Pentious trying to work for him literally not that long ago?.. At this point they aren’t even trying to hide it by sending her here.” Spoke another, this time a more serious female voice descended from a mature woman with long silver hair and an ‘X’ over her eye that resembled those of the exorcists.. huh.
You shook your hands together a bit as you tried to defend yourself in a way, not wanting to be caught this easily “Oh nonono!.. I’m not here because my boss sent me I— I just..—“
“Yknow what Vagina,” Angel interrupted you to glare at the woman that spoke “If you knew anything about how the V’s treat their employees you wouldn’t blame her and I for wanting to be away from them and anything work related.. got it toots?”
Your heart warmed slightly but also let out a huge sigh of relief. Maybe that wasn’t the real reason why you were here but you were glad to know that Angel was someone you could relate the most due to your very similar situations.
“Yea Vaggie! Let’s give her a chance! If Angel knows her and if we make sure she’s here for reals then she’s a perfect second official resident!!”
The girl, now named Vaggie by Charlie, rolls her eyes as she lets out a sigh. “Can we at least check if she has no electronics on her. If this turns out to be another Pentious I will not hesitate this time.”
A single glare from her one eye piercing you with a sharp and merciless spike. Making you feel even more nervous and unwelcomed but.. you knew you had to just keep going..
“Oh Vaggie no need to be so rude to our new guest! We can do those checks later! Right now it’s introduction time!!” She exclaimed almost jumping up a down, a bit too joyous for your liking.
Angel noticed this and side eyed you while whispering a cheeky comment to you “Ms. Rainbow pants here may be a bit much but you’ll get used to it sweetcheeks.” He said, with a tone more sounding of an older brother of sorts.
You smiled a bit at him but then looked away to try to relax, not excited to be ‘introduced’ to someone you knew was in the far.. far corner of it all.
“Oh and this is Vaggie! My girlfriend and manager of this establishment! If you have any issues or concerns you may check in with her, she’s a-ma-zing!” Despite making her sound helpful and less.. terrifying. You couldn’t help but still feel rather intimidated.
Vaggie continued to glare at you with a clear distrust in you. You just waved at her shyly as well, trying to at least not seem as dangerous as she may think you are.
Until Charlie once again dragged you to four other figures, the fourth one a bit behind the first three. “And this is Husk the bartender, Nifty our housekeeper and cook, and Sir Pentious! Pentious being one of our first official residents!”
She spoke each name by pointing to which name belonged to who, Pentious’s name ringing a bell but it was new seeing his appearance. So this is the guy that forced Vox to drag you here instead..
Husk, the cat that spoke earlier simply looked at you and didn’t give another word, downing yet another bottle. Pentious waved at you with the same energy you gave as well but was more or less focused on his ‘eggs’ that were poking at the flesh around his eyes on his tail and Nifty.. well..
She was on top of you, more specifically— your head.
She was sniffing you, eying you like a fucking hawk, inspecting you as if you could be contaminated with a dying virus— your breath hitched as you hoped she wouldn’t smell the fear growing on you as your skin went cold.
“Fairly.. clean….” She then backed up slightly to inspect your eyes with her own giant one only to then scurry off across your body like a bug, causing you to get disgusting goosebumps.
“Pretty.. smells nice.. no dirt—“ she then stopped by suddenly standing in front of you with a big ol’ smile as if what she just did was incredibly normal.
“Hiya! I’m Nifty! Had to make sure you weren’t bringing any filth in the hotel.. I just cleaned this place…” She took out her little hand for you to shake.. being hesitant but not willing to be rude to someone this peculiar— you shook her hand with just two of your fingers and before you could pull away yourself she then immediately scurried off as fast as she came.
“And then last but not least—“
“Alastor! Quite a pleasure, a real pleasure to get to meet you young lady! Please, feel free to be welcomed into the Hazbin Hotel!” Alastor, the radio demon, dad— approached you with such enthusiasm and enticement. As if he couldn’t wait to talk to you.
Your blood ran cold, eyes widened with fear, your free hand clutched tightly at the handle of your luggage as Alastor took the other to then put it up to where his smile was, not kissing it or having your hand too near his lips but still keeping courtesy of when meeting a woman as he usually would.
Even in death, he stays a gentleman as per usual.
“My my.. you poor soul. To have to run away from your employer down to this place.. why he must be a terrible person, isn’t he?”
Ah right.. Vox and Alastor hated eachother. You knew this very well.. you honestly didn’t know much about why they hated eachother other than the running joke that Vox most definitely lost a fight with him.
You died years later after Alastor did so you don’t exactly have the full scoop. Him dying in your late teens and you dying in your mid to almost late 20s. You lived life yet— some would say not enough.
“Poor thing, not to worry! Let this be your safe house! Your haven, your asylum, your refuge!” He exclaimed each two sets of words by twirling you around in an exaggerated manner, in a style reminiscent of the way dancers would spin their dance partners in the 30s. You recognized this move all too well— feeling almost nostalgic.
Although you were slightly grateful for one thing he was doing right.. not being overly revealing or announcing the one big fact you two had between the both of you.
You didn’t need that fact to be running around the place like some kind of daily gossip.
Before your anxiety would make you burst in crying or throwing up right in his face you immediately tugged your hand away, his own keeping your wrist in his palm.
“Thank.. you—“ your hand holding the luggage let go to try to tug his hand from holding you any longer until you then finally managed to pull his grip away from off of your other wrist in order to create more space between him and you from the immense anxiety you were having, your lungs threatening not to quicken and burst like balloons. You immediately went back to hold onto your luggage once more.
“How.. welcoming..” you pretended as if you were dusting off your clothes and your arms as if trying to tidy yourself up instead it really meant to give you a few more seconds to collect your thoughts properly.
‘God.. everyone knowing I’m with Vox is only going to make this real fucking hard— I didn’t think this entirely fucking through..’ ah yes.. you totallyyy weren’t panicking about this now active interaction the past two days huh—
‘just act calm and cool _____, you need that money, you need that place, you need that show, you need protection.. stick to the plan..’
“Uh— how humble!.. of your Hotel staff to be so.. welcoming— your highness.” You spoke to Charlie, smiling brightly as if all of this was just casual conversation.
“A real treat seeing dear ol’ Angel Dust here, good to see a familiar face ain’t it Angie?” You turned slightly towards the pornstar, with him returning your comment by exclaiming with a “Damn right!”
Charlie smiled intensely with a nod, face full of joy and innocence. “I’m so sososo glad you like it here so far!! Your experience here won’t be disappointing! You’ll have an absolute blast!—
oh oh!! Can’t forget! We have to get you to your room! If you’d like you can stay there and rest or come down here and join us! Whichever you feel comfortable with.”
“Why thank you very much your highness, your hospitality sure is a darn nice breath of fresh air compared to the rest of hell. Bunch of cats and dogs fighting like wild animals out there.. need a real break once in awhile..” you spoke as you followed Charlie as she lead the way to your room, giving you a minor tour of the hotel before letting you rest in your new humble abode.
Your act, although part sincere and true, was full of holes. Holes not enough for the normal gaze to see but they are clear enough for him to see.
Alastor would eye you as you followed the princess, his fingers uncurling and curling around his staff slowly and menacingly. His sharp pupils narrowing while aligning with his grin as it expanded with a sense of mischief holding it up by its ends.
He saw right through you, of course he would, he knows when you lie, know when you’re honest, when you’re afraid and happy.
Why lie to him my dear? If you know that he knows you like the back of his hand.
Either way he knows he’s going to have to catch you alone at some point, he must catch up to what he’s missed throughout the years he’s been gone from the living world and even in hell.. although you made it clear the last time you met in hell that you don’t want to see him again he finds it curious how you’re even here at all.
Oh but.. gosh.. how much his little girl has grown.
_________________________________
You were a two months from turning 7 years old now, being adopted almost a year ago was the most prolific moment in your young life. Your grandmother, her real name being Adelaide but you preferred to call her Nana or Grandmama… Nana was better for your little voice to stretch out more easily and faster.
She was always such a darling to you, treating you as if you were one of her own. She told you true most amazing and beautiful stories, shared and sang the most wonderful lullabies and songs that sometimes Alastor would join in on, would make delicious food that you adored throughout your childhood, love you unconditionally the way a grandmother would.
And technically you were hers through papers but sometimes it felt as if it was inconsistent in certain areas.. mostly with Alastor.
Alastor was a peculiar man, as famous and passionate as he was he certainly didn’t have a heart of gold, only open to those he truly cares for like his mother and his radio show. It was as if his heart was surrounded from the sky to the depth of the ground with rusty fences and sharped barbed wire that only allowed very few people and things being let into his life.
You tried to get close to him around this time, bringing him little gifts you made and trinkets you’d find that reminded you of him as a way to get closer.
But he always just smiled at you, gave you a pat, and either said ‘good job’, ‘oh how cute, leave it at my study now won’t you?’ ‘I’m sure your Nana would love it.’ And go right back to what he was doing..
You didn’t understand why that happened— but it seems as if he didn’t bother to get close to you simply because you were a gift to his mother, a granddaughter she wanted to have but he couldn’t give unless through legal assistance,
you were for her to love— not for him to raise.
At least that was the case at this point in time.
It was weird.. you never truly has any terrible or bad interactions but— yet it made you disappointed each time, made you crave for his attention. After all— he’s supposed to be your father. Why wasn’t he paying attention?..
You were currently in your room sitting at your desk, papers scattered with different colored wax and pencils messily thrown around on the surface.
You were drawing something, a gift as a last chance to get him to notice you properly. You even had a special gift that your Nana helped you pick out for him! Surely, your dear dad would notice you now right?
Scribbling the last few finishing touches you then dropped the pen on the table as you exclaimed a little “Aha!” And raising the drawing up high, feeling proud of your masterpiece!
You quickly set the drawing down as you then hopped off your chair to a cower through a little playbox full of toys you had, only to search for one single thing. Once your tiny finally felt the touch of wood and slight metal, you grabbed it and pulled it out with yet again another delightful glee.
It was a small radio shaped wooden charm, the metal being the small little ‘hand’ that moved whenever the radio was operating and transmitting audio frequencies. The perfect gift for papa!
You then quickly grabbed the drawing off your desk, both your gifts in hand your little feet went pitter patter as you ran to the dining room where Alastor was having lunch freshly made by his mother.
Your Nana having recently left the home to get a few emergency groceries, made this a good time for just him and you to connect.
“Papa! papa!” You squealed, Alastor’s brows furrowing at several elements in his surroundings annoying him slightly..
“_____, no running in the house remember? Cant have too much noise disturbing our home.” Despite his scolding you couldn’t help but to just giggle and almost jump in excitement in what you’re planning to give him. He continued “Besides as I have mentioned many times before, call me Al—“
“But papa! Papa!— look!—“ you interrupted him, your voice projecting a bit more into a yell as to have him look at what you have.
“_____, no yelling please dear. I can hear you quite well. I’m not a mile away..”
“Yes papa— b—but!.. look..! I made you something..” you then gently set the drawing up at the table first beside his food. Alastor’s attention finally set on the paper and even stopped eating to look at it. He picked it up.. his eyes inspecting it.
It was a drawing of you and him in a sunny flower meadow in a forest both you and his mother had a picnic in recently, except it was just the both of you here.
The drawing was definitely not the most perfect but it was definitely the cutest. Your scribbles somehow managing to immediately the shape of his hair perfectly, his glasses were visible and his red suit was very on parr with what he would wear on the daily, then there was you— your hair a bit more messily drawn than his and seemed more rushed.. as if you couldn’t yet wait to finish the piece. To top it all off it even had small scribbled words in pencil that said ‘papa’ and ‘me’ and an arrow pointing at each individual figure that fit that description.
Oh how cute.
You stared up at him closely, even for a young kid as yourself you were able to notice the way his usually dark and cold eyes had a twinkle in them, a sort of softness diluting his everyday smile ever so slightly.
It took him a second before you then set the trinket on the table where he picked up the paper from “And this is also for you papa.. nana helped me pick it out for you since I said I wanted to give you a present…”
His eyes darted towards the trinket and even picked it up, inspecting the work and its shapes along with the design of it as a whole. Admiring it almost.
His eyes darted back to the drawing, both hands with both gifts.
“Darling…”
Your little heart ran faster, your hopes were rising up to the heavens. Is he gonna say he was proud?.. he loves it? Adores it?.. hates it?—
“This is cute and all, but don’t forget to draw Nana in next time! She was at that picnic with us too remember!” He exclaimed as he smiled at you in an almost bittersweet way, his softness almost being wiped off entirely.
You frowned, “but.. I made it for you papa.. I’m always with nana so.. I wanted to make something for you!” You smiled fondly at him, trying to still hope for a ‘I’m proud’ from him.
“Aww is that so dear?” He spoke as he then set the gifts on the table on the opposite side of where you were, all while hiding behind a smile.
“Well just don’t forget to add Nana in next time, thank you darling for the lovely gifts.” And just like that he began eating.
Ah.. still the same— reaction. It was a bit better.. it wasn’t just a short and quick sentence at least so that made you smile a bit but.. you expected much more.. a hug, a proud smile.
“Yes, papa…” you then slowly walked off back into your room. A bit down but you weren’t going to let that ruin your smile, Nana always told you and papa to always smile no matter what. So that’s what you’ll keep doing. Even if— your expectations were dearly hurt today.
What you didn’t see was Alastor yet again inspecting the gifts you gave him after you left, a hand tilting it a bit to see it clearly and to have the trinket closer to the figures of the both of you.
His permanent smile’s ends stretched a bit, a ‘hm’ escaping his throat as he took another sip from his black coffee.
He never truly saw himself as your father, never fully taking care of you unless his mother asked him to.
Ah but, it was nice to think that way huh?
(HAIIII THABK YOU FOR READING THISSSS I had lots of fun writing this and omfg I have so many idea for Vox and reader interactions, especially when the plot thickens. But thank you so much for the wait on chapter 1 of this story!! I know the prologue has been awhile but I reallyyyy want to continue this since this is my very first original alastor and daughter fanfic that I’ve written years ago and want to revamp into this!!)
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bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
thursday, sung hanbin— poetry ii
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⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here.
⋆˙⟡ wc: 3.5k (it's a doozy but it's worth it i literally am so happy with this one)
⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down)
⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated.
⋆˙⟡ thursday summary: thursday. good news: the week is almost over. bad news: you're stuck in poetry class with sung hanbin as your desk partner. it's weird. sometimes you play off each other so well, you're nearly blindsided by his sudden flipping of the switch. if only you could steal a glimpse at his journal.
⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. slight dub-con. bullying. very toxic softboi/popular soccer star hanbinnie. guys THE LORE. you very well may not survive til the end of the week but we're already on this journey together so let's see it through!!! smut in gn and fem versions are slightly different due to logistics/circumstance. also there's two parts i wrote in here that made me laugh way too hard okay bye. xx
⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★★☆(4.5)
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EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: choking (reader receiving and safely executed lmao), chest groping/brief nipple play (reader receiving; reader is wearing a bra and hanbin refers to you as having 'tits'), heavy petting (reader and hanbin receiving), fingering (brief, reader receiving), erotic humiliation and degradation (towards reader; about looseness of pussy after this week/disappointing chest but not the size of it he's just being a dick am i making sense), slut and whore used to describe reader, one slap across the face (reader receiving), slight dub-con but we know how reader rolls now lol. hanbin is insanely toxic. enjoy.
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˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦ 
scribble. scribble. scribble. 
the scratchings of your pencil in your poetry journal are growing increasingly violent. you don’t really care. you’d stayed up all night: tossing and turning and thinking and plotting. 
“hey, uh... you okay?” hanbin asks, tapping you gently with the end of his pen. your pencil falls from your fingers as you’re jolted from your anxious thought spiral. 
“huh?” you reply, blinking at the star of the soccer team. “oh, um. yeah. i’m okay.”
hanbin’s brow raises slightly at your answer as if it surprises him. “you sure?”
“yeah,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible. “why?”
you follow hanbin’s line of sight to the open page of your poetry journal. you’ve absentmindedly ripped a significant hole through several pages with your vortex of nervous scribbling.
you breathe an awkward laugh, closing your journal and putting your pencil down flat on your desk.
“you had a rough week,” hanbin says, grabbing his journal from his bag and placing it on his desk. you bite your cheeks to keep from grinning at the sight of your target. “or so i’ve heard.”
“i’m sure you have,” you mumble, glancing at the tile floor. “i’m sure everybody has.”
“they haven’t,” he replies definitively and you know he’s telling the truth. “i promise they haven’t.”
hanbin was a tricky one. the star of the soccer team and undoubtedly the most popular boy at your university, it comes as no surprise that he was also the makeshift ring leader of his stupid group of friends. keeping that spotlight also meant keeping up appearances. while your other bullies made their distaste for you known whenever possible, hanbin had a different preferred method of torture.
he liked to play nice. compliment your poems. share a laugh... reel you in.
until you were so close, you couldn’t escape. that’s when he’d flip the script on you. 
like when he sent your poem about the boy you liked to the entire university’s mailing list last year. you’d insisted you didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with him. you recoiled with embarrassment at the thought of junseo, your senior lab partner, finding out. but he pushed. made you think you could trust him.
the next day, it was pinned to every bulletin board across campus next to a picture of you that hanbin had taken on your class trip to the national library. like some sort of sick calling card.
junseo sunbae-nim never muttered more than a word to you ever again.
so that’s how all this started. hanbin recruiting his three (and then four) asshole friends in a sudden and violent quest to become the bane of your existence. 
sometimes you still can’t help but wonder if you’d done something to upset him. but you shake off that thought each time. you won’t let him get in your head again so easily.
you’ve about mustered the courage to give hanbin some snarky response when your professor’s chalk hatchings across the blackboard send a hush over the classroom.
“good afternoon, everyone,” professor choi greets happily, underlining today’s date on the board. “let’s jump right in today and start with our weekly journals. please share with your desk partner the poem that this week so far inspired you to write.”
your eyes fix on hanbin’s journal again, anticipation stirring as you think about the clues that could be hidden in his poem this week. could the answers you’re looking for really be inside that black, leather book?
“you should go fi—,” you start to suggest a bit too quietly before hanbin unknowingly cuts you off.
“do you wanna go first?” he asks brightly, smile lines illuminating his soft features. you know you shouldn’t indulge him, but you can never stop the corners of your lips from involuntarily turning up in response. no matter how much you hated him, his fairytale prince looks were undeniable.
“oh, uh,” you stammer, grabbing your journal and flipping it open to your entry from this week. you look at the poem you wrote, eyes scanning over the emotional stanzas as you bite your lip uneasily. “i dunno. i kind of got a bit too... personal this week.”
“oh, you know i don’t mind,” he replies calmly. “that’s what poetry is, right?”
“i’m well aware you don’t mind me spilling personal details to you,” you reply with a glare. “but i mind.”
“(y/n)-sshi,” professor choi’s voice suddenly rings over your shoulder. “let’s get reading, okay? time is limited.”
you swallow hard, looking down at your journal shamefully. “yes, professor-nim.”
“so what’s it called?” hanbin asks as professor choi makes her way back up to her desk, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back into his chair. “your poem?”
“the bird,” you answer softly. “it’s called the bird.”
he nods pensively before gesturing for you to start. you look back down at the page, fingers shaking as you try to hold your journal steady. clearing your throat, you recite:
“from her perch at the window, she will never be much. the vultures jeered at her as they circled above. then one flew down— with taloned-hand, he did touch. and a meek little finch turned into a dove. if a dove she can be, she will be it as such. til another vulture fell to his knees with a glove. parted her feathers and took her in his clutch. and from the fair bird, made a raven thereof. she needs to change back, so she tries to stay hush. but a third brash vulture throws her off with a shove. the reluctant truth is she’s filling with lust... and she’s growing quite scared of the bird she’ll become.”
you blink back tears as you close your journal and place it on your desk in front of you. maybe it’s your lack of sleep or the mentally and physically jarring week you’ve had, but reading your poem aloud had left you feeling quite vulnerable.
“that was beautiful, (y/n),” hanbin says suddenly, prying you from your regret. you turn to him, eyes wide as he nods thoughtfully. “i really appreciated the metaphor of the bird. the vultures are considered bad birds, but somehow they changed the subject from an unassuming bird into the more beautiful bird she seemed to want to be... but never thought she could.”
you stare at him as he glances up at the ceiling, those handsome smile lines crinkling his cheeks again.
“funny how things we could perceive as wrong or immoral can actually have a positive effect on us,” he muses with a chuckle. “but it’s only natural for the bird to question that change. she’s done more of that ‘bad’ thing and now she’s afraid it’s turned her into a raven. a bird that frightens her. or maybe a bird she can’t recognize anymore when she looks in the mirror.”
“it did,” you assert quietly. “it did change her.”
“but it sounds like she likes that change. at least part of her,” hanbin rebuts, meeting your gaze. “perhaps if she embraces that and sheds her own guilt— or molts, if you will— she’ll realize the raven is another distortion of her own making, just like the finch was. she’ll realize she is the dove and she always has been.”
your lips part as you gape at hanbin in awe. it was hard not to let your guard down with him when he always dissected your poems so intuitively like this. memories of intense public humiliation are the only thing that can keep you grounded.
“or,” he adds, a small smirk upturning the corner of his lips. “i guess she could also realize that ravens and vultures aren’t the bad birds she thinks they are. maybe she finds that, after all this worrying, she was meant to be a vulture, too.”
“under a minute left,” professor choi calls out from the front of the classroom.
shit. hanbin had talked so much about your poem that he barely had any time left to share his— the poem you desperately needed to be shared in the first place.
hanbin’s still rambling on about vultures, but you’re not paying any attention as a wave of panic rushes over you. 
“you should share yours still,” you prompt a little too eagerly, cutting him off mid-sentence. trying your best to dial it back, you add, “i’m sure it’s very interesting, what with the big game on saturday and all.”
hanbin smiles, holding your gaze for a moment too long. it’s suspicious, but his eyes give nothing away.
“if it’s okay with you, i’d rather not share this week,” he says, throwing his journal back in his bag. “i got a little too... how did you put it? personal.”
you blink at him. “but—. but that’s what i said and you—.”
hanbin mutters something under his breath that you swear sounds like, “not like you’d listen to me anyway.”
but you must’ve misheard him.
your heart sinks, your plan crumbling to ashes before your eyes as professor choi launches into a lecture about wilfred owen’s 20th century use of assonance. hanbin had to have written something about what his friends had been up to. that’s why he used up so much time focusing on your poem. 
your pencil moves across your paper, absentmindedly taking notes until you reach the only possible conclusion: you can’t give up. you’ll just have to amend the plan.
after class, you hurriedly gather your things and run out the door, pulling your phone out and typing vigorously as you make your way to the bathroom.
WHEN DOES THE BOYS’ SOCCER PRACTICE GO UNTIL TONIGHT!? mina: ??? NO QUESTIONS. JUST ANSWERS. mina: jiwoong oppa is picking me up at 7. so i assume about 6:30. THANK U BYE and... please be careful around him. mina: yeah, yeah, yeah i’ll use protection ily
totally not what you meant. and you’d hate to break it to her, but after his little stunt on monday, you’re not sure how fond her jiwoong oppa would be of that request.
6:30. practice would start soon, giving you plenty of time to slip into the boys’ locker room, read hanbin’s journal, and slip out undetected. 
you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror.
a raven’s beady eyes stare back.
~
you kill some time in the library, waiting until practice is well underway before making your way across campus to the gymnasium. your heart is already pounding in your ears just thinking about the little heist you’re about to pull.
but your legs keep propelling you forward.
pulling open the building door, you step inside cautiously. the women’s badminton team is stretching in the atrium of the building, but there’s no sign of anyone else. you head right down the hallway, walking past the cardio fitness center and the weight-lifting gym until you’re in front of the boys’ locker room door.
you put an ear to it, hearing nothing but the whirring of a fan on the other side.
fuck it.
you pull open the door and step inside, white and grey tiled walls and rows of blue lockers surrounding you. your heart races as you look back at the door, wondering if it’s not too late to abandon your mission.
you shake your head. no. you need to find that journal.
with a steadying breath, you begin to walk through the first row of lockers. when you don’t spot hanbin’s bag, you proceed to the second row. and then the next. and then the next until you finally spot it.
tucked under the wooden bench running down the middle of the aisle is a familiar brown, leather messenger bag. you run to it, picking it up from the floor and setting it down on the bench. you unclasp the latch on the front of the bag and lift the flap, opening it up and reaching inside it.
your hand hits something... fluffy. you grab the fuzzy item and pull it out, squealing when you see that it’s a tiny, cream-colored hamster plush. it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole goddamn life. 
and you are disappointed to find yourself thinking it bears a striking resemblance to its owner.
you stuff the little hamster back into the bag. as cute as he is, it’s not what you came here for. you gasp when you feel the cold leather-bound journal in your hand, pulling it out hurriedly and examining the cover.
you open the journal, flipping through the pages rashly until you locate an entry with today’s date at the top. it reads:
“if one is a vulture, it’s assumed they’re no good— despite all the research that they’re helpful to earth. does the finch know that if that vulture could, he’d hunt for a mirror and show her her worth? if that finch is a dove, there’d be something that would still keep her away from achieving true mirth. it’s the vultures, she’d cry before she understood: the vulture has always been a sign of rebirth. a dove, raven, vulture, or finch from the woods, the vultures will find her and double their search. but for someone who claims they feel misunderstood, it’s repulsive the lengths she would go to unearth... something that does not belong to that bird. seems the dove was a raven afterall.”
“pretty good, huh?” the sudden voice behind you makes you jump. “wrote it in, like, ten minutes after class. what can i say? i was inspired.”
you don’t turn around. your face is already on fire from how mortified you are. of course, you’d considered the possibility of being caught. but you hadn’t really realized the weight of that consequence until this moment.
“actually, i think it might be even better than the original,” he continues, footsteps echoing against the tiled floors as he draws nearer. “i mean, you really should’ve thought to flesh out those vulture characters a bit. and you didn’t even consider looking up the well-known symbolism behind them.”
a hot breath fans across the back of your neck, causing you to shiver as a hand wraps around the leather-bound journal and pries it from yours.
“i have to admit, i didn’t really think you had it in you,” he says with a chuckle, fingers suddenly hooking into your waistband and turning you around to face him. he’s in his red and white soccer uniform, skin glistening from the practice meet he should be at right now. “but just in case, i wanted to be prepared. write you something worth reading.”
“h-how did you know?” you stutter quietly. “that i—”
“well, you weren’t exactly subtle, now were you?” hanbin smiles but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. “‘you should read your poem, hanbin. i’m sure it’s exciting with the big game coming up’. like you give a fuck about my poetry.”
that last sentence reminds you of what you thought you’d heard him mumble in class today: not like you’d listen to me anyway.
what was that about?
“aw, don’t get sad now that your plan didn’t go your way,” hanbin coos, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “i thought it was kind of cute. i can forgive you for stealing, right? you just wanted my attention so badly that you had to play a bit dirty.”
you shake your head quickly. “no, it’s not like that! i swear i wasn’t trying to get your attention, i just—”
“well then, jesus fucking christ, what do i have to do to—,” hanbin snaps before promptly cutting himself off. there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before: desperation. 
a large hand wraps around your throat in an instant, shoving you up against a blue locker. the motion knocks the wind out of you and you find yourself gasping for air. your hand flies to remove his from around your neck, but he catches it in his free one and brings it gently back down to your side. 
“i told you in class that if you needed help calling off the vultures, you should ask me while you still can,” hanbin rasps, rubbing his thumb up the left side of your throat. “but you weren’t listening, dove. the gulper got first bite. the rippers tore you apart...”
you breathe shallowly, glancing from side to side for some route of escape.
“but now the king has landed,” he says, tongue flitting across his teeth. “and he’s fucking starving.”
you blink at him, lips parted in stupid shock. “i—... i honestly had no idea you knew so much about vultures.”
“THAT’S WHAT YOU TOOK FROM THAT ARE YOU KID—,” he yells, finger pads digging in tighter to the skin of your neck. his gaze falls to your lips, supple and pretty even in fear. he trails down to your shirt, a button-up front that seems to entice him. “take it off.”
“b-but—.”
“take it the fuck off, (y/n). you should know by now how this goes,” hanbin snarls, grabbing your hand and bringing it to the trail of buttons. you start to fiddle with them, but you have some trouble under the pressure of his gaze. “can’t even undo a button? hm? too fucking stupid, dove?”
you find yourself nodding against all odds.
“need binnie to do it for you?” he coos, smile lines illuminating his face again.
you just nod. it seems to be what you do best.
hanbin unfastens the buttons one-handed and with ease. once your shirt is open, he undoes the center clasp of your bra and exposes your chest. then, he sighs with dramatic disappointment. “seriously? that’s it? got me all excited to see your tits and this is what you have to show?”
you look down at your incredibly normal and attractive chest. you’d never really doubted the allure of that part of your body before. should you have?
the humiliating comment causes a lump to form in your throat... and an embarrassingly intense ache to shoot through your heat. 
he tugs the center hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric further off your shoulders. “it’s a good thing the other guys didn’t see them. they’re far more superficial than me. you should be grateful you found a guy who can look past the disappointment. ”
hanbin’s free hand gropes your chest, thumb rubbing circles around one nipple and then the next as you let out a soft whimper.
“mm, i heard that,” he breathes with a smirk. “even though you never hear me. probably didn’t even fucking clock the first line in that stupid poem. but i hear you, dove. so let me give you what you want. all you have to do is ask.”
you gulp, softly responding, “w-want you to... touch me.”
“yeah?” hanbin affirms, finger trailing down your stomach.
you nod again, this time more assuredly under the guise of his encouraging smile. that is, until a harsh slap stings your cheek.
“well that wasn’t a fucking question, was it?” hanbin hisses, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek with his thumb. “you’re in an advanced poetry class and you don’t even know how to form an interrogative sentence? just must be doodling all the time, huh? about all the boys who’ve made a mess of you this week? like the dumb little slut you are.”
hanbin’s free hand slips under your skirt, fingers brushing over your clothed core before pulling it out again. you gasp when you see his fingers already covered in your arousal.
his eyes darken as he reaches up your skirt again, tearing a hole right through your lace panties and stuffing two fingers inside of you immediately as you cry out. 
“oh, dove, why would i wanna put my cock in here, hm? can already feel how much those other assholes have stretched you out,” hanbin says with another sigh of disappointment. 
another bout of worry clouds your mind. was that true? was matthew right? you thought he was just being a misogynistic pig, but... had you really been physically tainted from the events of this week?
“so fucking lucky, dove,” hanbin whispers, removing his hand from your heat and taking one of yours. he brings it down the front of his athletic shorts and then wraps it around his impossibly hard length. you look up at him, wide-eyed. “where every other man would see damaged goods, i see prime real estate.”
“what—”
“gonna fuck you now, m’kay?” hanbin interjects, pulling his shorts down and exposing himself to you. you hadn’t really seen the other boys up close or at all like this. hanbin’s cock is pretty, long with just a few visible veins and a pink head that’s leaking a bit of pre-cum. it makes your mouth water. maybe you are a dumb slut.
maybe you like it like that.
or maybe it’s just hanbin’s large hand covering your throat, pressing at the sides tenderly that’s making you start to feel a bit high. he brings himself to your entrance, lining up the tip and coating it in your juices. he’s about to push himself inside of you, when he suddenly freezes.
“you want me to, right?” hanbin asks, tone suddenly much softer than it was before. his eyes are locked with yours, holding you there with him against the wall of lockers. “you want me inside you? just me. not those other guys? not junseo hyung-nim or—”
BEEEEEEEEEP. BRRANG. BRRANG. BRRANG. BEEEEEEEE....
a fire alarm rips through the locker room, loud and annoying as ever. you try to jump out of hanbin’s grasp, but his hands stay fixed around you. 
“let me... let me go!” you assert, hitting his chest with your palm. the pressure on your neck that felt so good just a few moments ago is now filling you with fear, “are you trying to kill me or something!?”
his brow raises slightly, as if he only just noticed the alarm. his grip loosens and you take the opportunity to scramble away from him. 
“of course i’m not,” he replies dejectedly, re-situating his shorts before huffing, “like you have a body worth going to jail for.”
“oh, shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes as you race to re-button your shirt. “this is all YOUR fault. whatever’s going on this week, i know you’re behind it. you’ve run out of ideas to keep me small. but i’m not small. in fact, i’m a much bigger person than you are! so... i’m sorry for whatever i did that made you hate me so much in the first place. now, please, let’s get out of here.”
you start to run down the aisle of lockers towards the exit door, but a lack of footsteps behind you causes you to stop and turn back.
“come on,” you urge as hanbin continues to stand in place and stare at you, unmoving. it might be the most infuriating thing he’s done all day. “oh, fucking burn then.”
the tangible anger in your voice startles both of you. hanbin blinks quickly back at you, wide-eyed as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. whoever gave him the right to feel that way is sorely mistaken. you turn back around, throwing over your shoulder:
“are there birds worse than vultures?”
˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦ 
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gender neutral version below
EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: choking (reader receiving and safely executed lmao), chest/abdomen groping (reader receiving; no anatomical descriptions or gender specific language), heavy petting (reader and hanbin receiving), finger penetration (brief, reader receiving), erotic humiliation and degradation (towards reader; regarding looseness of hole (non specific) from desperation and disappointing chest/abdomen region (not related to gender or anatomical gendered parts he's just being a dick to you i hope this makes sense)), slut and whore are also used but not in a gendered context, one slap across face (reader receiving), slight dub-con but we know how reader rolls now lol. hanbin is insanely toxic. enjoy.
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˚    ✦   .  .   ˚ .      . ✦ 
scribble. scribble. scribble. 
the scratchings of your pencil in your poetry journal are growing increasingly violent. you don’t really care. you’d stayed up all night: tossing and turning and thinking and plotting. 
“hey, uh... you okay?” hanbin asks, tapping you gently with the end of his pen. your pencil falls from your fingers as you’re jolted from your anxious thought spiral. 
“huh?” you reply, blinking at the star of the soccer team. “oh, um. yeah. i’m okay.”
hanbin’s brow raises slightly at your answer as if it surprises him. “you sure?”
“yeah,” you reply as nonchalantly as possible. “why?”
you follow hanbin’s line of sight to the open page of your poetry journal. you’ve absentmindedly ripped a significant hole through several pages with your vortex of nervous scribbling.
you breathe an awkward laugh, closing your journal and putting your pencil down flat on your desk.
“you had a rough week,” hanbin says, grabbing his journal from his bag and placing it on his desk. you bite your cheeks to keep from grinning at the sight of your target. “or so i’ve heard.”
“i’m sure you have,” you mumble, glancing at the tile floor. “i’m sure everybody has.”
“they haven’t,” he replies definitively and you know he’s telling the truth. “i promise they haven’t.”
hanbin was a tricky one. the star of the soccer team and undoubtedly the most popular boy at your university, it comes as no surprise that he was also the makeshift ring leader of his stupid group of friends. keeping that spotlight also meant keeping up appearances. while your other bullies made their distaste for you known whenever possible, hanbin had a different preferred method of torture.
he liked to play nice. compliment your poems. share a laugh... reel you in.
until you were so close, you couldn’t escape. that’s when he’d flip the script on you. 
like when he sent your poem about the boy you liked to the entire university’s mailing list last year. you’d insisted you didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with him. you recoiled with embarrassment at the thought of junseo, your senior lab partner, finding out. but he pushed. made you think you could trust him.
the next day, it was pinned to every bulletin board across campus next to a picture of you that hanbin had taken on your class trip to the national library. like some sort of sick calling card.
junseo sunbae-nim never muttered more than a word to you ever again.
so that’s how all this started. hanbin recruiting his three (and then four) asshole friends in a sudden and violent quest to become the bane of your existence. 
sometimes you still can’t help but wonder if you’d done something to upset him. but you shake off that thought each time. you won’t let him get in your head again so easily.
you’ve about mustered the courage to give hanbin some snarky response when your professor’s chalk hatchings across the blackboard send a hush over the classroom.
“good afternoon, everyone,” professor choi greets happily, underlining today’s date on the board. “let’s jump right in today and start with our weekly journals. please share with your desk partner the poem that this week so far inspired you to write.”
your eyes fix on hanbin’s journal again, anticipation stirring as you think about the clues that could be hidden in his poem this week. could the answers you’re looking for really be inside that black, leather book?
“you should go fi—,” you start to suggest a bit too quietly before hanbin unknowingly cuts you off.
“do you wanna go first?” he asks brightly, smile lines illuminating his soft features. you know you shouldn’t indulge him, but you can never stop the corners of your lips from involuntarily turning up in response. no matter how much you hated him, his fairytale prince looks were undeniable.
“oh, uh,” you stammer, grabbing your journal and flipping it open to your entry from this week. you look at the poem you wrote, eyes scanning over the emotional stanzas as you bite your lip uneasily. “i dunno. i kind of got a bit too... personal this week.”
“oh, you know i don’t mind,” he replies calmly. “that’s what poetry is, right?”
“i’m well aware you don’t mind me spilling personal details to you,” you reply with a glare. “but i mind.”
“(y/n)-sshi,” professor choi’s voice suddenly rings over your shoulder. “let’s get reading, okay? time is limited.”
you swallow hard, looking down at your journal shamefully. “yes, professor-nim.”
“so what’s it called?” hanbin asks as professor choi makes her way back up to her desk, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back into his chair. “your poem?”
“the bird,” you answer softly. “it’s called the bird.”
he nods pensively before gesturing for you to start. you look back down at the page, fingers shaking as you try to hold your journal steady. clearing your throat, you recite:
“from it’s perch at the window, it will never be much. the vultures jeered at it as they circled above. then one flew down— with taloned-hand, he did touch. and a meek little finch turned into a dove. if a dove it can be, it will be it as such. til another vulture fell to his knees with a glove. parted it’s feathers and took it in his clutch. and from the fair bird, made a raven thereof. it needs to change back, so it tries to stay hush. but a third brash vulture throws it off with a shove. the reluctant truth is it’s filling with lust... and it’s growing quite scared of the bird it will become.”
you blink back tears as you close your journal and place it on your desk in front of you. maybe it’s your lack of sleep or the mentally and physically jarring week you’ve had, but reading your poem aloud had left you feeling quite vulnerable.
“that was beautiful, (y/n),” hanbin says suddenly, prying you from your regret. you turn to him, eyes wide as he nods thoughtfully. “i really appreciated the metaphor of the bird. the vultures are considered bad birds, but somehow they changed the subject from an unassuming bird into the more beautiful bird it seemed to want to be... but never thought it could.”
you stare at him as he glances up at the ceiling, those handsome smile lines crinkling his cheeks again.
“funny how things we could perceive as wrong or immoral can actually have a positive effect on us,” he muses with a chuckle. “but it’s only natural for the bird to question that change. it’s done more of that ‘bad’ thing and now it’s afraid it’s been turned into a raven. a bird that’s frightening. or maybe a bird it can’t recognize anymore when it looks in the mirror.”
“it did,” you assert quietly. “it did change the bird.”
“but it sounds like the bird likes that change. at least part of it,” hanbin rebuts, meeting your gaze. “perhaps if it embraces that and sheds it’s own guilt— or molts, if you will— it’ll realize the raven is another distortion of the bird’s own making, just like the finch was. it’ll realize it is the dove and it always has been.”
your lips part as you gape at hanbin in awe. it was hard not to let your guard down with him when he always dissected your poems so intuitively like this. memories of intense public humiliation are the only thing that can keep you grounded.
“or,” he adds, a small smirk upturning the corner of his lips. “i guess it could also realize that ravens and vultures aren’t the bad birds it thinks they are. maybe it finds that, after all this worrying, the bird was meant to be a vulture, too.”
“under a minute left,” professor choi calls out from the front of the classroom.
shit. hanbin had talked so much about your poem that he barely had any time left to share his— the poem you desperately needed to be shared in the first place.
hanbin’s still rambling on about vultures, but you’re not paying any attention as a wave of panic rushes over you. 
“you should share yours still,” you prompt a little too eagerly, cutting him off mid-sentence. trying your best to dial it back, you add, “i’m sure it’s very interesting, what with the big game on saturday and all.”
hanbin smiles, holding your gaze for a moment too long. it’s suspicious, but his eyes give nothing away.
“if it’s okay with you, i’d rather not share this week,” he says, throwing his journal back in his bag. “i got a little too... how did you put it? personal.”
you blink at him. “but—. but that’s what i said and you—.”
hanbin mutters something under his breath that you swear sounds like, “not like you’d listen to me anyway.”
but you must’ve misheard him.
your heart sinks, your plan crumbling to ashes before your eyes as professor choi launches into a lecture about wilfred owen’s 20th century use of assonance. hanbin had to have written something about what his friends had been up to. that’s why he used up so much time focusing on your poem. 
your pencil moves across your paper, absentmindedly taking notes until you reach the only possible conclusion: you can’t give up. you’ll just have to amend the plan.
after class, you hurriedly gather your things and run out the door, pulling your phone out and typing vigorously as you make your way to the bathroom.
WHEN DOES THE BOYS’ SOCCER PRACTICE GO UNTIL TONIGHT!? mina: ??? NO QUESTIONS. JUST ANSWERS. mina: jiwoong oppa is picking me up at 7. so i assume about 6:30. THANK U BYE and... please be careful around him. mina: yeah, yeah, yeah i’ll use protection ily
totally not what you meant. and you’d hate to break it to her, but after his little stunt on monday, you’re not sure how fond her jiwoong oppa would be of that request.
6:30. practice would start soon, giving you plenty of time to slip into the boys’ locker room, read hanbin’s journal, and slip out undetected. 
you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror.
a raven’s beady eyes stare back.
~
you kill some time in the library, waiting until practice is well underway before making your way across campus to the gymnasium. your heart is already pounding in your ears just thinking about the little heist you’re about to pull.
but your legs keep propelling you forward.
pulling open the building door, you step inside cautiously. the women’s badminton team is stretching in the atrium of the building, but there’s no sign of anyone else. you head right down the hallway, walking past the cardio fitness center and the weight-lifting gym until you’re in front of the boys’ locker room door.
you put an ear to it, hearing nothing but the whirring of a fan on the other side.
fuck it.
you pull open the door and step inside, white and grey tiled walls and rows of blue lockers surrounding you. your heart races as you look back at the door, wondering if it’s not too late to abandon your mission.
you shake your head. no. you need to find that journal.
with a steadying breath, you begin to walk through the first row of lockers. when you don’t spot hanbin’s bag, you proceed to the second row. and then the next. and then the next until you finally spot it.
tucked under the wooden bench running down the middle of the aisle is a familiar brown, leather messenger bag. you run to it, picking it up from the floor and setting it down on the bench. you unclasp the latch on the front of the bag and lift the flap, opening it up and reaching inside it.
your hand hits something... fluffy. you grab the fuzzy item and pull it out, squealing when you see that it’s a tiny, cream-colored hamster plush. it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your whole goddamn life. 
and you are disappointed to find yourself thinking it bears a striking resemblance to its owner.
you stuff the little hamster back into the bag. as cute as he is, it’s not what you came here for. you gasp when you feel the cold leather-bound journal in your hand, pulling it out hurriedly and examining the cover.
you open the journal, flipping through the pages rashly until you locate an entry with today’s date at the top. it reads:
“if one is a vulture, it’s assumed they’re no good— despite all the research that they’re helpful to earth. does the finch know that if that vulture could, he’d hunt for a mirror and show it it’s worth? if that finch is a dove, there’d be something that would still keep it away from achieving true mirth. it’s the vultures, the bird cries before it understood: the vulture has always been a sign of rebirth. a dove, raven, vulture, or finch from the woods, the vultures will find it and double their search. but for someone who claims they feel misunderstood, it’s repulsive the lengths it would go to unearth... something that does not belong to that bird. seems the dove was a raven afterall.”
“pretty good, huh?” the sudden voice behind you makes you jump. “wrote it in, like, ten minutes after class. what can i say? i was inspired.”
you don’t turn around. your face is already on fire from how mortified you are. of course, you’d considered the possibility of being caught. but you hadn’t really realized the weight of that consequence until this moment.
“actually, i think it might be even better than the original,” he continues, footsteps echoing against the tiled floors as he draws nearer. “i mean, you really should’ve thought to flesh out those vulture characters a bit. and you didn’t even consider looking up the well-known symbolism behind them.”
a hot breath fans across the back of your neck, causing you to shiver as a hand wraps around the leather-bound journal and pries it from yours.
“i have to admit, i didn’t really think you had it in you,” he says with a chuckle, fingers suddenly hooking into your waistband and turning you around to face him. he’s in his red and white soccer uniform, skin glistening from the practice meet he should be at right now. “but just in case, i wanted to be prepared. write you something worth reading.”
“h-how did you know?” you stutter quietly. “that i—”
“well, you weren’t exactly subtle, now were you?” hanbin smiles but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. “‘you should read your poem, hanbin. i’m sure it’s exciting with the big game coming up’. like you give a fuck about my poetry.”
that last sentence reminds you of what you thought you’d heard him mumble in class today: not like you’d listen to me anyway.
what was that about?
“aw, don’t get sad now that your plan didn’t go your way,” hanbin coos, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “i thought it was kind of cute. i can forgive you for stealing, right? you just wanted my attention so badly that you had to play a bit dirty.”
you shake your head quickly. “no, it’s not like that! i swear i wasn’t trying to get your attention, i just—”
“well then, jesus fucking christ, what do i have to do to—,” hanbin snaps before promptly cutting himself off. there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before: desperation. 
a large hand wraps around your throat in an instant, shoving you up against a blue locker. the motion knocks the wind out of you and you find yourself gasping for air. your hand flies to remove his from around your neck, but he catches it in his free one and brings it gently back down to your side. 
“i told you in class that if you needed help calling off the vultures, you should ask me while you still can,” hanbin rasps, rubbing his thumb up the left side of your throat. “but you weren’t listening, dove. the gulper got first bite. the rippers tore you apart...”
you breathe shallowly, glancing from side to side for some route of escape.
“but now the king has landed,” he says, tongue flitting across his teeth. “and he’s fucking starving.”
you blink at him, lips parted in stupid shock. “i—... i honestly had no idea you knew so much about vultures.”
“THAT’S WHAT YOU TOOK FROM THAT ARE YOU KID—,” he yells, finger pads digging in tighter to the skin of your neck. his gaze falls to your lips, supple and pretty even in fear. he trails down to your shirt, a button-up front that seems to entice him. “take it off.”
“b-but—.”
“take it the fuck off, (y/n). you should know by now how this goes,” hanbin snarls, grabbing your hand and bringing it to the trail of buttons. you start to fiddle with them, but you have some trouble under the pressure of his gaze. “can’t even undo a button? hm? too fucking stupid, dove?”
you find yourself nodding against all odds.
“need binnie to do it for you?” he coos, smile lines illuminating his face again.
you just nod again. it seems to be what you do best.
hanbin unfastens the buttons one-handed and with ease. once your shirt is open, he tugs it to the side and exposes your chest. then, he sighs with dramatic disappointment. “seriously? that’s it? got me all excited to see how good you look under here and this is what you have to show?”
you look down at your incredibly normal and attractive upper body. you’d never really doubted the aesthetics of it before. should you have?
the humiliating comment causes a lump to form in your throat... and an embarrassingly intense ache to shoot through your heat. 
he tugs the center hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric further off your shoulders. “it’s a good thing the other guys didn’t see this. they’re far more superficial than me. you should be grateful you found a guy who can look past the disappointment. ”
hanbin’s free hand roams across your abdomen and chest, fingers ghosting sweetly against your skin until you let out the tiniest whimper.
“mm, i heard that,” he breathes with a smirk. “even though you never hear me. probably didn’t even fucking clock the first line in that stupid poem. but i hear you, dove. so let me give you what you want. all you have to do is ask.”
you gulp, softly responding, “w-want you to... touch me.”
“yeah?” hanbin affirms, finger trailing down your stomach.
you nod again, this time more assuredly under the guise of his encouraging smile. that is, until a harsh slap stings your cheek.
“well that wasn’t a fucking question, was it?” hanbin hisses, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek with his thumb. “you’re in an advanced poetry class and you don’t even know how to form an interrogative sentence? just must be doodling all the time, huh? about all the boys who’ve made a mess of you this week? like the dumb little slut you are.”
hanbin’s free hand finds it’s way into your jeans, fingers brushing over your clothed core before pulling it out again. you gasp when you see his fingers already covered in your arousal.
his eyes darken as he undoes the button clasp and zipper of your pants, shoving your underwear to the side with his fingers. he forces your legs a bit farther apart before stuffing a finger inside of you, causing you to cry out. 
“oh, dove, why would i wanna put my cock in here, hm? so desperate, i could slip right in,” hanbin says with another sigh of disappointment. “did the other guys really make such a whore of you?”
another bout of worry clouds your mind. was that true? was matthew right? you thought he was just being a red-pilled pig, but... had you somehow been physically tainted from the events of this week?
“so fucking lucky, dove,” hanbin whispers, removing his hand from your center and taking one of yours. he brings it down the front of his athletic shorts and then wraps it around his impossibly hard length. you look up at him, wide-eyed. “where every other man would see damaged goods, i see prime real estate.”
“what—”
“gonna fuck you now, m’kay?” hanbin interjects, pulling his shorts down and exposing himself to you. you hadn’t really seen the other boys up close or at all like this. hanbin’s cock is pretty— long with just a few visible veins and a pink head that’s leaking a bit of pre-cum. it makes your mouth water. maybe you are a dumb slut.
maybe you like it like that.
or maybe it’s just hanbin’s large hand covering your throat, pressing at the sides both tenderly and persistently that’s making you feel a bit high. he brings himself to your entrance, spitting in his hand and covering his length as he lines up the tip. he’s about to push himself inside of you, when he suddenly freezes.
“you want me to, right?” hanbin asks, tone suddenly much softer than it was before. his eyes are locked with yours, holding you there with him against the wall of lockers. “you want me inside you? just me. not those other guys? not junseo hyung-nim or—”
BEEEEEEEEEP. BRRANG. BRRANG. BRRANG. BEEEEEEEE....
a fire alarm rips through the locker room, loud and annoying as ever. you try to jump out of hanbin’s grasp, but his hands stay fixed around you. 
“let me... let me go!” you assert, hitting his chest with your palm. the pressure on your neck that felt so good just a few moments ago is now filling you with fear, “are you trying to kill me or something!?”
his brow raises slightly, as if he only just noticed the alarm. his grip loosens and you take the opportunity to scramble away from him, frantically zipping up your jeans. 
“of course i’m not,” he replies dejectedly, re-situating his shorts before huffing, “like you have a body worth going to jail for.”
“oh, shut up,” you retort, rolling your eyes as you race to re-button your shirt. “this is all YOUR fault. whatever’s going on this week, i know you’re behind it. you’ve run out of ideas to keep me small. but i’m not small. in fact, i’m a much bigger person than you are! so... i’m sorry for whatever i did that made you hate me so much in the first place. now, please, let’s get out of here.”
you start to run down the aisle of lockers towards the exit door, but a lack of footsteps behind you causes you to stop and turn back.
“come on,” you urge as hanbin continues to stand in place and stare at you, unmoving. it might be the most infuriating thing he’s done all day. “oh, fucking burn then.”
the tangible anger in your voice startles both of you. hanbin blinks quickly back at you, wide-eyed as if you’ve just slapped him across the face. whoever gave him the right to feel that way is sorely mistaken. you turn back around, throwing over your shoulder:
“are there birds worse than vultures?”
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sirdindjarin · 1 year
Text
The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader
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gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here
Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.
The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)
AO3 Link
TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.
WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.
A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.
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"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 
A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.
Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.
Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.
"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"
"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."
The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.
"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.
Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.
As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 
"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.
You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 
At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 
“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 
The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 
“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”
Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 
The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.
As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.
“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”
 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.
Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”
***
The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 
Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 
After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?
You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.
Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 
“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.
The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 
When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 
You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 
“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 
Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 
“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 
His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”
"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 
The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 
You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.
Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 
“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 
The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.
“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.
He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.
You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.
 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.
“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.
“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”
Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  
Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.
“Show me who did this."
Cold, calm, his words are a promise.
Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.
Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 
The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.
“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 
Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.
The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 
He gently flexes his hand, letting go.
____________________________________
As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.
But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.
The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.
It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 
Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 
Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.
Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”
He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.
“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 
Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.
“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.
Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 
The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 
“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.
You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”
The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.
Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 
“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.
Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.
“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 
You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.
Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”
Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.
Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 
"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”
The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.
Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 
Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 
___________________________________
“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 
On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.
The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 
The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 
For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.
Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 
Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 
All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.
It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.
Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 
At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.
You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.
Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.
A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.
"Oh!" 
The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 
"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."
Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.
"Do you not get cold?"
"I do." 
"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.
"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 
"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.
The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.
"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."
"The name is quite literal, then?" 
"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.
He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 
"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.
"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.
You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  
“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 
Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.
Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.
"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 
You frown, "No one does." 
Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.
Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."
Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.
"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.
"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.
The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 
"I need to separate you two."
"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 
Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.
"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 
It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.
Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.
"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 
The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.
"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 
“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 
Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”
Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 
“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“I know.” 
“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”
Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 
The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 
But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 
***
Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.
Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 
_________________________________________
Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.
You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 
“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.
“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.
“Why? He’s a baby.” 
Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."
“He's what?” 
Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 
“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 
“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 
Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 
“Is fifty so terrible?”
Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 
Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 
The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.
“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 
You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.
Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”
He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 
“I will teach you what I can.” 
***
Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 
“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 
“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 
Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 
You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”
Din closes his eyes in frustration.
You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”
Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 
Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”
Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 
“Of course. For the kid.”
__________________________________
Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 
An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 
The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 
Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.
Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.
__________________________________
Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 
While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 
Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 
“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.
The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 
“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.
The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.
Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.
“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.
“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”
Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.
He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 
Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 
Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 
“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”
That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.
“Tell me.” 
Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 
“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 
Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.
You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.
"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”
Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 
Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.
Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.
You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 
“What you thought was wrong.” 
Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.
“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 
You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 
The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 
Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.
“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.
Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 
Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.
His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.
“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 
“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 
He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.
His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?
His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.
Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 
Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 
“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.
Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”
He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 
Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.
Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 
Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 
He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 
The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 
“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.
You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.
“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 
He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.
“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.
“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.
He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.
He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.
Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 
Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 
“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”
He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 
“Turn over,” he orders.
Of course, you obey without hesitation.
His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 
“You okay?” He rumbles. 
Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 
He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.
The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.
Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.
***
In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.
“What is it?” 
“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 
Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 
“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 
___________________________________
Tagging:
@morks-watermelon
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nectardaddy · 3 months
Text
full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi
chapter thirteen | parking garage | 🏎️
masterlist
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The air was silent, a void of sound, the engine turned off from parking only twenty minutes ago - one could hear a pin drop if they wanted. Parking his car in the open space of a garage lot, one he frequently went to just to get away; and one he absentmindedly took her to now because he simply couldn't clear his mind.
Picking her up only to be found breathless, and lost yet again - so he took her here. The, almost to a T, script he made in his mind vanishing within a second as she looked at him. He was absolutely doomed - he couldn't speak, couldn't think, and most certainly, didn't know how to act.
"I really like you." He didn't realize his own words, not noticing they slipped past his lips until they were already in the air. Hanging by a dangerously thin thread, floating, until she finally took them with caution. Her lips parted to speak at the sudden words but closed abruptly as she let the phrase simmer in her subconscious.
"You do?" A gentle, but prodding question asked by her; one that made him feel silly all over again. A question to which he couldn't find words anymore and simply nodded, ridiculing himself within his mind. But thoughts drew a complete blank when a smile peaked at the corners of her lips, a ghost of one, one that made him swallow hard at what was yet to come. "I really like you too, Kiyoomi."
"Damn," he breathed out hopelessly. To which she couldn't help but chuckle, the outburst causing her small smile to grow as she laughed.
"You say it like it's a bad thing," she mused. Wrapping her mind around the singular word forgivingly, tenderly holding as she wanted him to say more. To say what he meant; to not skirt around the thought with sand paper words.
"No," he corrected quickly. "No, not at all. Actually far from it." Finally finding the confidence within himself to look at her, he found himself with lack of oxygen once more. The dim light of the parking garage hid her features well, but he was hopeless all the same. "I'm an idiot for not talking to you, I'm sorry."
"You'd only be an idiot if you stopped talking to me all together." She was teasing him, prodding at the situation with a silly smile on her lips. A phrase he couldn't help but allow a breathy laugh to leave his lips from; one that finally made the tension in the air subside and his shoulders drop.
"I'm not that much of an idiot." A small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, looking to her like he finally managed to reach for something glorious. Fuck, she's beautiful, I am an idiot. "I won't fuck it up like a did in high school."
"What?" You asked in a chuckle, "you liked me in high school?"
"Oh, I was obsessed with you in high school," spoken in an exasperated breath, smile still pulling at his cheeks.
"You're not obsessed now?"
"You're the whole reason I won last week. If that's what obsessed then I don't know what to call it."
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a cutesy chapter is coming after this one!
she was actively still in the car with him while sending those texts lmao
he was driving though so it's ok
he can flirt - just a little
kicking my feet at this chapter, it's happening FINALLY
the boy's gc is going to lose their minds over this when omi tells them
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taglist under cut (I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT ILY)
@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho
@chosugarplum @dontmindtheevie @ilyless @phoenix-eclipses @kitnootkat
@azuremyst99 @wolffmaiden @localgaytrainwreck @eggyrocks @plutosalwayslost
@yuminako @aliensstolemyheart @msameikanevaeh @chizunata @cherrypieyourface
@gra-eae @punkhazardlaw @iheartamora @whoislesiless @whosmarjj
@chemiru @whosmarjj
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nataliesfirefly · 7 months
Text
You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader - Part 3
a/n: omg thanks again for all the love on the last two parts! i'm probably going to make a masterlist to make all the parts more accessible <3 i feel so special when i see y'all's comments so don't be afraid to share your thoughts! this chapter is a little shorter but only because that's just how the events are playing out! btw, this one starts out with a flashback, it can be a lil confusing hehe but anyways enjoy! (also none of these are proofread LMAO so ignore mistakes)
part 1, part 2, part 4
word count: 3.0k words
warnings: ANGSTTT, language, drugs, alcohol, smoking
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It was finally time to depart from your first summer at Saltburn. School was going to start in a week, and you wanted to spend some time relaxing at home before the chaos of your penultimate year in secondary school. 
The summer had been a wild yet fun time. You had so much freedom to do whatever you pleased, and you didn’t really know how to spend your time, since you were usually so focused on your academics.
You warmed up to the Catton family quite a lot. You understood you didn’t really fit in, but it was nice to pretend you did. Elspeth had even gifted you one of her old necklaces that probably would have paid for a car if you had sold it.
You and Venetia spent countless hours together; by the poolside, in your rooms, doing each other's nails or makeup, and playing tennis. Although she was a few years older than you, she was like the sister you never had.
As for Felix, your friendship only grew. You were thankful for him, for being so kind to you and welcoming you into a world you had never known before.
And Farleigh. Your relationship with him was… complicated. One moment, you would hurl stupid and immature insults at each other, and the next, you would be having a peaceful conversation. But the latter usually only occured when you were alone with him, which didn’t happen often. He let his guard down when he wasn’t around his family, which you found strange, but you never questioned it.
You were going to miss this place. You had to return to your normal, everyday life as a student with a normal house and normal parents. 
“We’re going to miss you dearly, love. We hope you visit again next year,” Elspeth remarked as you all sat around the breakfast table on the patio.
“Yeah. Felix, invite her again,” Venetia nudged her brother as she whispered loudly. Felix grinned and looked at you from across the table.
“So, what’s been your favorite part about your stay?” Elspeth questioned, leaning forward with curiosity.
“Honestly, I can’t even pick. It’s all been amazing. Really.” You said. You meant every single word. But you could’ve actually picked a favorite part, you just didn’t want to admit what, or who it was.
A while later, you were standing at the large front doors with your packed bags in your hands. 
Venetia embraced you tightly and you dropped your bags so you could hug her back. “See you next year, hopefully,” She said with a smile after releasing you.
“Yeah. See you.” You nodded and then looked over to Felix who was now also coming in for a hug.
“Bye, mate. I’ll see you at school, alright?” He patted your back as he pulled away and you smiled with a nod. 
Farleigh stood farther away, watching the goodbyes at a distance. You stared him down, trying to will him to come over. 
“Bye.” He simply said, expressionless. “Bye, Farleigh,” You smiled softly at him. You weren’t sure when the next time you would see him would be. He blinked at you and held your gaze before you turned away as Duncan was opening the doors for you. 
“Your cab is waiting outside the gates, miss,” He informed you. You nodded and picked up your bags.
~~~
2 YEARS LATER
It was your first evening at Oxford. You had just arrived and gotten most of your things unpacked, and then you and Felix were headed to the dining hall.
You remembered a few months ago when Felix told you Farleigh would be going to Oxford as well. You didn’t really know what you thought about this. Part of you was interested in seeing him in a different setting, not just at Saltburn during your summer holiday. Was he nicer to people at school? Did he even care about schoolwork?
“I told Farleigh to sit with us,” Felix mentioned as you walked next to him. You nodded. “Okay. How has he been?” You asked. You knew better than to care about him, since the feeling was clearly unrequited. You don’t think he would care if you died a sudden death.
But it was harmless, and only in a friendship kind of way. Or whatever complicated relationship you two had. 
“Good, I think,” Felix said. “You know, his mom went to Oxford. In a way, he’ll be able to connect with her. By being here, I mean.” He explained. You could tell it was his attempt at being philosophical. You just nodded and pretended to follow what he was saying.
You both walked into the large dining hall, mini lamps placed on top of the long tables to light the dim, high-ceilinged room.
You found some empty seats and sat down. A few minutes later, Felix had already spotted Farleigh and was waving for him to come over. You followed Felix’s line of sight and saw  Farleigh’s familiar coiled hair, and it seemed that maybe he had let it grow a bit longer than usual.
He was actually smiling for once, and it was such a rare sight you had to blink to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.
“Hey,” He grinned as he took the seat on the other side of you, pulling it closer to the table.
You had seen Farleigh earlier this month when you were still at Saltburn, but for some reason, he looked different. Like he grew up, or something. You couldn’t put your finger on what had changed, though.
Sure, he had recently turned 18, shortly before you did. But the whole aura radiating from Farleigh felt different and more mature. Or maybe it was the new designer clothes you had noticed, or the new necklaces and rings he was sporting. 
“Hi,” You smiled. You realized you must have been staring, and you quickly glanced away to survey the rest of the students filing into the hall.
You spaced out during the small talk and stared into space, pondering how your first day would go tomorrow.
“Are you going to the party tonight?” Felix nudged you. You glanced up. “Uhh… What party?” You hated seeming clueless, but when it came to this kind of thing, you were.
“You know, to welcome all the first years. Us.” He nodded as if to gesture to everyone else.
“Oh. Right. I don’t know, I want to get some good sleep before tomorrow.” You replied while inspecting your nails and picking away at them. 
That statement was half true, half not. You did want to get some well-needed rest, but you were also just terrified of parties and large social gatherings. You could be awkward sometimes, and you were scared of what a real college party would include. Drugs, alcohol… It made you uncomfortable to think about.
“C’mon, please? For me?” Felix gave you the puppy eyes and you sighed. “It’ll be fun,” He reassured you. You looked over to Farleigh. “Are you going?” You asked him.
He looked offended by your question. “Duh,” He answered. You didn’t know why it mattered if he was going or not.
“Ughhh, fine.” You rolled your eyes and facepalmed. Felix grinned brightly. “Yesss,” He whispered.
You couldn’t deny that you were having a good time at the party. You made a few new friends and you were gaining some confidence.
The only problem was that Felix promised you he would stay with you the whole time, since he knew how weary you were with even going in the first place.
And where was he? Nowhere to be seen. You guessed he had run off with some girl already. Hell, within the first ten minutes of you three entering the function, about four girls were already up on him, desperately flirting and twirling their hair.
You were standing in a dark corner when you saw Farleigh approaching you. He had a glass bottle of beer in each of his hands.
“Hey, you want one?” He offered you one of the beers. You were bored out of your mind, so you shrugged and took it. The glass felt nice and cold against your hand.
“Have you seen Felix?” Your eyes darted around nervously. Farleigh shook his head. “Nope. Saw him leaving with some red-head chick, though.” He raised his eyebrows up and down which made you laugh.
He moved to stand next to you against the wall, observing the neon-lit dance floor. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He peered down at you.
You shrugged. “I guess? I’d rather be inside sleeping, though.” He groaned. “You’re so boring. You know why you’re not having fun, right?” He leaned down slightly. You shook your head. “No, enlighten me.”
“You’re not high enough,” He said, a smirk forming on his face. “Farleigh. I’m not gonna get high with you.” You scoffed and took a swig of your beer, wincing a bit at the taste.
“Some guy was giving out joints. It’s weed,” He explained, drawing a small plastic bag of rolled joints out of his pocket.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna just smoke weed from some random guy.” You blew a strand of hair out of your face.
“They’re legit, I swear.” He leaned down to your height and whispered, “I already tried one.” 
You shook your head again. “I don’t smoke, you know that.” He stood up straight.
“Just try it. Look, I’m not dead yet. See?” He twirled around and you giggled. “C’mon, we can go out here.” He nodded to the side door.
You just wanted him to stop bothering you, so you let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.” He excitedly spun on his heel and led you both over to the door before holding it open for you.
You stepped into the warm and dense air of the night, glancing around nervously like you might get caught by someone. But who are you kidding, pretty much everyone here smokes and probably does worse.
“Okay. I’ll light it for you. Do you wanna share it?” He asked, pulling out his lighter and flicking it on.
“Yeah.” You didn’t want the commitment of having it all to yourself. He lit the joint and you watched him take a hit. He made eye contact with you the whole time. It seemed simple enough— a short inhale and then exhale.
“You try,” He handed you the joint and you eyed it suspiciously before putting it to your lips. You took maybe too long of a hit and immediately began coughing, smoke billowing out of your mouth. 
“Woah, easy..”  Farleigh chuckled at your reaction and you felt his hand on the small of your back as you tried to catch your breath.
“You make it look so easy,” You cleared your throat and looked up at him with watery eyes. He smiled smugly at your words.
“Just takes practice,” He told you casually. “Smoking weed is something I’d rather not practice.” Farleigh laughed at your remark and took the joint to take another hit.
“Do you like Felix?” The question came out of the blue and you turned to him.
“What do you mean…?” You lifted an eyebrow as he passed the joint to you. He leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms.
“Like, do you actually enjoy your friendship with him?” He asked. You actually considered the question for a long moment.
“Well, he’s like… the only close friend I have,” You said hesitantly. “I continue to be friends with him because I don’t have a reason not to,” You explained before taking a small hit from the joint.
“And you like the wealth and title that comes with him, yeah?” Farleigh’s words hung in the silence. You knew he was being too nice. It was too good to be true.
“Yeah, I like the summers at Saltburn, but that’s not the reason why I’m friends with him.” Or was it? No. You refused to let yourself get gaslighted by Farleigh. But you began to question your reasoning when you said it out loud.
“I mean, what else does he have to offer?” Farleigh asked as you exhaled the smoke. Why was he suddenly turning against Felix? You thought Farleigh loved Felix. Maybe you had it all wrong.
“He’s nice to me,” You flashed him a glare and he stared back at you, drilling his gaze into yours. “I’m nice to you.” He said in a harsher tone.
“When you want to be,” You shot back, pressing the joint to your lips again, staring out into the darkness.
“What do you have against Felix, anyway?” You broke the short moment of silence and turned to face him.
“Nothing. Forget I ever said anything,” He raised his arms up as if to defend himself. “No, you can’t say weird shit like that and then expect me not to question it,” You handed the joint back to him and headed for the door to go back in. You planned on drinking as much alcohol as possible to show him that you don’t need him to teach you how to have fun.
“Do you even know how to get back to your dorm?” He asked, his brows furrowed. “What do you care?” You scowled at him before going back inside. 
Sooner or later, you had downed your whole bottle of beer and then you were doing shots with some random group of girls. You didn’t remember the rest of that night, but at least you ended up in your bed by the morning, even if you had a horrible hangover.
~~~
Sunlight creeps through the window and knocks impatiently on your eyelids. You groan and sit up, opening your eyes to the bright sunrise shining through your curtains,
Memories of yesterday flood back to you. Your drama with Felix, the car ride and visit to your parents with Farleigh, and telling Venetia all about it when you got back.
Felix didn’t get back from London until late last night, so you were waiting to talk to him today.
You don’t want problems between the two of you, but sometimes he’s just so ignorant and out of touch. 
A little while after breakfast, you make your way to Felix’s room. He seemed hungover during breakfast, so you wonder if this is going to turn out well.
You hesitate before knocking. “Come in,” He calls. You twist the doorknob and carefully enter. His expression softens slightly at the sight of you. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed with a book in his hands.
“Hey. Can we talk?” You ask quietly. He nods, setting the book down.
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was in a mood, and I shouldn’t have said those things to you.” Felix starts before you can.
“Okay. But you know why I was mad, right?” You don’t want it to be that easy for him.
You can see the gears turning in his head. “Erm… because I couldn’t give you a ride?” He looks up at you, and you can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or not.
“No, it wasn’t just that. It’s the principle of it, Felix.” You shake your head. “The principle of what?” He asks, standing up.
“It just seems a lot like you care more about your popularity than you care about your best friend,” You explain, your voice shaking a bit. You don’t really like confrontation.
“No, that’s not true. I just-“
“Yes, it is. Ever since we got to Oxford. It’s always been this way. Leaving me alone at parties to go fuck some random girl, or multiple, for that matter.” Your voice is raised now and you can feel the anger rushing through your veins. All the things you’ve always wanted to say, but couldn’t.
“You know what, you should be thankful I even became your friend. Look what I’ve given you.” He gestures to what you’re assuming is the estate as a whole.
You scoff and laugh at his statement. “What you’ve given me? Are you kidding?! I’m not some stray animal off the street, Felix. I’m not homeless. I have parents. I have a home.” You feel tears welling up in your eyes already and that lump in your throat starting to form.
“Then why are you here?” This is the first time you’ve ever heard Felix really raise his voice. You both freeze in the silence and let his words hang in the air.
“You want me to leave? I can leave,” The tears are now falling down your cheeks as you blink. “No, wait-“
But it’s too late. You’re already storming out of his room and back to yours, which is just down the hall.
You see Farleigh standing near the end of the hallway, trying to eavesdrop. He notices your tears and is immediately heading over to you.
You try to get into your room and lock the door before Farleigh can get to you, but you fail. 
He guides you into your room, his hand pressed against your back firmly before closing the door with his free hand.
He embraces you in a gentle yet tight hug as you continue to sob. He rests his chin on your head and smooths some of your hair out. He holds you and lets you cry.
Farleigh was right about him. Felix thought he saved you from a horrible life. In reality, you would be fine without him. He was just a simple addition to your life.
You hardly realize the intimate moment that you’re in with Farleigh right now until your sobbing subsides.
You push away from him slightly, hands on his chest as you gaze up at him. You sniffle. “I got stuff on your shirt,” You laugh weakly and point at the wet spot on his shirt.
“It’s okay.” His arms return to his side and you find yourself missing the comfort of his arms around you and embracing you.
“Did you hear what he said?” You ask, wiping your eyes and sniffing again.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He nods. “Are you going to say I told you so?” You smile softly as you wipe the rest of your tears away.
“Do you want me to say I told you so?” He grins down at you, his brown eyes bright with amusement. You shake your head. “No way.” You both laugh, and you think you’ll be okay.
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redtsundere-writes · 6 months
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Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen
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mma fighter!sukuna ryomen x femalecoach!reader
Part 8. Fight For Me.
Beginning. ← Previous | Next →
Spynosis: Sukuna is a world champion with anger issues. It's believed by many that he is untrainable. Yeah, you can't train him, but you can dominate him. Contents: Fighting. Sukuna being Sukuna. Female reader being dom. Jinx AU (the BL, not the character from lol) Warnings: Cursed words. Unethical violence. Sexual harassment. I only read it once, lmao Word count: 2927 words. A/N: Another Saturday, another chapter. I picked up studying Japanese again, so far so good. Any advice is welcome :) Hope you guys like today's chapter. :) Btw I made a PLAYLIST
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That was the most uncomfortable morning of my life. I can’t get the idea that I fell asleep in Sukuna's bed like it was nothing out of my head. All I could do was to get dressed quickly to get back to my house before the morning training started. Luckily, I didn't see Sukuna on my way out, maybe he slept in the guest room… or so I thought. His penthouse was huge, there must have been an extra room for sure. Upon arriving at the gym, Sukuna just scolded me for being late as if nothing happened last night, so I acted accordingly. 
Cheers and praises flooded the arena as soon as Sukuna's anthem began booming over the speakers. Even though it was the last fight of the night, this was just starting. The sound mitigated with every step we took upon the intimidating octagon where Naoya was waiting for us after making his grand entrance. I was so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up at any moment, but I had to stay strong. This was not the time to act like a coward. 
The referee checked Sukuna's gloves and body for sandbags or anything out of place. During the inspection, Sukuna gave me a serious glare. He looked so calm for someone who was about to be locked in a cage to fight another beast his size. I had interrupted Naoya's lucky ritual and helped him perform his luck ritual successfully. He was sure he was going to win, but he couldn't let his guard down. 
Sukuna stepped onto the big stage and jogged around the perimeter so that everyone could admire his greatness. Naoya instead of watching him to analyze his opponent, was focused on me. His eyes were looking at me through the black fence, conveying a message I did not want to decipher. Sukuna had to beat him if I didn't want him to escape from the cage and lock me in his clutches. I gulped hard as soon as the referee approached them to give them the basic rules. It was time. I closed my eyes to pray to all the deities of the constellations, crossed my fingers and prayed that Sukuna's sign was lucky today. 
The bell rang and the first round began. People shouted in anticipation as the lion engaged the cheetah in a dangerous dance for dominance. As we had planned, Sukuna was taking his time with him. He was waiting for our common enemy to feel comfortable enough to approach him. Naoya took the bait as he slammed in on him with a pair of jabs, he was going right at his jaw to end the fight. “He looks different,” I thought as I watched him attack Sukuna without hesitation. He was desperate to win as fast as possible, even if that meant throwing away all his energy in the first round. 
Everything was being decided by boxing in the first two rounds, so far, we were going according to plan. Sukuna was like a fish in water, dodging every punch he landed and landing a couple of jabs that connected perfectly with his body, while Naoya struggled to take him down. There was a minute left in the third round when Naoya knocked Sukuna down with a spinning kick. The cheetah turned into a dangerous boa that attached itself to his body mercilessly. Its legs wrapped around his waist to put him in a neck lock. Sukuna tried to pull away from the cheetah's grip with hopeless punches and kicks, but Naoya wasn't about to let it go so easily. 
“Hold on, Sukuna!” I yelled in desperation amidst the howls of the fans. 
I looked at the clock hoping that the seconds would pass quickly, but it felt like an eternity. Sukuna was pushing away with difficulty the arm that chained his neck to keep from fainting. My eyes were on the verge of tears, the champion could not lose, not today. 
The bell rang, and the fighters walked away. I sighed in relief and rushed up to the octagon with Gojo and Yuuji to assist him in the break. Gojo put ice on his shoulder and Yuuji gave him water. 
“Change of plans. We must go to the floor,” I said. 
“What?” Sukuna asked me, taking off his mouth guard. 
“Naoya is desperate. He wants to win at any cost, it seems that this time he doesn't want to leave it to the judges. This is your chance to use his attacks against him,” I explained, but Sukuna didn't seem to be convinced. 
“I agree. He is fighting differently from before. Use your legs, they are longer than his,” Gojo intervened. With that, Sukuna nodded before the next round was announced by a beautiful ring girl. 
Naoya's eyes were on me as he prepared for the next round. I returned her gaze in kind, I wasn't going to let him bully me just because. The bell announced the fourth round and my eyes returned to Sukuna. After a back and forth of punches and low kicks, Naoya went straight at him. Naoya knocked him down, pushing him by the shoulders. Sukuna fell backwards with a loud thud. This time, time wasn't going to stop him. I had seen this attack before. 
“Push him with your legs!” I yelled so he could hear me as I ran around the perimeter of the octagon to get a better angle on the attack. 
Sukuna understood what I meant. With the inertia of Naoya's attack, Sukuna pushed him by the abdomen. I thought he would push him away, instead, he grabbed him by the arms and lifted him up to have him at his mercy for a couple of seconds in the air. I could see Naoya's eyes as he realized he had screwed up. Sukuna threw him to turn him like a helicopter propeller to put his leg between his arms and whip him against the floor. He caged him between his legs and kept pulling him by his limb to keep Naoya in a headlock. 
“Sukuna…” I mumbled in shock. 
Naoya was hitting him by the legs while trying to free his trapped arm. The referee was asking Naoya to get out of it quickly, or he was going to call the fight over. Time paused again as the scene unfolded before me. A king demonstrating his power to a rebellious knight. I no longer heard the people, nor my team, nor my thoughts. It was just my eyes taking in the facts, tasting those uncertain moments. 
Naoya was completely trapped, so the referee announced the end of the fight. I caught my breath and came back to my senses at the decision. Sukuna broke away from Naoya and slowly stood up to regain his posture. He looked at me through the fence and gave me a slight smirk. “Mothafucker did it,” I thought before a tear of happiness slipped down my cheek. We had won, I was free and the champion proved himself the best once again. 
I met up with the team to go up to the octagon to celebrate the victory. I moved through the crowd to give him a sweaty bear hug. I wanted to congratulate him, and thank him for giving his best as always, but I was so happy the words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I could only cry of joy on his shoulder. 
“Stop crying like a bitch,” he whispered between chiding teeth as he wiped my face with the towel around his neck. 
“Can’t I be happy?!” I scolded him between sniffles. 
“You're humiliating me. I can't have a crybaby of a trainer,” he complained. 
“I'm not...!”
My eyes popped open as soon as Sukuna connected his lips with mine in a sweet kiss in front of everyone. My cheeks turned the color of his hair and my heart started beating like crazy from shock. It was not a passionate kiss as he usually kisses me in the secrecy of his ritual, it was a tender touch in the middle of an octagon full of fighters and cameras watching us. Our lips didn't last more than 5 seconds connected, but it felt like it lasted an eternity. 
The sharp sound of something metallic woke me up from the moment. Naoya had hit Sukuna in the head with his metal water bottle before anyone could stop him. The arena gasped in shock at the unsportsmanlike attitude. Team Zenin pulled him back before he could land another misplaced blow. Yuuji, Gojo and Nanami lashed out at him and his coach for not being able to control their athlete. 
“How dare you kiss what's mine?! Let’s get back together, y/n!” Naoya screamed in a tantrum as he tried to break free from the grip of his teammates. 
“Are you okay?” I asked Sukuna worriedly as I put some ice on his bump. 
“Yes, I feel better now,” he said with a proud smile as he watched Naoya in emotional agony. 
“Naoya Zenin will appear before the official UFC committee for lack of discipline and unsportsmanlike attitude tomorrow afternoon for his actions after tonight's fight, but there are already rumors that he will be suspended for more than 5 years from all events,” The commentator announced. 
Team Black howled with joy at the news. My heart had finally calmed down after drinking a nice beer and chatting for a while with Yuuji and Megumi at the same bar we came last time. My mind was finally resting at peace after Sukuna beat up Naoya and explained to Nanami that the kiss had only been to get Naoya off her nerves. “Relax, that kiss didn't mean anything, it was just part of the strategy,” I thought as I remembered how intense that unexpected contact felt. 
“Aren't you supposed to be with the Zenins? Aren't they family?” I asked Megumi curiously to distract my mind from the strong palpitations of my passionate heart. 
“More or less. My father was kicked out of the dojo as soon as he challenged my uncle Naobito and beat him. The family could not bear such a breach of family honor,” Megumi explained, not caring at all about the incident. “I never thought that Sukuna could lift Naoya with his body, it was really incredible. Did you teach him that move?” He asked me before taking a sip of her beer. 
I looked briefly at Sukuna who was chatting pleasantly with Nanami on the other side of the table. Quickly, he noticed that I was watching him. I turned around in time so that he wouldn't think I had been watching him for a long time and that we had only connected casual glances. “Why am I thinking like a lovesick teenager?”, I scolded myself.
“I didn't know he could do that either,” I agreed, to which Megumi looked at me strangely.
After a stressful day and a couple of drinks to counteract the body ailment. I said goodbye to everyone and set out to head home under the midnight stars. I smiled to myself as I replayed in my mind how Sukuna had cornered Naoya against the canvas. The sound of his bare back impacting hard played in my mind on loop. It had been a lousy day, but an incredible night I would never forget. 
“Where are you going?” someone asked behind me. I could recognize Sukuna's voice anywhere in the world. 
“Home, to rest,” I answered as I faced him fully. Why had he followed me? Whatever the reason, we were alone on the sidewalk, it was the right time to tell him how I felt. “You did amazing tonight, thank you very much.” 
“I just did my job, I didn't do it for you,” he said with that serious tone I knew so well by now, he purposely made it sound like he was annoyed. 
“I know you didn't do it for me, but I still want you to know that I owe you one,” I joked.
He didn't hesitate to approach me, I thought he would give me a hug or another kiss, so I just froze in place. Instead, he just handed me a silver key with a Team Black keychain on it. I inspected it carefully as I twirled it between my fingers. 
“You are going to live with me, starting tonight,” he announced as if it was nothing. 
“What?! Why?!” I was really confused.
“Naoya will probably be suspended from the UFC tomorrow and have to pay a stupidly expensive fine. Guess who he's going to blame for that,” I explained. 
“You?” I really didn't want to blame myself right now. 
“Do you really think he'd try to come near me after I beat him up on the ring? And I was fighting under the rules,” Sukuna smiled proud of himself for his performance in the fight. 
“Naoya promised me that...". 
“Naoya promised you that he would love you forever and not hurt you and look where you are. Just because you're innocent doesn't mean you're stupid,” Sukuna interrupted me and then turned his back to me. “You better be home by the time I get back,” he demanded before going back to the bar.
“Hey! Sukuna! What about my stuff?!” I shouted for him to stop, but he ignored me and walked into the bar without saying anything else. 
I stood still on the sidewalk while my fingers caressed the keychain. How could someone be so nice and scary at the same time? It was obvious that Sukuna wanted me to be safe, but the way he did it felt like he was doing me a favor instead of actually wanting to help me. “He wants to protect me,” I thought as I realized what he was doing. My heart skipped a beat even though he was no longer in my presence and my cheeks dyed pink just thinking about him. 
“Sukuna sure is a strange man…” I thought out loud as I went on my way to the penthouse. 
Even though I had entered his home before, I couldn't help but be surprised as I walked down the huge carpeted hallway. I arrived in the immense living room that shared the professional kitchen, the 12-person wooden dining room and the contemporary living room surrounded by huge windows that allowed me to see the entire city glowing in the dark night. What it's like to have all the money in the world. 
“I think I'll sleep in the guest room,” I said aloud to test the echo of my new home. “First I must find the guest room,” I planned as I looked at the maze I would be living in.
I avoided the entrance doors because I knew that one of them was Sukuna's room, so I had to go up to the second floor. When I got to the top, I could see through the large windows the indoor pool on the first floor, the bar with karaoke and the small zen garden that divided the rooms. “What songs will he like to sing,” I wondered curiously as I continued my search for my room. A little smile escaped my lips as I imagined Sukuna singing Single Ladies by Beyoncé.
I had finally found the guest room. It had a king-size bed with beige sheets, a small couch to watch TV, its own bathroom and a large empty closet. I dropped my backpack on the small white couch and headed for bed. Before I could throw myself out of exhaustion, I noticed a Victoria's Secret bag at the foot of the bed. My eyes widened as I realized the real reason Sukuna wanted me to come to his house. 
“That fucker is planning to fuck me tonight!” I exclaimed, offended. 
I couldn't believe it, I was really stupid for thinking that Sukuna wanted to protect me. I had escaped from the Zenin just to face a Ryomen. I am so naive for thinking he was different, but he was just another disgusting man who can't see women as equals. I really wanted him to be different. He only fucked me twice, and he already assumes he can do it whenever he wants. I wasn't going to let him. 
I took the things out of the bag to throw it in the trash, but stopped when I saw that it wasn't lingerie, it was a full set of satin pajamas. White pajamas with pink stripes in my size. I covered my face with it from embarrassment. I had misjudged Sukuna, he sure bought me pajamas after I fell asleep naked in his bed the night before. I took off my clothes to put on the soft and comfortable pajamas, they fit me like a glove. I smiled like a fool when I saw myself in the mirror. 
“How cute…" I thought out loud before throwing myself on the bed comfortably. 
Oh.
Quickly, I realized what I had said and stood still, staring at the white glitter ceiling. Did I just say Sukuna was cute? No, he couldn't be. He is a rude, selfish, impatient, serious, self-confident, independent, disciplined, strong, handsome, rich man... I couldn't fall in love with him. I was his trainer, his co-worker. I couldn't like him because he has an amazing body, takes care of me even if he doesn't want to admit it, and kisses me like no one else ever has, right? Right?! 
Oh.
I was in trouble.
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Masterlist.
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173 notes · View notes
sheisjoeschateau · 7 months
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"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII
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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+
CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.
And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)
ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.
Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 
And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.
“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”
Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.
“I can’t stand you.”
You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 
“I can’t stand you either.” 
I love you too.
Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.
But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 
Steve Harrington loved you.
Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 
Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.
Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.
Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.
But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.
Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 
Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.
Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 
Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”
Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 
“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 
Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”
Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 
“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”
Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.
“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”
“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.
“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”
Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.
Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.
Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.
Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 
“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”
Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”
Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 
That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?
…why is she sad looking at Steve?
Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.
“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”
Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?
Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”
He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”
Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 
It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.
But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?
…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…
Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.
…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?
…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.
“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.
“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”
When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.
But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.
“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”
Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.
And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 
Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 
Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 
It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  
Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…
Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.
“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”
Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 
Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”
“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”
Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 
“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”
Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”
“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”
“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”
“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 
Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”
“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”
Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…
Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”
Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”
Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.
Robin stared.  “What?”
“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.
“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.
“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 
Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 
“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”
Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”
“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”
“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”
“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”
That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”
Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…
“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”
But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?
Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.
And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.
“Alright, guessing game is over.” 
Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.
“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”
Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 
Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.
“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 
Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.
“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”
Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”
Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.
Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 
Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.
“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 
Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.
Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.
"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."
Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 
"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 
Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 
“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”
No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.
“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”
Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”
Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 
“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”
Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.
Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.
“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”
Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.
“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 
“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”
Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.
“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”
Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.
So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.
“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.
Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.
“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”
Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”
She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 
“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”
“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 
But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.
Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.  He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.
“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”
Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.
Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.
“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”
“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”
Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 
Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 
No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…
But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.
***
That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.
“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 
“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.
“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”
“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”
Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.
“Robs, you good?”
“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”
Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.
“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.
“Cool.”
“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”
Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”
Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.
“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.
“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”
Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 
Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.
***
Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 
His heart stopped.  Were you too still?
Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —
You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.
You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 
“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 
“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”
You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”
That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 
A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 
When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.
The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 
“What’s your favorite color?”
Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.
“Yellow.”
Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”
There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 
“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”
“Nah, the dogs are.”
Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.
“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 
“Blue.  Sky blue.” 
You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”
“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…
Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’
And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.
“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.
“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”
You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”
“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”
“Apparently, I’m dad.”
“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.
You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.
“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”
Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”
You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”
He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”
You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”
Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.
You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 
God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.
…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.
Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”
Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”
“I don’t.”
“Well, you are,” you said simply.
Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 
“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”
You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.
“I was, too,” you admitted.
“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”
“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”
“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.
Never at you.  Never again.
“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”
“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”
You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”
Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.
“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.
“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”
Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”
“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”
You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 
“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”
You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”
“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?
“...Steve?”
He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —
“I love you so much.”
19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.
“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”
Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”
He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.
as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.
TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]
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tragedry · 1 month
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hi ry, can you tell us what your fave ashler moment is and why 👀😳
i have a lot anon... like a lot™
so narrowing it down to a single ashler moment is pretty difficult.. but if i had to pick a particular moment that i can't stop thinking about lately, it would have to be this:
EPISODE 57-58 (LET THE ASHLER META POST BEGIN)
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idt anyone ever talks about how much ashlyn actually cares about tyler.
we've seen them bicker (like an old married couple) so many times in the webtoon, but this is the kind of moment where you stop and realize that ashlyn and tyler are close. and that they actually trust and care about each other. like a lot.
in chapter 57, during their video call, we get a glimpse of their interaction and it's honestly such an eye opener.
bc we see tyler volunteering to be left behind (out of his need to keep everyone safe and to not be a burden), and ashlyn immediately shoots that offer down with a hard "AND I SAID WE AREN'T GOING TO DO THAT" indicating that they have already had this conversation before, and further emphasizing that she has no plans of leaving him behind. (which not only highlights how they literally bicker like an old married couple, but also how unlikely it is to believe that these two could ever hate each other, so anyone who thinks ashler are trying to slit each other's throat definitely need to re read the source material bc ash would rather eat rocks than leave tyler behind)
(and i love how she even goes out of her way to get mad at him for making light of his current situation. like we can really see how seriously ash took his situation to heart and that no amount of tyler making like of his situation to appease her, could ever make her forget what happened-- which honestly goes to show how: 1.) ashlyn cares about him. and 2.) tyler feels the need to elevate that guilt from her in any way he can.)
i also adore her refusal to leave him behind and how her insistence to stick to their plan goes on for the next two panels or so, not to mention the fact that she literally berates him for his recklessness after waking up from the hospital.
Ashlyn: Not to mention, the stroke from shock could've killed you!
Tyler: Fine, fine, whatever. Stop yelling.
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look at his expression from their lil exchange, i love how resigned he is to her nagging LMAO
but going back to my point, the fact that ash goes on to emphasize her point truly highlights the fact that she does not want him to die, making her concern for his well-being quite obvious!
AND THEN WE GET TO CHAPTER 58!!
MAN THERE'S SO MUCH TO SAY!!
(tw for blood up ahead!!)
FIRST OF ALL,
ASHLYN FINDS HIM FIRST.
in a very dangerous, life-threatening, high stakes situation--where every second counts--where tyler's life is literally hanging on by a thread, ashlyn finds him.
she finds him and immediately eliminates the immediate threat to tyler's life.
and that all happens in the blink of an eye,,, well it's probably more than that, but the way these two scenes are drawn is meant to emphasize two things: ashlyn's ability to find tyler and her ability/efficiency to dispose of a phantom in order to protect those she cares for!
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and i just love how her expression immediately shifts from concern (upon taking care of the immediate threat) to downright terrified (as soon as she realizes the state tyler is in)
she couldn't even bear to finish her question, and it breaks my heart to see such a haunted look on her face. she is literally faced with the sight of tyler impaled to a tree and loosing far too much blood, and it must have been such a juxtapose to the last time she had seen him (in the hospital, whole and unhurt) that it's no wonder ash literally freezes for a moment here, only for tyler's blood to drip on her cheek.
TALK ABOUT TRAUMA.
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i would also like to point out that she came rushing to his aid alone.
with the way aiden and the rest of the group seemed to be looking for her, we can all concluded that ashlyn had been the only one to hear tyler's scream and immediately started running to find him, probably at the expense of leaving the rest of the group in her desperation to get to tyler in time.
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and while the rest of the group is obviously taking in the brand new trauma of seeing their friend (brother in tay's case) literally dying in front of them, ash has already recovered enough (or at least has steeled herself enough to find move and focus on the important task at hand)
and it's so important for me to note how she doesn't berate the rest for freezing up.
but she also doesn't coddle them, opting to let them process and handle the situation on their own as she takes in the biggest responsibly (and burden) of climbing up the tree in order to sedate tyler.
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literally cannot get over this moment, the slight tremble of ashlyn's hand, the way her voice remains steady as she promises to get him down, followed by tyler's soft "... okay."
(he's obviously in a lot of pain, and talking was probably the least of the things he should be doing, and yet he still felt compelled to answer her)
and can we just talk about the way she was able to hold herself together up until she was able to get down, but immediately had a full body tremble right after.
my poor girl....
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chapter 58 truly is one of the darkest moments between ashler (aside from the season finale and the fourth episode following it, which i'll explain in a bit)
i say 'darkest' in the sense that tyler's near death is the manifestation of ashlyn's biggest fear: failing the people she cares about.
her breakdown during episode 52 had been a culmination of having to not only survive but lead her friends to safety from monsters actively trying to kill them every night.
but the tipping point had been failing to stop tyler's fall, followed by having to make the difficult decision of leaving him behind in order to save the rest of her friends, immediately followed by having to see tyler convulsing as soon as they wake up from their trip to the phantom dimension.
could you imagine how horrific the scene is in ashlyn's pov, having to see tyler (someone who normally has a large presence, and easily towers over most of their group) literally looking so helpless in mike's arms?
the realization of ty's fragility, at the fact that all of them are just kids who were thrown into a world fulls of horrific creatures trying to kill them, and having no one else to rely on.. and being shouldered with the responsibility of being the leader...
ashlyn took tyler's hospitalizations (his fall) as a personal blow. a failure that practically leads her to breaking down.
and she had carried that guilt with her, and even when ty had reassured her later on (which is honestly such a good ashler moment btw, feel free to read my thoughts abt it here) it's not something she can easily let go of...
i honestly think that ashlyn still carries the guilt with her--a part of herself still remains haunted by tyler's fall, and she took it as a personal blow.
which leads us back to episode 57-58! where we get to see her practically coddle tyler in episode 57 in her own way (ie scolding him for his self-sacrificing nature and for his recklessness despite the extent of his injury)
and in episode 58, how she had been the first one to find him and was the one to save him (from the phantom) as well as lead the team from extracting him out of the tree.
now that ashlyn has experienced the grief and guilt of failing tyler once, she took it upon herself to make sure it never happens again.
and that's why this particular sequence of events haunts my narrative to this very day, and why ashler has such a chokehold on me.
the idea that ashlyn's protectiveness of tyler stems from her own guilt of failure, along with her growing bond and friendship with him, paired with tyler's trust and growing fondness of her.
(which i've already pointed out before here and here)
all of this to say that ashler is a very compelling ship, with depths and moments that aren't as glaringly obvious, and yet the way in which their relationship has grown and developed throughout the webtoon is irrefutable and becoming increasingly obvious through each episode, especially when you actually take the time to read and check the source material.
anyway, that's the end of my very long ashler meta regarding ep 57-58 (crazy how this isn't even tackling the entirety of the webtoon, but i'll get to that when i have the time to compile each and every moment of theirs and analyze it)
i had a lot of fun talking about them, and i appreciate all the asks y'all are sending me (it's the perfect excuse for me to keep yapping LMAO)
ending this meta with: live, laugh, love ashler ❤️❤️
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bratbarzal · 10 days
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On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Five
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Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*
*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.
WC: 17k (holy moly)
Chapter Warnings: I tried to sprinkle some fluffy flashbacks and smutty references later in here just to lighten the mood but this is angsty!! probably cursing I honestly can't remember, and serious warnings rn mentions of hacking/gossip blogs/blackmail/cyber bullying/nudes being leaked, talia is her own warning tbh. I tried not to make a cliched ex comes in between them plot and idk how it comes across but yeah I was trying to toe the line between it being interesting/different and then going too far and not being able to write around it which is why the plot kind of fixes itself quick and is a leeeetle bit bad but there's some unresolved bitterness in that relationship for sure lmao she has a LOT 2 say!! did I mention there's angst in here? insecurity/self-doubt and miscommunication!!! in abundance!!! but!! luke is a cutey patootie in this I wrote his part with a lil smile on my face 💖 also a ridiculous conversation about huffing glue lmao
Series Masterlist
Previous Part (Chapter Four)
A/N: ok so in the grand scheme of things this is both a filler chapter and also like a pivotal point in the story to set something later up, but when I was planning this entire fic out, the only directive I gave myself for this specific chapter was insert angst. you wouldn't believe the amount of times I've written and rewritten and gone back and forth on what's in here. it's the kind of instruction only a complete melon would give themselves and I clearly just hate myself in ways that are spooky and strange to submit myself to this kind of torture.
and I hear your cries of hasn’t this fic just been angst so far??? yes!! you may be correct!! but you don’t get a rainbow without a bit of rain hun!!! grab an umbrella!!! I promise good will come of this lmao
I'm sorry this one took so long, it's the only chapter I didn't have any kind of plan or direction for obviously and I tried to come up with so many different options for the talia plot before I landed on whatever this is, but the next one I do have some scenes written out in my plan so shouldn't be as long in between. my goal has always been a chapter a week but like I said the other day work has been a lot for me the past couple of weeks so I am genuinely sorry for making you wait!!
you guys were very fun and very kind to me after the last chapter so please please please lets keep the good vibes going come chat to me about your thoughts about the fic about the weather about anything!! 💓
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Nico
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When Nico and Talia had first started dating, there had been an element of excitement to the dynamic. Nico hadn’t properly dated anyone in a while - had casual flings here and there, and for the most part spent his time swallowing down his burgeoning feelings for his best friend - and there was a novelty to starting something with someone new.
He had all the intentions of building something serious with her. She was fun, got on with his friends, had ties close to home that meant he wouldn’t be putting a wedge between the two of them should he want to travel back in his breaks, and sinking his teeth into the challenges of a relationship was something that actually intrigued him.
He liked planning dates, liked buying gifts to see that buzz of joy and gratitude it would elicit, and he liked the companionship - liked having someone there when he came back from a long roadie or a tough string of games. 
He liked it so much he never really opened his eyes to the fact that Talia didn’t. 
She didn’t like the dates he planned - didn’t like the restaurants he chose, the movies he wanted to share with her, the bars him and the guys frequented. She didn’t like America, didn’t like their coffee shops, thought their pastries were packed with too much sugar, their portion sizes were too large for her ever to enjoy going for lunch, always complaining about feeling bloated and sluggish after every meal. She hated Jersey - wanted to spend all her time across the Hudson, looking down on everyone she met and everywhere they went together. She didn’t make much use of the gifts he bought her - let every bouquet of flowers die a quick, careless death, said the watch he bought her didn’t go with enough of her other jewellery and turned her nose up at every effort he made to make his apartment feel more like her home. 
She wasn’t all that comforting when it came to companionship, either. Rolled her eyes when he came home aching and exhausted, went out without him on the days he was coming back from a roadie and returned home when he had long retired to his bed. She would always want to meet up with her girlfriends instead of hanging around the team, and only ever wanted to come to games if she could bring her own entourage - mostly to show off her connections and hardly ever to actually support him.
And so, despite the initial attraction, despite the excitement that first came with their blossoming relationship, Nico can only look at Talia with disinterest and frigidity now.
He barely greets her as he opens the door to his apartment, moving aside to let her in and waiting for her to trudge her small case in behind her before he closes it, leaning against the surface and watching her discard her bag and keys on the counter with familiarity.
When she turns to face him, running a hand through her hair and huffing out a big sigh, he takes in her dishevelled appearance.
Even when travelling, Talia usually takes great pride in her pristine exterior - hair blow-dried, outfit co-ordinated and steam-pressed to perfection, not a crease or stain in sight, and usually a light layer of makeup to cover the slight imperfections like the darkened under eyes and redness around her nose. This isn’t like her.
She looks like she’s been messing with her hair the whole 8 hour flight out and beyond, her eyes are rimmed-red with smudges of brown at the corners, her lips are chapped and swollen like she’s been crying, and her sweatpants don’t match her hoodie. It’s almost like she’d thrown on whatever she could find and caught the first flight out, fresh out of bed.
“What’s going on?” He cuts straight to the chase, losing all formality and courtesy. He should feel bad for his callous greeting, but she had broken up with him over text not even a month ago - she doesn’t exactly deserve outstretched arms and a warm embrace, he thinks.
“Hi Talia, how have you been, Talia? It’s nice to see you Talia.” She mocks, a frown overtaking her features immediately. “I’m absolutely amazing, thanks for caring, Nico!” Sarcasm spews from her tongue like pure venom, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head.
Nico pushes himself off of the door, heavy footsteps leading him into his kitchen where he can make himself a coffee to get through this. His watch reads 6:05 - far too early for her antics - and rising to her nagging is only going to make things worse.
“Do you want a drink?” He asks, as he busies himself with his coffee press, unable to look at her too long without the pricks of guilt irritating him.  He doesn’t even know what he has to feel guilty about.
“I’ll get it myself,” she scoffs, venturing over to the fridge and pouring out some orange juice - her movements around his space eerily natural. She slams back most of the drink as he works out how to brew his coffee - but she sees right through him. He’s hardly ever used the press before, and he’s just doing so now to avoid her in whatever capacity he can. “I need money.”
Nico’s almost positive he hasn’t heard her right - that there’s some kind of mix up between her standard German and his Swiss - and he slowly turns to properly face her, brows slanting into a deep frown as he assesses her expression.
She has a hand on her hip, her jaw set and her eyes darkened and serious. 
“You have money.”
Talia comes from money - her father is some kind of film producer and her mother an artist, if Nico remembers correctly - and she makes good money, herself. She’s been a print model since she was scouted in some market in Munich since she was 15, has had her face plastered in ads in magazines and catalogues around the world. She’s hardly strapped for cash. She gets things gifted to her by whatever company she can get a hold of. What could she possibly need him to give her money for?
“Not enough.” Her tone is cold, her demeanour the same, and if Nico can still gauge her emotions correctly, there’s an element of blame that she is starting to shift towards him, and his whole body starts to feel tense.
“Not enough for what?”
He can’t quite tell what feeling washes over him - worry, at the thought she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, stress, at the thought this could be a recurring thing, and potentially pity, at the way she’s so clearly carrying the weight of something heavy - something she’s lugged all the way across the Atlantic on a long haul flight with her.
“Not enough to pay the guy who’s blackmailing me not to leak the videos that I sent to you.”
“What vide-“ he bites back, and the immediate arch of her brow tells him all he needs to know. “Oh.”
Shit.
“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” She sneers, fury in her gaze and dismay in her tone. “You’ve ruined my life, and all I get is an oh?”
“Whoa, slow down, I’ve ruined your life?”
Nico has never been one to shame any girl for sending explicit pictures - he’d been more than willing to receive them at the time - but he hadn’t ever forced her hand. He hadn’t even asked her for them, in the first place. 
She’d taken it upon herself to spice things up, as she had put it at the time, when the team had gone on the road in early December. It was just after he’d returned from his injury - a time in which he’d spent mentally distanced from her as he’d focused so much on getting back to the game, their relationship consisting mainly of not-so-passionate sex to avoid aggravating his injury and hardly of any kind of meaningful conversation - and she had thought that keeping him on his toes on a roadie would mean he’d come back more interested than ever.
If he’d been looking out for red flags at the time, he might have caught that blaring one; needing to try new things only a few months into a relationship to keep it fun and light.
He’d been in his hotel room in Seattle, freshly showered and ready to throw himself straight into bed when his phone had started to ping. It was suggestive texts at first, are you alone? And I’m thinking about you. Then it had been pictures, hands over lingerie and fingers between glossy, pouted lips.
And then videos, one after the other before he had any chance to respond - her phone set up far enough away that her whole body was in frame, touching herself while laying on his bed and calling out for him.
He had called her instead of sending anything back, and as he realises the severity of the situation, a selfish part of him is glad he did so.
“Talia, I didn’t even save those videos, and I definitely didn’t show them to anyone else.”
Nico could never. Not only for the fact that he was raised to be a decent human being, but he has a sister - if anyone ever did that to Nina, he’d tear them apart, limb from limb. 
“You’re the only person I’ve ever sent anything to.” She seems to have made her mind up, and Nico feels as if his heart plummets through his torso at the realisation. She’s travelled all this way because she genuinely believes he’s the cause of this - that he’s shared intimate videos of her without her consent, to someone who would extort her for them. “And he sent me some pictures as proof, had information about me like the address of this apartment.”
“Talia, I swear on my mother’s life, I wouldn’t do that to you - to anyone, not ever.”
Tears well in her crystalline eyes, and Nico waits with bated breath as she assesses the situation in her head. 
He isn’t a liar - he has never given her a reason to think he is one. In their time together, he had always been honest, always been loyal, and he hopes at the very least - despite her obvious distain for him now, and how little she ended up caring about their relationship in the end to cut it off in the way she did - she thought of him as kind. 
He can do nothing but be patient, let her come to whatever conclusion on her own, and it’s only when he spots the quiver in her bottom lip that he takes an apprehensive step forward, ready to console her if needed.
She practically throws herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and bawling into his chest, and all he can do is hold her and wait. He tries to rub a soothing hand up and down her back, holding the other against her head as her body wracks with sobs. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body until it’s all he can hear, too.
Nico does his best to comfort her, shushing and cooing and whispering how it’s going to be alright, but it does little to help. She’s beyond relief.
“There’s a guy who said he can track whoever is doing this to me,” she sniffles as she pulls herself away. “He’s in Jersey City Heights, he’s some sort of ethical hacker, whatever that means, I’m going to meet him and he’s gonna go through my phone.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Nico doesn’t even hesitate to ask - if not to protect her, and make sure she isn’t unknowingly getting herself into an even more dangerous situation, then to protect himself too. If someone has Talia’s pictures, and she only sent them to him, there’s a possibility his phone had been hacked, and if this guy is as ethical as he says, maybe he can check Nico’s stuff, too, just to be safe.
She gives him an appreciative smile, eyes still glassy and cheeks flushed. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“I’m gonna shower, then we can go. You can grab whatever to eat while you’re waiting.” He backs away from her completely, only just able to acknowledge the ache in his muscles once the intensity of the situation has settled a little, and he just needs to stand under the steaming spray and clear his mind before he properly immerses himself in her company. 
He has a lot more than this whole mess that he needs to think about, and maybe a shower can bring him a little clarity on how exactly he’s going to explain himself to the beautiful girl whose bed he had abruptly left not even an hour ago. 
“Why are you dressed?”
Nico stops in his tracks.
When he had got back to his apartment, he’d made a little effort for it to seem like he’d been there all night. He’d gone through to his bedroom, mussed up his sheets to make it seem like he had been sleeping in them - and not with the anticipation that Talia was going to be entering his bedroom, but with her, he never knows - trying to retrace the steps of his usual routine before he goes to bed, he had closed all the blinds, had moved his gym bag by the door.
But he hadn’t changed.
Still adorned in his sweatshirt and jeans from the night before, the clothing feels all that much heavier on his body as she brings attention to it, and he quickly racks his brain to come up with a valid excuse that doesn’t rouse further suspicion.
“I fell asleep in these clothes.” As easy as the lie comes out, he doesn’t feel great saying it. Doesn’t feel like erasing the night he had shared with Poppy is for the greater good, even if it is just to Talia, but avoiding another difficult conversation is a must right now - especially when he’d already lied to her on the phone. “Was out late with the guys last night, Timo threw a party for my birthday.”
“Right,” she drags out, and when he turns back around, she casts a scrutinising glance over him, top to bottom. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“No worries,” he shrugs, genuinely not offended. She has no reason to remember his birthday. Not anymore. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever, I’ll try not to be long.” 
When he undresses for his shower, he’s thankful he hadn’t had the foresight to change in anticipation of Talia’s arrival. He probably would have donned a t-shirt and some shorts, oblivious to the visible indents on his thighs where Poppy had dug her nails in as she took him in her mouth.
His chest and torso are littered with scratches, some faint, some a little deeper, and he can’t get the right angle to see his back but he imagines they’re the same - the memory of her clutching at him as both of their climaxes approached is vivid enough for him to picture the marks she left behind.
He groans as the thought of her brings back that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he notices the blooming arousal pool there, and feels himself harden as he steps under the spray of his shower.
If his phone had been on do not disturb through the night, he could be in the shower with Poppy, instead.
He could have woken up to her in his arms, could have pecked at her sleep-swollen lips until it brought her out of her slumber, and spent his morning making up for lost time just like he had promised her last night. He could have made light work of the pleasure he had given her the night before - could have had her underneath him in her bed, tangled up in the mess of sheets and falling apart before they shared a morning shower, where he’d have held her up against the tiles and would’ve moved into her until they couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He’d have made her breakfast, something sweet, so that as she sat and watched him atop the kitchen counter he had tasted her on for the first time not even 12 hours before, he’d press his tongue into her mouth after she had eaten and savour the flavour of strawberries that had settled between her lips.
Instead, he’s here, turning the temperature of his water down until any and all excitement in his body is dampened, and all he can focus on is the effect the cold has on all his other aching muscles.
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Once he has showered and gotten dressed - and has come to the conclusion that any further thoughts about Poppy need to wait until the Talia problem is resolved and out of his hands, he finds his ex girlfriend sprawled across his couch, music playing from the speaker in the corner, and taking helping herself to a whole new level. 
Her case is opened where she had left it by the door, and she’s set herself a little vanity up on his coffee table, fixing her appearance before they leave.
She’s changed out of her mismatched sweats, has dressed herself in jeans and a sweater, and has found an extension cable long enough for her to plug in whatever hot tool she’s currently running through her hair.
“You take the longest showers in the history of man,” she rolls her eyes, not even casting a glance his way as she focuses on her own reflection in the little mirror she must have brought with her. “I do not want to know what it is you get up to in there.”
“I was barely 30 minutes, are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, almost,” she runs the tool through her bangs until they flick out at the edges on either side of her face, and it reminds him of all the times he had watched her while waiting for her to finish getting ready. It makes him feel uneasy how familiar it all is, how she’s so quickly made herself at home again in his space.
He wants to tell her she needs to pack her stuff back up, that she won’t be staying here and needs to give his keys back, but the weight of the situation at hand dawns on him before he can open his mouth.
He’ll wait until they get back later, his decision depending on the outcome of their visit to her hacker friend.
As much as he doesn’t want her around, he isn’t going to kick her out with no place to go if her life is still shrouded in unsafe circumstances. 
Talia unplugs her stuff, wraps the cord around the handle of the brush she was using, and places it on a mat she must have brought with her so it doesn’t burn through the surface of the table. “Kay, let’s go.”
She marches ahead of him, picking up her bag and keys on the way out and leaving him to lock up while she calls for the elevator. They wait together in silence, his heart thudding an anxious rhythm in his chest as he anticipates the arrival of the elevator - and thankfully, it arrives empty.
He tries to distance himself from her as they enter, him standing in one corner, and hoping she takes the other, but she doesn’t quite get the memo, standing obliviously in the centre as she types away to someone on her phone and he presses the button to go to the basement.
Nico watches the numbers go down with bated breath. His floor, the next, the next one after that, and he uses any good will he has left with the universe to hope and pray it skips the floor coming up - but, as is just his luck, the elevator comes to a stop with a soft thud, and the doors open to reveal the very situation he’s been hoping to avoid. 
Jack walks straight in, eyes cast down to the phone in his hands, distractedly typing away and not even noticing the button for the parking level has been pressed before he pushes it, himself.
Luke notices straight away, halting in his movements to enter the space as his gaze flickers between the two people already occupying it. 
He diverts his eyes when they meet Nico’s head dropping as he steps in and stands beside his brother, uttering a quick greeting of, “Hey, Cap.”
Jack’s attention is captured immediately, spinning at an almost dizzying speed to face his captain, phone disregarded into his back pocket. “Schao! I thought you’d be at-,”
He’s thankfully able to tune into his perception before he carries on with his train of thought, a subtle movement in his peripheral diverting his gaze to the figure stood to the side of Nico. 
“Talia. Hi.”
“Hi, Jack.” Nico cringes inwardly at how disinterested she sounds. “Luke.” Talia had never really cared for Nico’s teammates - especially not the younger guys like Jack and Luke. She was quick to pass judgement, making comments on their maturity, or apparent lack-thereof, and wasn’t the biggest fan of how close Nico was with the pair. Didn’t like the time or attention he gave them considering the close quarters they lived in, and had always been resentful. She always claimed her English wasn’t good enough to hold a proper conversation with them, but he’d seen her enough around her American friends to know it wasn’t true.
“We’re just meeting up with some of the guys for breakfast.” Jack says, cautiously, in an attempt to fill the silence. The invitation remains unspoken, but Nico can tell in the way the younger boy cocks his head and meets his eye that he’s gauging his current situation for the morning.
“We have plans.” Talia must be able to tell what he was getting at, too and Nico can see Luke’s eyes narrow as soon as the word resonates in his head. Plans. Pre-meditated. Made before she had sprung all of this on him within the last hour or two. Panic stirs within him, and his throat itches to speak the truth, but it’s just not the right time to do so with Talia stood beside him. If he starts getting defensive, she’ll start asking questions, and the boys will have to bear witness to him skirting around the matter of Poppy. 
It’s not a good look no matter which way he swings it. He’s stuck in a thick, dark, tarry mess of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings but making all the wrong decisions. A minefield of not knowing how to explain himself without raising a million questions on either side, and hoping one of the brothers might toe the line of the boundaries of their relationship and just straight up ask why Talia is here.
He knows he has fucked up without the way neither of them are looking him in the eye.
He knew it the second Poppy’s door had locked behind him this morning - he doesn’t need Luke refusing to meet his gaze, doesn’t need Jack’s shifting side eye to tell him he’s made a mistake. 
“I’ll text you later.” Nico says, mainly to Jack but still trying to meet his brother’s eyes with no luck. It’s an attempt to say something, without saying anything. A silent beg not to jump to conclusions about what they’ve seen - and, although he knows they wouldn’t, not to tell anyone else. Not whichever of the guys they are meeting up with, not anyone else on the team, and definitely not Poppy.
“Yeah, sure,” Jack mutters in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, and an even worse attempt at masking his relief when the doors ping open on the parking level.
“Have fun with your plans,” Luke huffs out, his tone like a tight fist clutching at Nico’s chest despite his courteous choice of words.
“We will,” Talia forces a smile. Nico gets the feeling she isn’t as oblivious to the tension as he hopes she is.
The four of them separate into their pairs with mumbled goodbyes, Jack and Luke heading off to Luke’s car on one side of the garage, and Nico and Talia heading to his on the other, and Nico can’t even let out a sigh of pseudo-relief before Talia jumps on him.
“That was weird.”
“We broke up, they weren’t expecting to see us together.” He quickly excuses as he starts the car up, turning on the heat and hoping the soft buzz of the air will fill the silence enough that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. 
“It’s been like 3 weeks, most couples get back together after their first breakup.”
Has it only been 3 weeks? He thinks, shuddering at how little time had actually passed between her sending that text and him restoring balance to his life.
“We’re not most couples,” he shrugs, shutting that train of thought immediately as he starts to make his way out of the parking garage, ascending the ramp where the doors open up to reveal the dull beam of the winter morning sun. “You dumped me over text a week before Christmas, we’re not getting back together.”
“Oh yeah, I bet you were real cut up about it,” she jibes, sarcastically. “Probably landed straight in the bed of some desperate puck bunny more than happy to take your mind off of how awful I was to you.”
His mind immediately goes to Poppy, to last night, to her bed - and despite the complete bullshit Talia has fabricated in her head, despite how much he wants to tell her she has it all wrong, he can’t bear to twist himself even further into knots to skirt around mentioning the girl who did make him better.
“We’re not having this conversation right now.” He decides, tapping at the screen in the console of his car until he brings up the navigation. “Put in the address you need, we’re not too far from The Heights.”
The location she enters into the system is for an unassuming condo in a quiet, suburban area. The neighbourhood itself is picturesque, the buildings colourful, the paths lined with trees that seemed to flourish even in the midst of winter, and when Nico pulls up across the street, he notices the amount of families around - parents walking their kids to school and couples with dogs getting their morning steps in. It’s the last place he imagines some hacker to be shacked up, but maybe that’s the point.
He still doesn’t entirely understand the ethical part.
“It’s the one with the red brick and the balcony,” Talia points to the other side of the road as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and Nico looks over at the building as if he’s going to be able to see all the secrets stored within it.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, number 414.” She shows him the messages she has exchanged with the guy, and sure enough, the address matches up. “C’mon, the sooner we get in there, the sooner we can figure this out.”
He follows her across the street, adjusting the cap he wears atop his head and making sure it conceals his identity from anyone with eyesight good enough to catch it, trying to shrug off the discomfort of the whole situation as he waits for someone to pick up the buzzer Talia relentlessly presses.
He hears a different kind of buzz, lighter, like the manual zoom of a camera, and cranes his neck to assess their surroundings as they wait, before he catches sight of the device in the top corner of the porch, facing directly onto them.
He hears the click of a lock as soon as his eyes make contact with the thing, and cautiously tries the handle on the door until it pushes all the way down, letting them into the building. 
The door to the ground floor condo is open, and stood in the entrance is a guy no older than 20, dressed in all black with dark, beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. If Nico could find it in him to see the humour in the situation, he’d laugh at how he looks like Luke - a mop of curly brown hair, tall with a slim build and ever so slightly poor posture.
He straightens up as the two of them approach, Nico keeping Talia behind him as he assesses the safety of the situation. If they’re being lured into some kind of trap, he could definitely take this guy - he can’t even maintain direct eye contact, never mind manage to subdue a man of Nico’s stature.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone, Talia.”
He’s soft-spoken, his voice ever so nasally, and despite the fact that he’s talking to the girl behind him, his gaze has settled on Nico’s chest.
“My name’s Nico.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. He thinks he can write him off as a threat, for now, and if making him feel comfortable encourages him to help them, he wants to put him at ease. “
“I know who you are.” He doesn’t shake Nico’s hand. “I’m Myles. Come in.”
Myles doesn’t wait for the two of them, marching back into his place and leaving the door open for Talia and Nico to enter and close behind them. 
Nico isn’t surprised by the space - from his brief encounter with the resident so far, it fits him to a tee; neat, impersonal, furniture that looks fresh out of a catalogue. He follows him over to the corner of his living room, a PC set up with several monitors that he can’t tell are on until they’re standing straight in front of them.
Myles throws himself down into the large swivel chair, spinning until he’s facing the two of them and crossing his arms over his torso with disinterest. “So, nudes?”
Straight to the point. Nico can’t exactly be mad at it.
Talia steps out from behind him, handing her unlocked phone to Myles. “The messages started last week, just after New Years. Straight to my number, not in DMs or anything, but the number doesn’t even come up for me to call it from another phone or anything, just says unknown.”
Myles takes her phone and plugs it into his setup without even looking at whatever she has opened on it, and Nico watches as the screens come alive with mirrors of the device and some other apps that launch as soon as it connects. 
“That’s more helpful than you think, they have to use an app to be able to anonymously text you, makes it easier to identify them.”
The way Myles talks is monotonous and detached, but the way he works is anything but. His fingers move quicker than Nico’s eyes can track on his keyboard, typing away at whatever as different things flash up and leave his screen. It like something straight out of a spy movie.
“So we can find out who it is just from that?” He asks, arms folding over his chest as he watches in almost-awe.
“Not exactly. If it is a hacker, I could identify their signature. Doesn’t mean I could identify them, but we can work around it potentially.”
Talia throws herself down on the couch behind them exasperatedly, sighing loudly and making her displeasure known. “You told me you could track them down, that’s what I’m paying you to do.”
“I told you I could help you, I didn’t say I could specifically track anyone, that’s not how this works.”
“How does it work then?” Nico asks.
Myles wheels his chair to the side to make room for Nico to get closer, and starts walking him through the process, pointing through the different apps he uses and explaining how he uses them. One deciphers which app the person used to message Talia. Once that’s been deduced, he uses another to enter a backdoor into that app’s servers, perusing through them until he finds the account that sent the text, making sure the date, time and then content line up. Once he’s found the account, he can see the other texts sent from it, and a gallery spreads across two screens, with maybe hundreds of pictures, videos, messages and transactions all to or from that same account.
“You’re telling me you have the power to do all this and you don’t use it to like rob banks or something?”
“Ethical hacker, clue’s in the name.” Myles shrugs. Nico looks back to Talia, her jaw set as she picks at her nails out of boredom. It’s probably taken about fifteen minutes for this guy to work an absolute miracle, and she looks like she couldn’t care less. “We use all this information, and the access I have on the server, to shut this dude down and cut his con before he can do it to anyone else.”
“Whoa whoa,” Talia shoots up, “Won’t that make him mad? Make him just post all the photos?”
“I doubt it,” the hacker comments, bringing up a couple of the photos on the screens, some of Talia, some of another girl, making Nico divert his eyes. “They’re not even real.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Excuse me?”
Talia and Nico both question at the same time, leaning in to get a proper look to confirm what is being told to them. The other pictures Myles had brought up, the ones of other girls, are actually kind of the same. The same poses, the same backgrounds, the same outfits, or lack thereof, just different faces and different hair.
“They’re called deep fakes. Photoshop, essentially.” He has that aloof tone to his words again, and Nico can’t quite believe how simple it seems for him to say. “They put a bunch of your pictures into an AI generator and give it instruction, like put this face on a body posed like this or wearing that. I’d assume the video they have is the same.”
“How is that even possible?” Talia gasps, pushing herself forward and snatching the mouse from Myles’ grasp. She clicks into what she assumes is the video, and it starts playing before she can think better of it, thankfully without any sound. 
It’s Talia - that much is obvious from the initial close up of her face - but Nico doesn’t recognise anything else about it. He doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, the bed she’s on, the things she’s doing. He’s never seen this before. It’s definitely not one of the videos she had sent him, and when he looks closer, he realises the little moles on her ribs aren’t even there.
None of it is real.
“You said he sent you the photos? You didn’t realise they weren’t the ones you took?” He can’t conceal the bite in his tone, his brows furrowing as he looks at her in disbelief. She’s flown out here, disrupted his peace, blamed him for blackmailing her, and she can’t even recognise what is or isn’t her own body. 
“They looked real, I-,” Her shock disappears as quickly as it had come about, her mood shifting and a glare all of a sudden being directed at her ex boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have accused you if they didn’t look real, Nico.” She snaps, frowning at him like this is his fault. “You have no idea what it’s like to be threatened like that, I won’t have you blame me for panicking.”
Slivers of guilt seep into his subconscious, and he takes a deep breath, diverting his gaze uneasily and letting out a big sigh.
He knows he should be a little more compassionate, but there’s panicking, and then there’s this.
She had accused him of ruining her life.
“What about the rest of it?” Nico asks, “Like how did he get her number or have my address? You said he had other information?”
“He did,” Talia nods, looking over to Myles.
“The address he probably got when he got your number, and he could have got that from anywhere. Could be something as small as you ordering something online and the store having a data breach, or clicking a link that shared your IP address, and getting your phone information from that.” Myles starts his typing again, keeping a tight grip on his mouse so that it can’t be snatched again. “I could probably find out actually, they’re pretty easy to spot, do you clear your history often?”
“I wouldn’t even know how to do that,”
“Perfect,” Again, his fingertips work at lightening speed, and Nico watches as instagram opens on one of the screens. “Yeah, a DM sent to you from… Devils_tea. You opened a link to a shared drive to upload some pictures, the drive probably had malware and the pictures have location metadata.”
Nico rolls his eyes, that small ebb of pity washing almost completely away, and before Talia can stop him, Myles carries on. “Some of the pictures you sent them are the ones they used for the AI photos, look your face in this one is the exact same as this photo they threatened to leak.”
Nico recognises these photos. The ones that had been plastered all over social media when their relationship had leaked. Pictures of them back in Switzerland, on a weekend trip to Ibiza, selfies of them in his apartment, and even a picture of the two of them with his parents back at his family home in Valais.
He has been far too oblivious to Talia’s games for far too long, he realises. 
Of course she had been the one to leak everything - who else would have had those photos - but he hadn’t even considered it would be her; she had faced the harshest aftermath for it, why would she subject herself to all the subsequent grief that came with people knowing about their relationship?
Thank God for this guy’s lack of social cues, Nico thinks, or he would never have known that for as long as they had been together, she had been violating his revered privacy and trust.
“Nico, that wasn’t-,” Talia’s panic is evident, wide eyes, trembling hands raised in defence, “I must have been hacked,”
“Actually, there’s no-,” Myles begins to interject, fingers working again to fact check, but Nico doesn’t need him to validate what he already knows.
“Shut up,” Talia snarls, with a finger pointed at him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re done here.” She reaches forward to snatch her phone back, yanking out the wire that connects it to his monitors and throwing it onto the desk. “We’re leaving, and if you think I’m paying you anything, you’re deluded.” 
Talia marches past them and straight out of the condo, slamming every door she possibly can behind her. Nico can only cringe as the sounds of her stomping footsteps echo until they fade out - until she’s probably outside and waiting for him back at his car.
“Doesn’t she want me to shut this thing down?”
“I’ll pay you.” Nico sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone and trying to push down the feeling that arises when he’s met with a blank lock screen.
Poppy hasn’t messaged him. 
Not that he deserves for her to make it easy, to let him off the hook and pretend he hasn’t royally fucked things up with her.
“If you stop him, does he still have all the photos? He could still release them?”
“Yeah, but they’re pretty easy to validate as fakes, especially when you have the source material. I don’t think this guy is sophisticated enough for a full blown hack into her phone for the real thing. I couldn’t find evidence of any breach of her cloud or her device.”
Nico nods, but the information does little to quell the anxiety that squeezes his chest in a vice-like grip. 
This whole morning has been nothing but a giant waste of his time. From the second his eyes opened, to this moment right now, he’s made nothing but mistakes.
Not putting his phone on sleep mode before he and Poppy went to bed had been a mistake. Taking Talia’s call had been a mistake. Not waking Poppy up had been a mistake. Leaving without a note, without a text, leaving at all - it had all been one error after another, and all he has left to do is face up to the fact.
He can’t do anything to dwindle the panic rousing in every fibre of his being, the scarring marks left by torturous lashings of regret that whip at his skin.
He’s never felt so ashamed of himself, in such disbelief at his own decisions.
Why didn’t he just wake her?
She’s the most level-headed, acceptable person he knows. She would have understood. He hadn’t had a reasonable explanation at the time, and he doesn’t really have one now - but she would have accepted it, whatever he could have told her, she would have listened, waited until he could give her more.
He needs to see her, to explain, before it’s too late.
If he thinks about the feeling settling in his stomach, if he can compare it to anything, it’s like running from a blazing inferno of doubt and insecurity, licks of fire racing to catch up to him, the soles of his feet pressing into the sizzling ground - and Poppy is the cool embrace of safety.
She is light cracking through a window he just needs to break through to make it out.
If he can get to her quick enough, if he runs, and runs, maybe he’ll make it before he’s jiggling at a red hot handle that won’t move, won’t give, won’t budge.
If he can just talk to her, maybe the morning from hell will be outweighed by the days of resilience, weeks of efforts, years of loving her in whatever capacity, and the promise of something better.
He just needs to get rid of Talia.
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The car journey back to his apartment is carried out in a deafening silence. She had tried to talk to him when he’d made his way out of Myles’ condo, when he had found her waiting by his Mercedes with crossed arms and a sour look on her face, but he’d told her he didn’t want to hear it, that they’d deal with it in private.
He hardly wanted a showdown with her in the middle of the street.
And so, she sat in his passenger seat, jaw set, glaring out the window and letting out the occasional huff or puff for attention that he wasn’t entertaining.
The elevator ride up to his place had been the same. Silent, filled with the type of tension you could cut with a knife, and all he could do was ignore her continued petulance and take deep breaths to calm himself down. In through his nose, out through his mouth, overlooking the way she tapped her foot in his peripheral vision, and almost audibly rolled her eyes every few seconds. 
“Would it have killed you to defend me in there?” She scoffs as soon as the door closes behind them in his apartment, “You just let him accuse me of all that stuff and completely invade my privacy!”
Nico screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.
He can’t blow up, can’t stoop to her level. He won’t feel good after the fact. He knows how Talia operates, should have known she’d immediately play the victim card, and he isn’t falling into the trap of arguing to the point of being in the wrong.
He’ll say something he regrets and she’ll use it to her advantage, somehow.
“You asked him to go through your phone, Talia.” He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen and getting himself some water. Chugging at it does little to soothe the burning feeling prickling at the back of his mouth, or the itch of his tongue to spit out a scathing retort. “He’s shut down the guy behind it, he can’t message you or anyone else with any more threats, you should be happy.”
“I should be happy?” She follows him wherever he tries to get away, crowding his space and jabbing a pointed finger into his arm. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through this past week. I thought my career was over! How was I supposed to know it was fake?”
“You didn’t even look at the pictures-,”
“Because I was panicking! I was upset, you can’t expect me to be able to recognise what’s been photoshopped when I’m scared like that!”
“But you can fly straight over here and pin the blame on me for ruining your life? You weren’t too upset to point the finger, Talia,”
“Don’t be an asshole, Nico, it doesn’t suit you.” 
“I’m being the asshole? You don’t even care about the trail of destruction you leave behind you, do you? You send private pictures of us, of me, of my family to random people online who you don’t even know, for what, Talia? For money?”
“I don’t need their money-,”
“So it was just for the attention? You get to parade our relationship around like it means nothing more to you than a title, and once you get your fifteen minutes and a few more instagram followers, you just jet back home and dump me over a text?”
“Oh my God,” she cries, flailing her arms dramatically, following him yet again as he makes his way into his living room, picking her stuff up after her that she had discarded here before they left and throwing it into her travel bag. “Stop playing the victim, for Christ’s sake, you’re hardly heartbroken over it. I know for a fact you’ve been hooking up with someone, one of the girls messaged me that they saw you leave a party with her on New Years!”
“So that’s what this is?” Nico snaps, pointing to her, to her stuff, “You think I’m moving on so you fly back out here and spring this bullshit on me, try to make me feel bad?”
“You have some nerve, Nico,” Talia scoffs, folding her arms across her chest and levelling him with a darkened glare.
“I have nerve? You’re the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and think that you can just march back here and make demands, Talia, blaming me for something that was entirely your own doing.” He’s getting sick of walking on egg shells around the topic. If she hadn’t have been messaging people she wasn’t supposed to, this would never have happened - it’s no one’s fault but her own, and as harsh as it may be, he wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. “Calling me in the middle of the night, telling me I ruined your life, saying I need to give you money?”
“Out of nowhere?” Of course she would only pick up on that, he thinks. “My God, you are so self-absorbed.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you think that dating you is easy?” She questions with a measured step toward him. “Do you think I want to spend my life waiting around for my boyfriend, only for him to only ever come home grumpy,” another step, “Or whiny,” and another, “Or too tired and achey to do anything? And that’s when you do come home at all and aren’t half way across the country with the communication skills of a candle. It’s a constant uphill battle trying to get even a second of your attention, Nico, so God forbid I tried to gain some kind of advantage from being with you.”
Her words are starting to cut, but he tries not to react, tries not to bite back. He can count several ways in which she gained an advantage being with him, just off the top of the head - a girl like Talia is never shy of attention. Her courting gossip blogs and sending them private information is probably just scraping the barrel of the ploys she made for exposure while she was with him.
“I didn’t break up with you out of nowhere, I put up with you and the whole circus that comes with you for months, but God, is it exhausting being with you.”
“You knew what you were getting into, Talia. You knew my job, knew my life.” They had met initially through mutual friends - hockey friends of his back home, even - and she has other friends who happen to be wives or girlfriends of athletes. She can’t say she came into the relationship completely oblivious to the downsides of dating a professional player.
“Not really,” she shrugs, “All the other guys can find some sort of balance, but not you. All the other girls get a proper boyfriend, someone who spends time doing what they want to do, who sticks up for them when their psycho fans start to turn on them, who doesn’t keep them hidden away like some dirty secret.”
“That isn’t fair, I can’t control that stuff, Talia, it’s not my fault.” He wants to point out that she was the one engaging in their gossip and riling them up, but he can’t keep harping on about something she refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t have the time, patience or energy for it anymore.
The initial ‘leaking’ of their relationship had caused their first major fight. Fans online had somehow - although Nico can now hazard a guess as to how - found out about the two of them, had dug into Talia, her background, her family, her job, and had found some pretty toxic posts on her social media. They had been old posts, and she had told Nico that wasn’t the kind of person she was anymore - and he had no reason not to believe her, had never seen or heard her act in the ways she had online in what she called her misguided youth - but someone in the PR department at the Devils had cottoned onto the topic, and had warned Nico of speaking out in her defence when the pitchforks started to raise.
He’d told her he supported her, but he couldn’t do so publicly - not without upsetting people within the organisation he had worked so hard to gain the respect of - and she had told him she understood. They hadn’t been together that long, it would have been a little unreasonable for him to put her above his work in the ways she was expecting, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way, now.
“Maybe not, but if I’d have known that being with you meant having my life invaded, my career ruined, I never would have followed you back here, Nico.” She sounds more solemn now - regretful, even - and as deep as her words cut, she says it like a piece of advice, “I just hope whatever poor girl you’ve got tangled up in your mess this time knows what she’s getting herself into.”
“And what’s that?” His throat feels tight as he speaks all of a sudden, his resolve in defending himself fading, and he tries to gulp down whatever lump is forming there but the feeling doesn’t budge.
This is what she’s good at.
Turning the tables. Reducing him to uncertainty of himself, of his actions, of his memory of their time together.
“A one-sided relationship with a guy who will never be able to put her first.”
There’s a point in every game he has ever had the misfortune of losing, as the seconds count down in the final third, where he has to come to terms with the fact that there’s no possible way for him to win. It’s sort of comparable to the way his insides churn when he’s on a plane and it drops into descent, like his body is falling at a different speed to his surroundings, or the feeling he gets in his gut when he’s hiking, and he dares to take a peek over the edge of whatever mountainside he’s trekking up, where his body can predict the fall, and his mind has set on there being nothing he can do about it.
This feels like all those feelings.
“Whoever she is, and I know she exists, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”
Nico’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing and thrumming in his ears until all he can hear is the beat reverberating, ricocheting around his skull.
He can put Poppy first.
So many parts of their lives are intertwined, it would be so easy to make it work. They work together, they live close, he speaks to her more than he speaks to anyone else in his circle. They’ve spent more time together as friends than he has with any other girlfriend he’s had.
He’s wanted her for years, of course he can do it.
Except, deep down, he knows he can’t. Being in a committed relationship with someone is an entirely different ball game to a friendship, no matter how close he and Poppy have been over the years.
He knows there’ll come a point soon into the season where he has to knuckle down and focus, can’t let anything or anyone distract him, and he’ll close himself off. It’s what he has always done. He gets in his head, starts to carry too much weight that he can’t shift until that final buzzer blows - and he can only hope that it happens with his team in the playoffs. Winning, thriving, succeeding. And for that to happen, he can’t prioritise anything other than the game he’s already dedicated his life to, his training, and most importantly, his team.
It isn’t about what he wants.
What have you done? He thinks, his chest aching.
Talia is right.
Poppy doesn’t deserve that.
She doesn’t deserve him only being there in the physical sense, if she even gets that at all. Doesn’t deserve him getting snappy and stressed, doesn’t deserve him not being able to give her time, or give her attention or affection like he wants to, or like she’s worthy of.
“I need to go.” He manages to choke out with a shake of his head, shouldering past her to pick up his jacket - needing to be out of this conversation and away from Talia. “Leave the keys, I don’t want you here when I get back.”
He needs to see Poppy.
He never should have left her - he wishes with everything in him that he had soaked up the time he had with her before everything came tumbling down around him. And somewhere deep within him, there is a fragile, wilting piece of hope that clings to the belief he can make things right. He just needs her to hone in on it. If anyone can reach into the deepest cracks of his insecurities, can show him he’s overthinking things and everything is not as hopeless as he has made it out to be, it will be Poppy.
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Poppy
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The first time Poppy had ever fallen asleep beside Nico was at a movie night in Jack’s old apartment he shared with Ty Smith. Jack had invited more people round than could reasonably fit in their living room, and so everyone was smushed in - each chair and every inch of floor space used to its full capacity. 
Nico had attempted to save Poppy a space, to give him credit. He had scowled at each of his teammates who tried to throw themselves down in the tiny slot beside him - prime space, corner of the comfiest couch, facing the tv directly, a small table to the side where one could keep their drinks and snacks - only, by the time Poppy got there, he had barely gotten away with man-spreading to make room, so the small section of the couch between Nico and the arm rest had become her designated spot.
It was cosy, to put it nicely. He had to swing his arm over the back so that she wasn’t being assaulted by the hard dig of his shoulder with every laugh, and her closest leg was pretty much on top of his for most of the film.
She’d known the guys for almost a year - had been working in media, attending every game, home and away, and had integrated herself into the group pretty closely - and she felt pretty comfortable around everyone.
It wasn’t the kind of dynamic she had anticipated falling into when she first got the job with the Devils. She was supposed to start getting serious about her life - cracking down on mingling with co-workers and throwing herself into new social circles, and focusing on building a career for herself, climbing through the ranks and attaining the kind of success and happiness she could shove in her family’s disapproving faces - but the guys had charmed her.
Jack had been somewhat relentless in his pursuit of Poppy’s friendship. He rarely took no for an answer when it came to inviting her out. He was new to New Jersey - a much younger player in a slightly older team - and his rookie season had been rough, so it came naturally to Poppy to want to provide comfort. She introduced him to some of her friends, showed him her favourite spots close to his apartment, found him a decent barber, picked up extra fruit whenever she went to the farmers market near her parent’s house and took it over to his and Ty’s place when she came back home so she could mother him into having his 5-a-day as if he didn’t have access to the best nutrition coaches in the country. Despite her best efforts, Jack had weaselled his way under her skin in the way only a brother could.
Nico’s charm was entirely different.
Nico’s charm came in the form of convenience at first - in the oh I live that way, I can drive you and I have some time, I can do some media stuff for you type of way. Convenience blended into companionship - I haven’t eaten either, we should go for lunch together and I’ve been wanting to watch that movie, do you want to watch it with me?
It turned into grabbing food together, even on days neither of them were working - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, even coffee or sometimes drinks if they could meet up with the rest of the team. It turned into him spending time at her place, whether it was helping her paint her apartment, putting up her new wardrobes, or just binging whatever crazy long series Poppy had decided to start over from the beginning - she provided him with a sense of familiarity and calm he couldn’t really find in anyone else he had met in his time in the states. She became his person, his home away from home, away from home.
And he became hers. 
There wasn’t as much she had to escape; her job not as strenuous, the expectations of her not as high, but when things built up for her - when her mother became overbearing, or her latest endeavour into a relationship crashed and burned - Nico was there. He’d make sure she had a distraction, made sure she was looking after herself, and, in turn, would look after her as well. He made sure she got home safe on nights out, or when they returned from a roadie and landed late - he would always make sure to see her off into the comfort of her own home before he went back to his own. 
And that first time she’d fallen asleep beside him, he’d done the same.
He’d wrapped an arm around her to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as he could, and when the movie had finished - when her face was burrowed into the side of his chest, soft snores falling from between her lips - he gently drew her back to consciousness with his hand stroking at her cheek.
She’d been a little startled, hand shooting up to wipe at her chin and thankful she hadn’t been drooling on him - although with the easy smile he was giving her, she had thought he of all people wouldn’t have minded. 
“Movie’s done, do you need a ride home?” His voice had been low and soft as not to worsen her apparent disorientation, and his hand was still lingering by the side of her face.
She had nodded, blinking away her sleepiness, and working her way up from the couch and onto her feet, stretching out her muscles as Nico did the same.
The two of them bid their goodbyes to the rest of the guys, made their way together to Nico’s car, and he had driven her back to her apartment, chatting on the drive about work and training. 
Poppy had been cramming to prepare for her interview for the Foundation at the time - had been getting herself seriously worked up, staying up late, getting up early, barely allowing herself any time for anything fun - and Nico had seen right through her. 
He’d stopped her before she got out of the car, had held her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, and had told her that she should get some proper rest, and that she was going to absolutely rock their world in her interview in a few days time. And, knowing she was going to ignore any instruction he gave to make herself some decent dinner and go to bed early, had ordered her favourite Japanese takeout to be delivered a good half an hour after she got inside, with a text that followed telling her to sleep straight after she had finished.
She’d never expected to drift asleep with him on Jack’s couch - had never expected to open her eyes to the sight of his looking so warmly back at her.
And she hadn’t expected the same thing this morning, because, as her eyes drifted open to the intrusive light peaking through the cracks in her curtains, it wasn’t the first time she had woken up.
The first time had been to subdued movements, a slight groan of her bed frame, and the soft pattering of footsteps leading away. It had been to a hushed voice, the creak of her bathroom door, the flush of a toilet and the uttering of a name she had hoped she would never have to worry about again.
Talia.
The rest of his words had been uttered in his own language, but that she could understand.
She had acted purely on fight or flight instinct, laying back and pretending she was asleep - although as soon as she did, she regretted it, her mind racing at the million and one other possibilities she could have gone with. Sitting up, waiting for him to come out and asking him what was going on being the most rational.
But when had she ever gone with the most rational thought?
She tried not to react as she felt his presence, felt the soft press of his lips to her skin, or the placement of her bunny in her arms. Tried not to follow him as soon as he departed her bedroom, beg him to come back and whatever was going on could wait until the proper turn of the morning. Tried not to get up and go after him when the click of the lock to her main door echoed throughout the empty apartment.
And she tried not to cry as she laid in bed, overthinking herself back to sleep, thoughts racing to the point of exhaustion, and hoping when she woke up again it had just been a god-awful dream.
But it hadn’t.
The spot beside her in bed is empty, not even a crease in the pillow to prove he was ever there - only the t-shirt of his she still adorned, the one that when she takes a deep inhale, still smells like him, and the distinct aching between her thighs.
She finds more evidence of their night together in the bathroom, where she undresses herself with sore muscles and glances in the mirror to see the spattering of purple marks forming on her chest and neck. Her fingers trace over them lightly, her fleeting touch bringing vivid images forth of his lips pressing to her skin, practically able to feel the pressure of her flesh being nipped and bitten again.
He had been so attentive to her - so in tune with what she needed and wanted, and so ready to give her whatever that may be. He’d been gentle at some points, and purposeful at others, and every little thing he did, he did it with sweet disposition.
The kind of man who treats a girl like that doesn’t just leave her in the dead of night with no good reason, right?
Her mind races despite her body going into auto-pilot throughout her morning routine. Her shower is over in the flash of an eye, she strips her bed, starts her laundry, makes herself some tea and gets herself dressed - all the while weighing out all the possibilities of what could have taken him away from her, and what she would be able to understand. 
That quickly turns to her imagining the worst, and a tight, constricting feeling starts to consume her chest. 
There isn’t a single part of her apartment she can get away from the thoughts buzzing around her brain - her kitchen marred with the memory of what had happened on the counter, her couch, her bedroom, her bathroom - all carrying distinct memories of Nico that she needs to bench until she knows the truth.
She mistakenly thinks her escape might lie in her phone. There might be a text there waiting, explaining everything and relieving all the anxiety that has welled up in her very core.
Nia’s warnings from the night before don’t ring quick enough in her mind as the screen comes to life, the immediate barrage of notifications flooding in.
2 missed calls from Mom
Mom: Just calling to remind you of proper table etiquette in case it has slipped your mind, I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a Lyon.
Mom: Cutlery going from the outside in, hold your wine glass by the stem and dab with your napkin, don’t swipe!
Mom: Also let the man tuck your chair in and pay the bill, this 21st century woman nonsense is very unbecoming!
Mom: And I don’t want to have to bring this up but for the love of God, Poppy, have some class. I don’t want to hear mutterings of your promiscuity at the next luncheon.
Whoever taught her mom to text deserves a prison sentence, she thinks.
Tucker Lyon standing a girl up and ghosting her attempts to contact him is what’s unbecoming, not her trying to pay her half of the meal.
She can picture her mother as she reads the texts, sipping on her Manhattan on the couch in the great room, her dad already having retreated to bed at that time, and her having nothing better to do than sit and stew on her daughter’s sex life.
If she knew what was really going down last night, her mom would probably have a conniption.
Knowing she’ll no doubt be getting a call later that evening, Poppy swipes away at her text thread with her mom, immediately checking the notifications she hasn’t long received from her best friend.
Nia: hey if you happen to release yourself from Nico’s wandering hands at all today me and Kelsey are grabbing breakfast by my work!!
Nia: if you need refuelling we’ll be at Marco’s at 9 😘 
Perfect. Therein lies her escape. Breakfast with her best friends, where they can hopefully talk her down from the ledge she’s precariously placed herself on.
A catch up with her girls, and then she can distract herself with work.
Poppy: I’ll be there!!
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“Hasn’t he text you or anything?” Nia asks, covering her mouth as she chews on her breakfast bagel, the three girls sat around a table inside their favourite cafe close to Nia’s office.
When Poppy and Nia had first moved in together, they rented an apartment in Hoboken, not too far, and their tradition of grabbing breakfast at Marco’s carried on despite Poppy living further down the river and working even further away in Newark. 
Kelsey had lived in Manhattan at that time, but she stayed over so often with the other girls that she practically spent majority of her week there, and so Poppy and Nia’s routine became hers.
Poppy had given the two of them a brief rundown of her night with Nico, a safe-for-work version of events, all leading up to the mysterious early morning phone call and swift departure.
“Nope,” she sighs, swiping to refresh her messages as if she hasn’t put her phone on loud just to be alerted when he does reach out.
“Have you text him?”
“Nope,” she repeats, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her already messed up hair. She’s going to have to throw it up if she wants to look any sort of presentable when she gets to work later.
“Is he usually this pathetic at communicating?” Kelsey asks, manicured nails swiping at a bunch of Sweet’n Lows like she’s trying to play Tetris with the packets. 
Kelsey hasn’t met Nico before, not that Poppy can remember.
Despite considering her one of her closest friends, their personal lives have never quite intertwined like that - not like hers and Nia’s.
In college, things were different. They were coming into their own together, figuring out just what they wanted their personal lives to be, and so Kelsey, Poppy and Nia would all share pretty much everything, just to have someone there to validate their feelings.
But that changed once they graduated.
Kelsey moved in with her boyfriend, Liam - who just so happens to be Poppy’s idea of hell-spawn.
The kind of guy her mother would probably love.
Liam worked on Wall Street, couldn’t go five minutes of conversation without talking about stocks or investment funds. His native language was risky money moves and belittling remarks, and he treated Kelsey like an accessory to parade around in public and discard in private.
Poppy had tried a few times to open Kelsey’s eyes to the way that it was, but it soon became apparent that she had to let her friend make her own mistakes, and some parts of their lives didn’t have to cross over.
They broke up around Thanksgiving, and Poppy had tried with all her might not to show her relief, but it has made her somewhat resentful when it comes to other relationships - like no one can be happy if she isn’t.
She knows it isn’t malicious, but she restrains from letting Kelsey all the way in, all the same.
“Not really,” Poppy lies, not wanting to clue her in on the Big Freezewhere he didn’t speak to her for months on end. It doesn’t entirely help her case. “I just don’t get why he’d sneak out to see her of all people, he told me they weren’t ever that solid, that he wasn’t happy with her.”
“Ooh, what if she’s pregnant?” Kelsey is entirely oblivious to the horrific realm of possibility she has just opened Poppy up to, evidenced by the casual chuckle and subsequent sip of her coffee. “Maybe she’s back to baby-trap him.”
Poppy thinks she would have to flee the state.
Nico is a family guy - if Talia is pregnant, he’d force himself to love her again, if he ever even stopped, for the sake of their gorgeous brown eyed, floppy haired baby, and push Poppy to the side just like he had before. And she’ll have to watch him from the sidelines, yearning for what she had just managed to touch the tips of her fingers to before it was violently yanked from her grasp. 
Maybe she’d have to flee the country even - move somewhere remote where she doesn’t even have the chance of being reminded of hockey, let alone of him.
Somewhere with no coffee shops that she’d enter, and the smell of fresh pastries would remind her of all the breakfasts they had together. No railways, where she’d be reminded of his love for model trains every time she came across the tracks. No weird club music that he loves so much, or dorky wizard franchises he chastises her for never having seen.
Maybe Antarctica. They only have penguins there. No real civilisation that she knows of. No brown haired, dark eyed Swiss Gods with deep, honeyed voices that make her knees weak and dimpled smiles that do even worse.
She wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him like that, living her life in an endless mental cycle of what ifs and maybes.
“Kelsey, I beg of you to read the room,” Nia chastises, swatting the girl on her arm before taking Poppy’s hand in her own. “Don’t listen to her, she just wants us all to be single at the same time.”
“Sue me for wanting to have fun! It would be just like college, you and me full-body plunging into the dating pool. Imagine the chaos, Pop, you don’t wanna be tied down to a guy hung up on his ex right now.”
“Dating pool?” Nia scoffs, turning to glare at her, “You’re hardly dry from your last relationship.”
“I’d rather be a grape than a raisin, Ni.” Kelsey chides back, and Poppy can’t help the twitch of her lips at the horrific comparison. 
“You’re really gonna listen to a girl who says that?” Nia asks, unable to mask the glint of humour in her eyes, and Kelsey bites back a smile, too.
Despite the ache in her chest at the thought of any of it - of Nico leaving her this morning, filling her up with empty words and false promises, potentially knocking up an ex girlfriend he is still secretly hung up on even though he told her otherwise - she manages to crack a full smile.
“You are terrible at analogies, Kels,” Poppy tries to hide the grin behind her cup, sipping at her tea and letting the warmth of it soothe the pain in her throat. 
“I’m trying to encourage you to be a strong, independent woman here!”
“She is a strong, independent woman,” Nia defends, “She also happens to be a chronic over-thinker with a deep seated fear of confrontation.”
“I don’t fear confrontation.”
“Then why are we here chit-chatting about hypothetical scenarios when you could just text him and ask what’s up?”
“Maybe ‘cause that’s scary?” Poppy scoffs, only half joking. “What am I supposed to say, hey I just so happened to eavesdrop on your private conversation before you fled my apartment this morning, and despite me not understanding most of it, I definitely heard you mention someone, so could you just let me know if your gorgeous model ex girlfriend is pregnant with your perfect specimen baby?”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, you don’t even need us.”
Poppy rolls her eyes.  
She could text him. Could be casual about it, a good morning or even an are you okay? Those don’t warrant the alarm bells she’s afraid of raising - the ones that blare out with the siren sound of run, this girl is unhealthily attached to you already!
But she doesn’t want to be the pathetic girl chasing after the guy sending her clear messages that he doesn’t want her.
It’s easier said than done not to overthink the whole thing - not to second guess everything he had said, or everything she had done last night.
She feels like she had rushed things. It was so impulsive, so charged, and after spending the majority of her week away from him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. And that makes her feel like a hypocrite. She had told him that night he had first kissed her that things between them had gotten intense. It had been the whole reason for spending a few days outside of each other’s company, and in the first possible instance, she had thrown herself at him.
It was desperate.
And maybe that scared him.
It sure as hell scares her.
“I don’t know what to do,” She groans, throwing her head into her hands and scrunching her eyes shut to try and drown out the endless doubt. 
She feels two hands rub at either sides of her back, “Listen, Pop,” Nia is the first to attempt to console her, as always, and Poppy holds her breath for the harsh reality check she’s about to throw her way. “You know I am the one person who would usually be trying to convince you to cut your losses and run when it comes to guys who are no good, but this is Nico. I’ve watched the two of you ignore your feelings for far too long to let you get in your own way, now.
“And you’re forgetting I saw him last night, before you got there, there isn’t a chance in Hell he would have left you like that without a good reason. I don’t for a second think he’s still hung up on her.” Nia casts a side eye to Kelsey.
The only problem is that Poppy isn’t sure there’s a reason good enough. Not when it comes to Talia. Not when the memory of those months of radio silence is still so fresh for her.
“I have to go to work in a building where his face is plastered everywhere, Ni, I can hardly forget his entire existence until he deems me worthy of an explanation. Who leaves after a night like that without even a note or a text?”
“An idiot,” Kelsey mutters around her drink, rolling her eyes when Nia sends her another death-glare.
“I’m not asking you to forget, I’m telling you to wait.” Nia frowns, but her tone remains consoling and warm. “You need to stop letting what this thinks,” she flicks at Poppy’s forehead, “Get in the way of what this knows.” She points to her chest on the left side. “You know him. You know how much he likes you.”
She does.
She knows Nico, she trusts him.
She can only judge him based on his actions so far - the ones that tell her that he cares. He leads with his heart, it’s his most attractive attribute. He’s gentle and loving and she needs to focus on those things over anything else.
“Ugh, corny,” Kelsey drags, and despite her repeated efforts to discourage her, Poppy knows she isn’t being entirely serious. “If he has any non-stupid hot athlete friends though, I’m first in line when the two of you kiss and make up for double dates.”
Guilt pricks slightly at Poppy’s chest - for making her recently single friend sit here and listen to her complain about something so monumentally small compared to the breakdown of the long-term relationship Kelsey had just endured. Even if it was perceivably toxic.
“You’d make such a good WAG, Kels.”
It’s a poor attempt to make up for it, but it seems to console her friend all the same, a giant grin breaking out and flashing her perfect pearly whites.
“I know.”
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Poppy tries to distract herself with work. Tries to make her way through her inbox of seemingly never ending emails and her list of ever-growing tasks. She types up lengthy responses, puts together a presentation, makes a bunch of phone calls she’s been putting off for God knows how long, sorts all her invoices out - she even sends a fax. In the year 2024. It’s her most productive work day she thinks she’s ever had.
She zeroes in on the ground every time she moves through the building. Ignores the pictures that line the walls of the Rock, pushes down the memories of all the times she’s walked these very halls by Nico’s side, and she thinks she’s done just about enough to clear her mind for the time being.
She hasn’t thought up some heart wrenching scenario in at least an hour by the time she’s wrapping up for the day.
She’s making her way back to her office after dropping some files off for Elaine when she catches sight of a mop of curls over the top of the chair by her desk.
Luke is sat in her chair when she enters, swivelling around and staring at the ceiling.
“You’re gonna make yourself sick doing that, you know.”
“You’re such a mom,” he scoffs, standing up and clearly trying not to sway, “You ever tried having fun? I think I saw a glue stick on a table out there,” he points through the door into the wider office space, where there are a few, less private cubicles and a common area. “We should go sniff them, let loose a little.”
“Is that why you’re here on your day off? To huff glue?”
“Yeah, I don’t get to let loose enough. Being a rookie in the NHL is hard, Poppy,”
“Bummer for you.” She pouts, mockingly, swerving past him as he rounds her desk and sits on the other side, flicking at the bobblehead version of his older brother that stands by her computer. “If you’re chasing a high can you do it with one of the other departments, it’s not a good look for the Youth Foundation.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
When Luke had first joined the Devils, she hadn’t expected that she would warm to him the way she has - but, surprisingly enough, considering the fact they’re brothers, their relationship recently has started to mirror her and Jack’s.
Luke is funny. He’s sarcastic and a little silly, and it can be nice to have him around when work gets a little stressful. He doesn’t let the pressures of his own career outweigh those of hers, and, despite the gap in age, she actually enjoys his company.
But he never seeks her out like this.
Their interactions have always started through other people. Group conversations that dwindle to just the two of them, or he usually accompanies Jack to bug her and carries on when Jack’s ever-so-busy schedule takes him elsewhere.
She can’t think of another time he’s just shown up in her office alone.
Especially on his incredibly rare day off.
“Why are you actually here?” She asks, casting a suspicious but half-playful glare his way as she starts to pack up her things. 
“Came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.”
“Aw Lukey,” she reaches over her desk to pinch his cheek, “I’m flattered and all but I’m a little too old for you.”
“Ha ha,” he swats her hand away, “Us. Me and Jack. Maybe a couple of the others if they’re free but you can pick where we go if you make a decision quickly, we were thinking a steakhouse.”
She narrows her eyes at him, expecting him to crack a joke about her being old, but he just looks back at her awaiting a response. “Why?” She drags out the question, her movements stopping completely.
“Maybe ‘cause humans need sustenance to live? What do you mean, why?”
“Why would you want me to tag along on your bro date?”
“Don’t call it a bro date,” Luke cringes, “Just remembered you were working today and we were in the area, don’t know why you’re being weird about it.”
“You’re being weird. You guys never let me choose where we eat. Don’t you remember that time we grabbed dinner when you guys drove me home and Jack told me to stop being a pussy about my seafood allergy ‘cause he wanted sushi.”
“Don’t blame me for the crimes of my brother, Poppy, he was obviously joking.”
“I had to eat tofu, Luke, I don’t find that very funny.”
“Are you coming or not?”
“That depends, how do you have your steak?”
“Well done.”
“Oh! Then absolutely not.”
“Remind me never to try to be nice to you again.” He scowls as they make their way out of her office, and she locks up behind the two of them.
“Gladly, it’s creeping me out.” She grabs at his elbow before he can carry on, stopping him in the otherwise empty common area where she knows no one is around to listen in. “Is something going on, seriously?”
Luke rolls his eyes, but she knows him well enough that it’s only done in an attempt to avert from her gaze. 
Bingo. He’s hiding something.
“I just thought you might want some company.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips to keep from saying much more.
“Why?”
If Poppy wanted to spend her life getting a straight answer out of people for a living, she’d have become an interrogator. What is it with these guys and their inability to answer a simple question?
“Jack said you left the party last night with Nico.”
Poppy’s eyebrows scrunch so close together that she can feel a deep crease form between them. What on earth does that have to do with asking her to dinner? Or being overly nice to her?
Unless-
“You’ve seen him?”
“This morning.”
“Oh.”
All of her efforts from throughout the day seem to have been for nothing - an immediate rush of insecurities flooding her mind.
Where did he see him? What did he say? Was he okay? Was Talia there?
She feels like she can gauge an answer from the way Luke looks. Sheepish, almost, like he doesn’t want to say something he knows will hurt her feelings.
She had to have been with him. He wouldn’t just show up to her office like this if it wasn’t something that would seriously hurt.
She wishes she wasn’t the kind of person who did this - who filled in the gaps of conversations and always came out with the worst possible outcomes - but she can’t help it. She’s been doing it all her life, and there’s rarely ever an instance where her instincts have led her astray.
She knows it’s some weird part of her mind protecting her, but she needs to do something here. Nia’s words from earlier ring like a warning. Don’t let what her brain thinks get in the way of what her heart knows.
Her heart knows Nico wanted her. Knows Nico liked her. Knows Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
She needs to figure things out for herself and stop running, stop letting her mind fill in the gaps of a situation it can’t even comprehend to begin with.
She reaches her arms around Luke’s shoulders, stretching up on her tip toes to pull him into a hug before rubbing her knuckles into his curls, affectionately.
Luke Hughes is sarcastic and silly, and he cares enough about her to not want her to be alone if she’s going through something.
“Thank you for the offer, Luke, but I’ll be alright.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her stubborn lips. It takes over her face, eyes glinting fondly and cheeks warming. 
“Yeah, you can walk me to my car if you’re that worried about me though.” She loops her arm through his elbow as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they get there, he makes sure she’s in her car and has set off before him and Jack leave.
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As if her day can’t get any worse, the elevator in her building is cordoned off with tape and a sign when she gets home, and she has never regretted moving up a floor as much as she does when she’s trudging up 6 flights of stairs.
She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically, and she just wants to throw herself into bed and pretend the last 24 hours were a terrible dream.
Only, as she rounds the final corner to get to her door, any hopes of that go straight down the pan when her eyes land on Nico, standing in front of her door with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.
He looks tired too - hair messed where he’s no doubt been taking his cap on and off for however long he’s been stood here, running a hand through the tresses until they’re all askew. 
His shoulders are slumped, and he doesn’t even greet her with that pretty smile he usually gives her.
His lips do curve up a touch - limp and half-hearted, not even enough for a dimple to form - but it doesn’t provide the comfort she had thought it would.
She feels anxious. A culmination of the day’s emotions washing over in one go. Sad, regretful, nervous, disappointed - all things she shouldn’t be used to feeling when it comes to Nico, but are all too familiar when she takes the last few months into account.
“Hi.” She gives a weak smile of her own.
“Can we talk?”
She wishes he’d have just said hi, back. That might have relieved the tightness in her chest just a little.
Nothing good ever comes of can we talk?
He steps aside as she approaches, maintaining a safe distance as she opens the door and enters her apartment.
The Nico from yesterday might have brushed past her, the graze of an arm or a lingering hand, but this Nico doesn’t. He barely even meets her eye.
He closes the door behind himself, watching as she discards her bag and keys to the console table on the side, and while she’s turned away from him, she tries to let whatever emotions need to come out cross her features where he can’t see them.
She needs to be cool about this, she thinks.
If she doesn’t get her back up, doesn’t get agitated, she won’t scare him off.
“Are you okay?” She asks once she’s turned to face him, not liking how he stands unmoving by the door. He hasn’t made any effort to settle in - his jacket still on and his hands still hidden in the pockets.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”
She realises now that she can get a good look at him that the expression he wears is one of shame. Guilt. Apprehension. She needs to be careful and toe the line before he gets consumed by it, she realises.
She steps toward him a little, and he doesn’t back up - not immediately, not obviously - but he hardly welcomes her approach, either.
She doesn’t like feeling this way when it comes to talking to him - feeling uneasy and unsure, but there’s a part of her that’s tired of having to prompt him for answers.
He had been the one to leave this morning. Why can’t he just come out and tell her why?
“I’m alright,” she shrugs, not wanting to scare him off with the truth. “Super tired, though, can we sit?”
She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does as they make their way to the couch. Wonders if he can feel the scratch of her nails on his torso, or the brush of her lips against his, as they sit in the spot where not even 24 hours ago, their bodies had been intertwined.
He doesn’t sit right beside her as he normally would, and she finds herself missing the way his thigh usually brushes against her own.
She doesn’t know where to start or what to ask, and so she basks in the silence for a little - finding comfort in the fact that, despite the mess they’re currently in, they aren’t quite at the end yet.
But a part of her feels it coming.
She’d known it this morning if she lets herself listen to the rational voice in her head. As soon as she’d heard him say her name, as soon as he’d left, a part of her knew that was it, and maybe if she’d let herself believe it at the time - hadn’t talked herself down and convinced herself she was being irrational - she could have protected herself from all the ways this is going to hurt.
“I’m sorry.” He says, and when she looks up, he’s looking down where his large hands are now clasped together in his lap.
“For what?” She manages to choke out.
“Last night, I,” she digs her nails into the palms of her own hands to stop herself filling in the gaps as he figures out what he wants to say, but it’s no use.
He’s sorry for last night.
Last night, he made a mistake.
Last night, he was drunk, he was confused, he was just looking for something or someone to keep him occupied.
“I care about you so much, Poppy.”
That sentence shouldn’t be the one that fills her with dread, but it is.
“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he does look up as he says this, eye meeting hers in an attempt to convey his honesty, but she sees more of the truth in his glassy gaze than she hears in his words. “This morning, I panicked, and I just needed some time to figure out what I want.”
No, no, no.
She’d rather he tell her what actually happened than do this. Than pretend he left because he doesn’t want her.
“I love you-,”
“You said that, already.” She can’t help the bite in her tone as she prepares herself for the hit. The I love you, but.
“You’re so important to me. Being your friend, it’s like it’s what keeps me sane lately.”
She chews at the inside of her cheek as she feels the tears start to well at her lash line.
“Poppy, I don’t want to mess up what we have,” he shakes his head as his gaze drops, dark eyes darting to focus anywhere but on her own, pleading and watery as she watches him slip away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t think this is hurting me?” She feels weak as her voice breaks, “You don’t think this is already messy?”
She reaches out to take his hands in hers, digging in to unclasp them, to try thread her fingers through, but he doesn’t make it easy.
“Nico, I love you, too, you know I do, we can figure it out, you don’t have to run away from me.”
It’s a desperate attempt and she knows it is, but she needs to know she tried. When she’s sobbing into her pillow and crying herself to sleep tonight, she needs to know she didn’t just let him go without a fight.
“I can’t give you what you want, I can’t be in a relationship, I’m no good at it.” 
Regardless of what she had told herself earlier, about taking what he says at face value, and trying not to fill in the gaps like she does so often with everyone else, she can’t help herself. When he says, I can’t be in a relationship, he means with her. He can’t be with Poppy. He would be no good with Poppy.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I told you-,”
“No, you said before that you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known me, you don’t just wake up and change your mind, not after-,” Poppy starts to feel panic building within her like a flipped over sand timer. Rising and rising until she starts to feel nauseous, getting harder with each second not to jump to conclusions. 
The voice inside her that tells her he got what he wanted and decided it wasn’t for him sounds caustic and bitter, and if she hadn’t wound herself up so much about this whole situation over the course of the day - the past week, even, or the months before - she might have been able to fight off the way it so easily convinces her.
“I have to put the team first, it doesn’t matter what I want, I have to focus on them, on hockey.”
She’s too caught up in her own emotions to notice how weak he sounds - glassy eyes unable to catch the glint in his. All she can hear, all she can see, is the minute hints of a cover-up - that she isn’t getting the whole story, that he’s lying to her, and that the excuse he’s giving is cowardly.
He still hasn’t mentioned the call, hasn’t mentioned Talia, hasn’t explained why he left her, why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t come back.
“And you didn’t know that before?” She scoffs, pushing herself up off the couch and stepping away from him, “I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as soon as they fall, but she can’t rid her skin of the feeling that they were there, her flesh damp and sore.
“I know we took things a little too far last night, but that doesn’t mean-,” She almost thinks he notices how bad that hurts her, referencing the night they shared as a mistake - an instance where they got carried away, and not where they followed through on years worth of built up tension and adoration for one another. She doesn’t even have to fill in the gaps, this time. Took things a little too far is clear enough. “We can still be friends. I want to be friends.”
“Friends?” Poppy jeers in disbelief, turning completely away from him now and missing the tears that drop from his own cheeks - missing the way his chest cracks and stretches open in a last ditch demonstration of his vulnerability, his desperation not to lose her completely. “You should go.”
“Poppy,”
“I can’t,” she tries so hard not to cry, knowing she won’t be able to stop, but the words come out in a choked sob, and her voice carries on in the whiney way she always hates. “You told me you wanted more, you said I was yours, and I’m supposed to just act like it never happened? Just accept you didn’t actually mean the things you said?”
“I meant them,” he says, defiantly, so sure of himself that it makes her head spin. “I wouldn’t-,”
“No, you didn’t. You’re a liar. You were either lying then, or you’re lying now. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like you can that I don’t feel the way I feel.”
“Please, Mohn,” His fingertips just manage to reach out to land on her forearm before she shucks him off, wincing as if his touch has pained her.
“Don’t.” She takes an immediate step back, arms crossing over herself as a defence mechanism, body language screaming at him to go away, and she watches his pleading eyes drop to her arms just as she feels the cold of the metal there - so in tune with her every thought despite his denial of their true connection. Her arms move before her mind can make the decision, before it can remember what even sits on her skin, and her shaking fingers fumble to unclasp the jewellery adorned on her wrist. “You should take this back.”
Nico shakes his head, stepping back and away from the outstretched hand that holds her gemstone bracelet like it’s an actual danger to him. “No, that’s yours, Poppy.”
“I don’t want it.” She knows she’s the one that’s lying now. She wants the bracelet. She wants him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to be his friend over being nothing. 
But she doesn’t want to hurt.
Looking at him hurts.
Remembering last night, remembering their kiss, the things he has said, the things he has done, it all hurts, and she can’t keep hold of a constant reminder of the pain, can’t wear it on her person at all hours of the day just to know deep down that the man who gave it to her will never want her the same way.
“I want you to leave.”
“Please,” he begs again, head tilting as devastation floods his features, brows pushing together, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “We need to talk about this-,”
“No, you were right, we went too far, it was a mistake.” Her voice breaks as she says things she knows she doesn’t mean, but he’s already put it out there, so she doesn’t see the harm in echoing his own opinions. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”
She can’t look at him anymore, and so she drops her gaze to his hands, stepping and reaching forward and forcing him to take the bracelet from her before she rounds the couch and heads to the door.
If he isn’t going to give her the whole truth, she isn’t going to entertain part of the story, and she needs him gone so she can give in to the way her body wants to fold in on itself.
It takes him a minute to gather himself, but she refuses to look his way, waiting by the open door to her apartment and staring at the floor in front of her until his shoes appear.
“I do love you, Poppy. I’m leaving because I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have, and I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but I’ll be here when you want to talk about this. I mean it when I say I can’t lose you.”
 She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything.
There’s a stabbing pain that’s building and building in the centre of her chest, and she doesn’t even think she can breathe in his presence.
He clasps a hand around her upper arm, and leans into her, his lips pressing a firm kiss into the crown of her head, and he lingers there for a moment before he retreats. 
She manages to push the door closed behind him, the click of the lock louder than ever, and waits a good few minutes in silence before her body is wracked with a silent sob.
The one time she had tried to be brave and fight her own intuition, and this is where it gets her.
So much for Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
Next Chapter
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creedslove · 1 year
Text
DESERVE IT - PART SEVEN
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Javier Peña x f!reader
Summary: Javier got jealous of you and you boyfriend and that leads to an argument, but once he needs your help, you find yourself compelled to help him
Warnings: mentions of smut, angst, fluff and a lot of stuff, jealousy, argument, mentions of violence, blood, bruises, cheating (idk to me that's cheating, sorry not sorry Manu lmao)
A/N: alright, let me start by telling you all that I was planning this chapter to be like 2k long or so but instead I got so carried away with it as always because I don't know this Javi series makes me feel things and then I just write these things. A lot happens in this chapter and I know not everyone will be happy because some of you like my boyfriend DEA agent Javier Peña to suffer 😭 but i love the final result and I'll continue on the A/N under the chapter so there will be no spoilers here 😉
• PART ONE
• PART TWO
• PART THREE
• PART FOUR
• PART FIVE
• PART SIX
5.7k words
this chapter was made with all my love™ enjoy 💕
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You woke up in a great mood the next morning. You were naked in bed and you felt the slightest hint of desire in your lower belly as you felt the presence behind your stir.
You giggled happily and sank your face into the pillow, thinking of last night and the flashes you had of his hands on your body, his lips, his mouth, everything… and the way the same lips trailed kisses down your neck.
"Mm Javi" you whimpered and bit your lips.
"What did you say?" Manu's voice snapped you out of your drunk feeling of sleep and post orgasm and you widen your eyes open. You closed your eyes again "shit" you mouthed and slowly turned to him, giving him a wide smile as if nothing happened
"I said good morning baby" you told your boyfriend and blushed softly, hoping he would buy it, after all you had whispered in a low voice, besides, who assure you you had actually said Javier's name? Maybe you were still sleeping after all. However, as much as you would love to trick yourself and pretend nothing happened so you wouldn't feel guilty, you had to face the truth. You literally fantasized about Javier Peña while having sex with your boyfriend. Not only that, you only came because you kept picturing Javier making you cum and wet his bedsheets with your squirt while Manu tried his best, because you were sure that your boyfriend wouldn't be able to make you do that, not even if he spent the whole day overstimulating you. Javi on the other hand, would be able to make you pour like a fountain in a blink of an eye.
Manu tried his best and you appreciated that… but then, that was his best? Which meant sex with him wouldn't be anything better than what you experienced? You guessed the expression you were looking for was just that. It felt so basic, so bland, and you felt so guilty about summing your relationship up to only that.
You finally had met a nice guy, someone who treated you well and you could feel safe with, so maybe complaining about sex was something shallow? But on the other hand, sex was very important for a relationship, so it was a big deal.
Manu grumbled and nodded "morning princesa, I'll make us breakfast" he kissed your shoulder and got up.
You frowned.
Princesa, he had called you princesa. It sounded so weird, usually Javier was the one who called you that and you loved it, but another man using the same word caused you a weird feeling.
You tried ignoring your own thoughts and went to shower, you wanted to get rid of the sweat, the sticky feeling on your skin and get ready for your day. You still needed to work on your potato salad and a batch of brownies for dessert, just like you'd promised Connie. You would meet up in a few hours for the barbecue, it would be in the patio of your apartment building and Steve was probably already setting up the grill outside, maybe Javier was helping him.
Javier.
He was back in your mind and you didn't seem to catch a break, you hadn't been that hooked on him since you realized you'd fallen in love with that son of a bitch nearly a year ago, and now, even if you had a boyfriend, you were going through a better phase in your job, he was still there, haunting you.
You rinsed your hair and grabbed the soap, washing down your body when you got distracted again.
Your mind went back to the night you found out about his involvement with Los Pepes, how desperate he got, the way he pressed himself against you and began kissing your skin. How got so close to your breasts and you once again let your mind wander and allowed yourself to imagine what would've happened if he pulled your bra a little further, if he'd seen your nipples hardening in front of him. He would massage your tits, you were sure of it, he would squeeze them, pinch your nipples before kissing each of them and lick them.
But he wouldn't be satisfied with it yet, you were sure of it. You just knew he would suckle on your nipples and make you whimper louder than one of his prostitutes.
An obscene thought occurred to you as you pictured Javi licking your tits: had he ever been with a pregnant woman? If so, had he ever tried her breast milk?
You didn't know where that came from and it got you even more weirded out to picture yourself, pregnant with his baby letting him try the warm droplets that dripped down your breasts.
You scoffed at yourself, Javier wasn't trust worthy to be fuck buddies, let alone the father of your child, and yet, the scenario made your clit throb.
And before you could stop yourself, you had your fingers inside of your slippery pussy, pretending they were his fingers instead.
Coming back to the other night, you enjoyed picturing that if you hadn't pushed him away and locked yourself in your apartment, you would probably get down on your knees and blow his cock.
You hadn't seen Javier naked, but you felt his cock a couple of times when he hugged you and accidentally let your body too close to his waist. His pants were tight and he was big, and you were suspicious you occasionally gave him a boner or two by accident. So you felt he was big, it seemed that way.
So you pictured yourself freeing his cock, watching his tip glistening with pre cum and taking it to your mouth, sucking his dick while he would grip your hair and you would stroke his base.
Then you just knew you would massage his balls and lick them too, his balls would be so heavy carrying all the thick load he would empty on your pretty face.
And with that dirty, obscene fantasy, you managed to cum, biting your lips so you wouldn't make a lot of noise. And without even knowing, Javier had sent you to a delicious orgasm for the second time in less than 24 hours.
When you came down to your senses, you sighed disappointed in yourself, feeling another wave of guilt. As if it wasn't bad enough you'd fantasized about the guy while your boyfriend was on top of you, now you were finger fucking yourself thinking of him, your boyfriend just a few meters away from you in the kitchen making you waffles for breakfast and you rubbing one off for the guy next door.
You stared at your own reflection in the mirror as you brushed your teeth.
Just as guilt came, it quickly faded. You didn't know exactly what had changed in this whole Javier-Y/N mess you'd been living, but after the Los Pepes night - you decided to call it that way - it was like you were letting your guard down around Javier, and in the worst way: sexually.
You felt so tired of behaving like a nice woman, like a decent person and there was a side of you that just wished you could drop everything you had in life and surrender to Javier. You literally felt like whoring around and of course, you'd learned from the best.
So what was really stopping you from knocking on his door and letting him fuck you?
Your boyfriend for instance, you reminded yourself. Manu was such a nice person, you liked him, but you didn't desire him.
And the way Javier looked at you and asked you if you were gonna care if he got killed made you want to slap him in the face. How dare he think otherwise? How dare he think you wouldn't be utterly broken? Yes, he was an asshole, but he was your asshole and you hated to even think of that possibility.
When Manu knocked on the door you finally went back to your senses. What the fuck was all that that crossed your mind? It was like you were put under a spell while in the shower.
How could you even consider going after Javier after everything? Or when you had a nice relationship right there?
You decided to lie to yourself some more, at least it was a safe space for now.
•••
Javier groaned as he stepped outside and immediately put on his sunglasses. The warm weather and the sun bothered him deeply, especially at the little sleep he got the night before.
Well, not exactly the night before, because he'd spent the whole night drinking his anger and jealousy away. After what he heard coming from your apartment, coming from your mouth, he couldn't bear being in the same place as you, and especially not being in the same place as your stupid boyfriend.
Javier wanted to kick that door open, get him away from you, but he couldn't do it. It wasn't his place to do it anymore, you'd made your choice and unfortunately he wasn't part of it. So he decided to go out and drink. Of course he could go to a brothel, find himself some company, but he couldn't even trust his own self with that, he'd been so disturbed by everything that went on that the last couple of times he tried doing it he just couldn't get hard. It felt like you were haunting him, your image always lingered around and he couldn't break free from your spell, your presence, your love…
But nothing really mattered anymore, you were with someone else, and judging by the noises you were making you were enjoying every second of it. It pained him, but at the same time he knew it was what you deserved it: someone to love you and make you happy.
Even if it was the right thing, it still hurt him pretty bad. It twisted his guts, left a lump in his throat and the rush of adrenaline turned into a blinding rage he could kill your boyfriend with just a few punches.
So Javier sat down at a dirty table in some sketchy bar and drank one shot after the other.
He managed to get home in the morning, god knows how, and blacked out on his couch.
He didn't sleep nor rested, he literally passed out. However, a shower and a cigarette later, he was ready for Murphy's barbecue. He'd rather skip it and avoid facing you and Manu, but if he did it so, he would have to explain to Steve why he wasn't there, or worse, Steve could just knock on his door and make things more embarrassing for him. So he sucked it up and went to help his friend with the grill and the burgers, greeting Connie on his way and complimented her looks, being just the tiniest bit of flirt, as usual of Javier Peña, just a respectful way to remind women how pretty they were.
You, on the other hand, managed to avoid Manu's kisses during breakfast and after putting the brownies in the oven, you got to the egg salad. He was all the time hovering around you, certainly wanting to repeat last night's activities but you weren't in the mood.
Correction: you weren't in the mood with him, but you couldn't simply fantasize about Javier to get started so your boyfriend could have a quickie when you were just a couple of hours away from seeing him. How could you even look Javier in the eye after all the dirty thoughts you had of him? How could you act normal knowing the only reason why you had two mind blowing orgasms was thinking of him touching you, making you his and treating you like a slut?
You sighed as you finished peeling the potatoes and felt relieved to see Manu had given up trying to make up with you and went to get changed.
As you got yourself into nicer clothes, you knew it was time to go and just hoped everything would be alright.
Manu helped you carry the dishes as you went to the patio and found Steve, Connie and Javi.
Olivia was playing with a doll and as soon as she spotted you, she smiled big, extending her little arms to you and wanting you to pick her up.
You placed the bowl with your potato salad down and went to pick up the little girl. You lifted her up and twirled around holding her making her giggle "hi princess!!! I missed you!" You said excitedly and tickled her small tummy, earning some other adorable giggles from her.
Javier watched you from afar. His gaze wouldn't leave you for a single moment, hidden under his sunglasses, he took in all of you, of your body, of your clothes and how carefree and happy you were around Olivia. The way you smiled and played with her, as you thought no one was watching you was making it very difficult for him to hate you. He scoffed at himself, he could never bring himself to hate you, but he was trying to keep himself angry, because that was the only way he could be away and not screw things up between you and your boyfriend again.
But you always made his life so damn hard, especially when you were all gorgeous in your summer dress holding a giggly little princess in your arms.
Javier suddenly was taken back to the green fields of his dad's ranch in Laredo.
He could easily see you there, playing with a couple of toddlers - a boy and a girl - as the three of you would feed and pet the horses.
Then, when the sun was setting, the kids would all run to him calling him daddy and fighting each other to be the first one to hug him.
And then you would walk to him, all sun kissed, smelling like jasmine and coconut and would wrap your arms around his neck, welcoming your husband after a long day of hard work. A golden ring around your finger would be more than enough to show the whole town you were Mrs.Peña.
Where the fuck was that coming from?
Javier nearly dropped his can of beer when he realized where his mind wandered, he couldn't believe his brain betrayed him like that.
Since when was he the kind of man who would envision himself as a good husband and decent father of two? That was bonkers, he never wanted to be tied down, let alone be a father.
You were standing a few meters away from him with your boyfriend, the kind of guy who would probably give you that lifestyle because Manu was that kind of guy. Javier wasn't.
"Y/N… can you help me bring some plates?" Connie asked you sweetly and you nodded, putting Olivia down and promising you'd be there soon to play with her.
You followed Connie upstairs and walked into her apartment, it was everything very organized and cleaned. You couldn't help but smile at the pictures on the wall of herself and Steve, on their wedding day, their honeymoon and also pictures with Olivia.
Connie separated the plates she wanted to take downstairs "so… new boyfriend?" She raised her eyebrow and saw you blushing softly.
"Yeah… it's very recent"
"Well, he is very handsome… not Javier handsome, but still…" Connie chuckled at how shocked and surprised you got.
"What do you mean, Connie?" You asked clearing your throat, trying to show your nervousness
"Well, it was pretty obvious to all of us you liked Javi… more than friends, and Javi likes you too, Steve told me so… I mean, Javier hasn't said anything but Steve sees a lot more than it seems and he is positive Javier has romantic feelings for you. Judging by the way he was staring at you earlier, I am sure he does too" Connie gave you a sweet smile "and I think you still like him… listen, Steve told me everything that happened and honestly I think you were very right to completely ignore him at first, but he also told me about Carlos and how Javier protected you" Connie grabbed herself a glass of water and downed in one sip, she was sweaty and you could tell she suffered a lot with the weather in Colombia.
"What I'm trying to say is that if you two like each other then sometimes it is alright to give in and forgive. Look at me and Steve, I thought I was doing what was best for myself and our daughter but it turns out all I did was waste precious time away from my husband. Sometimes we're too proud and we miss out on people we love, so maybe you should talk to Javier, see what really goes on between the two of you" she placed her hand on your shoulder and smiled.
You carried the plates silently as her words wouldn't leave you alone. She did have a point, maybe you needed to talk to Javier, the tension, the unspoken feelings, the fact that sometimes it was so obvious you had feelings for each other and sometimes you couldn't read him even if your life depended on it, was making you stressed out.
"I'm sorry honey, can you go grab some other silverware? I forgot to bring them downstairs" Connie pouted and asked you very nicely, you nodded and quickly made your way upstairs, you were lost in your thoughts and didn't really pay attention where you were going, so you only realized you were standing right in front of Javier was when he stopped literally inches before bumping into you.
You noticed how he towered you, he was strong and a bit intimidating even, being so close to him and smelling his cologne got you thinking maybe Connie wasn't so wrong and maybe you should talk to him. You realized you'd let your walls down a while back and you could no longer act tough and unbothered by him, instead, each time you two saw each other you couldn't help but smile brightly again.
"Hey Javi… you okay?" You frowned softly as you saw he was kind of pale and had dark bags under his eyes, maybe he was coming down with something?
He frowned and shot daggers at you, he'd removed his sunglasses inside.
"Sure, just couldn't get to sleep at night with the neighbor across the hall moaning louder than a pornstar" he spat and gritted his teeth.
You were mortified. You had absolutely no idea he could hear you from his apartment, you didn't know you'd been that loud, no wonder Manu wanted a second round in the morning, he thought all that was for him. If only he knew…
And Javier was pissed off too, that was unexpected.
"Oh god, that's embarrassing, I'm sorry…"
"You're right, Y/N, it's fucking embarrassing" he replied in a rude way which began bothering you, who was he to talk about that? He was the guy who used to have girls over nearly every week, it didn't matter if they were paid or not, but very often you heard noises coming from his apartment, so he had no right to complain about that. "You and that dick shouldn't be making that much noise, it bothers people. It's rude, it's not what decent women do"
You stiffened and returned him the same cold gaze, Javier Peña had such nerve it made you want to stab him sometimes.
"You're right, decent women don't do that, that's why this kind of noises always came from your apartment Javier and all the women you picked up, because you simply can't get in a relationship with someone slightly decent, your partners reflect your personality!" You took a deep breath "it hurts, doesn't it? It hurts to hear someone we like, someone we care about with another person. Thinking that you could be there with them, but knowing you are simply not good enough or not the best option" you said "I hope you heard me through the whole thing, I hope you heard me cumming for my boyfriend…" Well, that was a lie, but Javier didn't have to know about it. "... I hope it has hurt you, because that's exactly how I felt every time I saw women come and go into your apartment when you knew damn well I was in love with you!"
Javi didn't expect you to be so blunt about it, he thought you wouldn't admit it and you were right, it did hurt, it felt horrible, he didn't want to ever feel like that again, and now he was even more sure of the asshole he was to you this whole time.
"What's so special about him, after all? What makes you like him to the point of acting like a wh-"
He stopped himself right there before he could screw things up more than he already had.
"Like what, Javi? Like a whore?" You asked with hurt in your voice "I am not a whore, and you know that. It's not my fault if you're jealous because you lost me… why do you do this? Why do you try to push me away whenever things are improving between us?" You stared at him "you wanna know why I like Manu? Take a good look at him, he's the whole package. He's handsome, younger, stronger, taller, he's not a fucking dirty cop. I think the real question here would be asking yourself why did I ever like you, Javier!" You spat back at him, not having any of his shit.
You thought he would backfire at you, but instead, Javier looked down and nodded, putting his sunglasses on one more time.
"You're right, cariño" he said in defeat "you shouldn't like me, I'm no good" surprising you, he cupped your cheek with his big hand, stroking it gently, and against all odds you leaned into it. "I tried pushing you away because it hurts less when you're not around, I lost you Y/N and there's nothing I can do about it"
Javi turned around and grabbed his coat before exiting the building.
•••
The barbecue didn't go much further after Javier left. You guys sat down, ate and you helped Connie with the dishes, Manu and Steve chatted about business as Olivia played nearby. It could've been a real nice time among friends if you hadn't argued with Javier. But it puzzled you, it wasn't a normal argument, it was something else, it felt almost as an apology, or as a goodbye.
You shook that thought off immediately, a shiver ran down your spine as you couldn't even bear the possibility of that happening. Still, ever since he left, you had an urge to see Javier again. You wanted to check on him, make sure he was alright. You didn't know if it was a gut feeling, your sixth sense or just good old anxiety keeping you company, but you didn't like the way his eyes looked empty when he left, you would only calm down when you saw him again. You knew he was probably buried deep inside some Colombian prostitute, probably making her scream his name but you didn't care, you didn't feel angry after your argument, you felt just sad.
It didn't feel right to rub Manu on his face, especially because you didn't even like Manu that much, you just wanted to hurt Javier for being a cocky motherfucker and you felt really guilty about it. You didn't know if it made sense you felt guilty about it, but you knew you were past that point. You were caught in your own trap and at the same time you wanted to kill Javi, he was the only one you craved.
So after Connie's dishes were perfectly done, you half lied to Manu saying you'd need some time alone because you had a headache. You just occasionally didn't mention your headache went by the name of Javier Peña.
And Manu, being the sweetest and most comprehensive boyfriend on earth, gladly accepted your excuse and went home. He was such a great boyfriend it was starting to become annoying. Or you were starting to come up with reasons to break up with him, after all, you had a good deal with him and you had a bad deal with Javi and of course you were leaning towards the bad one.
So you spent the rest of your day by your door, you were completely silent, no TV, no music just you and a book you were too distracted and anxious to concentrate and actually read it, you just paid attention to every single noise coming from the hallway in hopes it would be Javier arriving home. You thought of using the spare key you had - and you still hadn't returned him - to wait for him in his apartment, but you stopped yourself at the fear of witnessing him arriving with another woman. That would break your heart again, not to mention it would be awkward to everyone as hell.
So you waited, and waited, and waited until you decided it was time to give up and go to bed, it would be another night of the countless you'd spent before hoping Javier would be in the comfort and safety of his home when in reality he was out whoring around.
You had changed into your nightgown and was ready to get under your blankets when you heard mumbling and stumbling coming from outside. Your heart raced and you could tell it was Javier's voice. He was cursing in Spanish and struggling to unlock his door and your heart clenched at the thought of him making out with a woman outside. For a moment you thought of not opening your door, but you realized you could hear only Javier and no one else.
Curiosity took the best of you and you stepped outside your apartment, freezing at what you saw.
"Javi!!!" You whined at the image of him covered in blood, bruised and beaten up.
You immediately teared up at the state he was in, he'd probably been punched a considerable amount of times, a cut right above his left eye was responsible for the amount of blood that stained his face and dripped down his neck and got to his cut.
You hated to see him like that, suddenly that horrible feeling that haunted you earlier made all sense and you ran to him. You'd much rather see Javier arriving home with a woman than all bruised and broken like that, at least he wouldn't be suffering.
You unlocked the door for him and helped him sit down on the couch, which he did with a groan of pain.
He looked at you in silence but smiled softly seeing your presence there, no matter if his whole body hurt, if he had been beaten up by one of the Los Pepes sicario, seeing you there made him better.
You didn't ask him any questions, you would have time for that later, instead you rushed to his kitchen, getting a bowl and filling up with water and ice. You had no idea if that worked for real, but you'd seen several times in movies and TV how someone would sink their face into water to prevent it from swelling.
You also grabbed some cloth and whatever you thought that could be helpful and sat next to him.
"It's okay Javi, I'm here don't worry okay? You're not alone" you reminded him and patiently instructed on what to do.
You didn't know how long you spent wiping all the blood off his face, but you were both relieved to see he hadn't broken any teeth nor his nose. Javi unbuttoned his shirt and removed it with your help, making visible a darkening bruise on his ribs.
You touched it as softly as you could but he winced in pain
"Sorry honey" you said sadly and grabbed the ice pad, letting him place it over so you wouldn't hurt him even more. You hope they hadn't broken any of his ribs.
"It's alright princesa, you're the best nurse in the world" he smiled sadly "you should go home now, I can handle from here, your boyfriend must be waiting, you're all dolled up for bed" he said finally acknowledging your nightgown. Even if he had just been beaten up, he still smirked at your choice of clothing. Manu was a lucky son of a bitch, he thought to himself.
You shook your head "no fucking way I'm leaving you like that Javier. He's not here, and even if he were, I wouldn't leave you" you assured him and saw how he opened his mouth then closed again.
He licked his lips and stared into your eyes.
"Sit on my lap" he asked in a low voice which made you frown in confusion
"What?"
"J-just sit on my lap, I wanna feel you close, cariño, please"
And there they were: his puppy eyes again. How could you say no to broken, beaten, bruised Javier Peña looking every bit vulnerable in front of you?
You didn't think twice before switching to his lap, sitting on top of him comfortably and feeling one of his arms snake around your waist, holding you in place at the same time he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
Javi didn't say anything, he just inhaled your scent quietly, feeling in peace and at home. His body didn't hurt as much now, his heart wasn't aching at that moment. You were pressed against him willingly, not because he grabbed you, but because you wanted to be there.
You took his big hand into yours seeing the dry blood on his knuckles and very softly you began wiping it.
"Looks like you threw a few punches too," you said with a small smile and felt him place his head on your chest. He was so close to your breasts, but he didn't make any attempt to touch you inappropriately, he just rested his tired head against your soft skin and watched as you devotedly wiped someone else's blood from his knuckles.
"I left earlier looking for trouble and found trouble with one of the sicarios from Los Pepes" he explained briefly "he got worse than me, I promise" he thought it was best not to mention the other sicarios shot him in the head right there, in front of him, because they had explicit orders not to hurt the DEA agent who was collaborating with them, so he only chuckled but earned a dirty look from you. He knew you were going to say 'I told you so' and probably lecture you again on how stupid working with these people were, but instead, your eyes softened up and he could only see compassion, affection and maybe, just maybe some love in them.
You wrapped your arms around him, pressing Javier against your body tight, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment.
You'd never been that close to him, it felt so intimate but it was good.
"You know, the guy who left you at the altar is a stupid dick" he suddenly let out, earning a scoff from you
"Your ex's fiancee's current boyfriend probably says the same about you, Javi"
"It's her husband, and he is completely right. I was a dumb dick and what I did was terrible, I didn't want to get married and instead of straight up telling her, I chose the cowardly path. But I apologized to her and she forgave me, because she said if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have met the love of her life and built her family" he smiled "maybe the same can happen for you" his hand stroked your side, as he still held you tight against him.
You couldn't help but laugh softly.
"Who knows, right? Maybe someday I will have a nice husband and a baby of my own"
"I just know I wouldn't make the same mistake twice, Y/N, if you walked down the aisle for me, I'd be happily waiting for you to be my wife"
Javier only realized what he'd said after the words were out in the open. He shouldn't have said that, just a few hours ago he was trying to push you away and now he was low-key proposing to you? Fuck him, he was stupid.
You giggled and stroked his hair
"Aren't you adorable when you aren't a dick?" You tilted your head and pecked his forehead, seeing how hot his skin was "shit, Javi. You're burning up with fever… let me find you some medicine" you tried getting up but he held you tight in place, which caused your hips to move against his rough jeans and you let out a soft whimper.
Javi frowned at first but immediately smirked, his hand cupping your cheek again as the other one rested on your neck, massaging and stroking your skin.
"Need a relief, mi amor? Go ahead, rub yourself against me, I'll be glad to help you… you took care of me and I take care of you" he sweet talked you, his voice was a low rumbling purr and it took you a lot of willpower not to accept his offer. But you shook your head
"I can't Javi, I'm not gonna hump you while you keep burning up" you replied with the same sweetness he addressed you.
Eventually, you convinced him to take a shower and in the meantime you had to rush back to your place to get a tylenol because of course his medicine cabinet was empty.
When he got fresh out of the shower, you gave him two pills and walked him to his bed. Of course Javier wouldn't bother putting on clothes so he just got the towel out of his waist and got under the blankets, giving you only seconds to turn around not to look at his naked body.
He chuckled at your reaction and raised his eyebrow
"What querida? Do I look like the kind of fucker who goes to bed in pajamas? I ain't no Steve" you both laughed together and he took your hand in his, he caressed your knuckles with his thumb
"Stay. Spend the night with me, just to sleep and nothing more, I need you here, mi amor"
_____
A/N: So let me just continue by saying that I had a major headache when I was writing it earlier today and then suddenly it went away because that's the power Javi holds against me. Now, this scene where he asks her to sit on his lap and they have this moment, it felt so intimate and erotic to me, I loved writing it and I hope you guys all enjoyed it as well, because it is probably my favorite scene so far.
I know some of you really love angst and want Javier to suffer but I am aching for a happy ending though I still have no idea what will happen in the next chapters or how many chapters there will be.
And also, please let me hear your feedback!!!!! Let me hear what you think of this chapter let me know if you have a favorite part, you can comment or send me an ask whatever i need to talk about javier 🤌🤌🤌
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slytherinshua · 2 months
Text
PRODUCTIVITY AT ITS FINEST
genre. fluff. warnings. kissing. physics (ew) except i've never been in a proper physics class before so i hope that formula is right otherwise rip. not proofread. pairing. ryo x fem!reader. wc. 905. request. requested by 🪐 anon. a/n. i swear ryo keeps surprising me because once i knew he was a troublemaker i was like oh well he must've been a bad student too BUT NO HE WAS TOP OF HIS CLASS??? EXCUSE ME??? anyway ryo slays so hard and keeps surprising me every single day lmao.
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“Ugh, this essay is stupid. I can’t believe we didn’t even get to pick the topic from a list! How are they expecting us to write a good essay when the topic is already picked for us? I didn’t even read the chapters of the book I’m supposed to write about…” You glared at the screen of your computer, a completely empty document open with merely the date and your name on the page. How were you going to get a one thousand word essay to appear on the page? You had no idea. 
“Did you read the chapters, by any chance?” You asked as a final resort, turning to your boyfriend who was pretending to be asleep on the table.
He opened one eye, “Not a chance. I used sparknotes.” 
“Of course you did.” You groaned, glancing at the essay prompt and back to your empty page. “But you finished the essay last week…” Dating the top student in your class should’ve meant you also had an easier time. At least, that’s what you had originally thought. You hadn’t heeded Sakuya’s warnings when he told you that Ryo was just smart, lazy, and lucky. He didn’t even have to study.
“Study dates are overrated. Like, we’re not even being productive.” Ryo pointed out, clicking his mechanical pencil repeatedly, not a single mark having been made on his physics worksheet. 
“Who said this was a date?” You questioned, slouching back against the couch.
“Wasn’t it a date? Is it not?” Ryo sat up, giving a disappointed look at you.
“I mean… I guess it could be? We’re not doing anything very… date-like.”
“True…” Ryo crossed his arms, thinking about something. “What if we just… traded?” 
You raised an eyebrow, “Should I really trust you to write my essay?” 
He shrugged, “Like you said, I already finished mine. Better that I write it than for you to just sit there not writing it, right?” He pointed out. He was right, you had to give him that. Minutes later you were staring down at his physics homework, getting to work on the first problem. You had finished about half of the worksheet when you heard Ryo shut the laptop.
“You can’t have finished already—” 
Ryo pouted, “This date sucks.” 
You ignored his complaint and went back to the worksheet, knowing he would probably get over it and open the computer again in a few minutes. Probably.
Instead, he crept closer to you, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fluffy hair tickling your cheek. But, you still tried to focus on the work. There was a chance that he was just feeling a bit clingy and after a few minutes he’d go back to work. Right?
Wrong.
“You’re doing it wrong.” He said quietly, “The formula for wavelength is speed divided by frequency. There’s no multiplication in this question.” 
“You were the one who wanted me to do this for you, dumbass!” You defended, dropping the pencil in defeat, “Physics goes way over my head every time. You’ve seen my test scores.” 
Ryo lifted his head off your shoulder, crossing his arms, “Well, I didn’t know you’d be this dumb. They give you the formula right there!” He pointed to the top of the paper where the formulas were indeed listed. Okay… maybe you were dumber than you thought.
You bit your lip, trying to calm the steaming anger that was brewing in your head over your stupidly smart attractively so boyfriend, “What about my essay? Did you even write anything?”
“Well, no. But if I did, I would’ve done better than you on the physics.” 
You sighed, “This is a waste of our time…” 
“Agreed.” 
“There’s probably something more productive we cou—” In the blink of an eye, your boyfriend had shoved you down onto the floor (gently), pinning your hands over your head and hovering over you with a mischievous grin that you were a bit wary of.
“What are you doing?” You whispered, your voice barely coming out louder than a whisper from your shocked (and quite flustered) state.
“Something more productive.” He said simply, before capturing your lips with his before another second passed. You couldn’t argue that his idea of productivity was much more in line with yours. You would take the taste of his lips over confusing physics problems any day. 
After dating Ryo for over a year, kissing him was like second nature. Your hands found their place in his hair, threading through the soft locks, using it to pull his face closer to yours. Maybe it was just that the kiss felt that good, or maybe it was wanting to avoid the homework for as long as possible, but neither you nor Ryo wanted it to end. 
By the time you both sat up again, your heads clearing from the dizzying kiss and the aftertaste of your cherry lip balm lingering on both of your lips, Ryo’s hair was a complete mess. You giggled and started to fix it for him, combing your fingers through the small tangles that had developed. His face was cutely flushed, a stark contrast to his previous confidence.
“So,” He cleared his throat before continuing, “Maybe we should get back to work?”
“Yeah… sounds like a good plan.” You said, not an ounce of your focus on the physics or essay, but entirely on Ryo’s red lips, slightly swollen from your lips.
↳ nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,
@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys
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aziraphales-library · 16 days
Note
Could I recommend a few of my own fics perhaps? I’m quite proud of them, especially my two more niche AUs. No problem if shameless self promo isn’t a thing on here though! Thank you for all that you do.
The fics are; Pull Up the Ladder When the Flood Comes (3 chapters, 17k); iwgbysasbsooi (the name was too long to write the whole thing out lmao) (6 chapters, 25k); my cat AU Strays on the Street (13 chapters, 54k); and my human AU, Coffee Breath (6 chapters, 29k words).
There’s a variation of angst, fluff, and some smut in the last one! ❤️ I have many others as well, with the full link of my stories here. 🥰
Self promo is not only allowed, it is actively encouraged!...
Pull Up the Ladder When the Flood Comes by midnightdragons (T)
What sort of backwards world was it – that the Almighty God and Her angels, who were meant to be the kind, the Holy, the good, were leaving innocent people, innocent children to die, were the bringers of their deaths? How was it that a demon, the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, the literal damned Serpent of Eden, had been the only one to spare those innocent lives a glance; who had assured the mothers that it would be alright as they handed their children to him, who had sworn to them with everything he had that he would protect them? How was it that the one who was supposed to be the embodiment of everything evil had been the one to rescue innocent children from the wrath of God Herself? (Or: Crawley saves children during the Flood in Mesopotamia, and finds himself in an even more jeopardizing situation as he seeks out shelter. Aziraphale struggles with his own internal conflict, but attempts to help all the same.)
i wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby (snap out of it) by midnightdragons (T)
“Hello, demon,” said the angel coolly, tilting his head to one side and grinning broadly in a crude imitation of Aziraphale’s warm, comforting smile – and it took Crowley perhaps half of a second to decide in certainty that this angel was absolutely not Aziraphale.
Two hundred and seventy-three days. That was how long it had been since Crowley had seen Aziraphale, how long it had been since the angel had left him, how long it had been since he had yanked the angel into that horrible, awful, desperate kiss, a plea disguised as an act of undying love. And now, on the two hundred and seventy-fourth night, he finally reunited with . . . someone. Someone who looked like Aziraphale, and sounded like Aziraphale, but was – and Crowley knew this with every fiber of his trembling being – not his angel. Crowley isn’t the only one who needs saving.
Strays on the Street by midnightdragons (T)
The black tomcat eyed the Aziraphale from his perch, his long, thin tail flicking with apparent disapproval. His jaws stretched in a wide yawn, and his yellow eyes blinked slowly. With them closed, he could be mistaken for a shadow on the backdrop of a brick wall. “Who’re you, then?” He asked in a gravelly, hoarse voice that suggested disuse. His words were stated rather rudely, and he did not move, save for the flicking tip of his tail, and the flexing of his hind claws. Aziraphale nervously padded closer. The wiry black tom looked quite hostile, from the way his thin fur was prickling along his spine, but this was the first cat he had seen ever since his human had (accidentally) left him behind, and he needed to take this chance. Even if he had to handle a little rudeness.
Crowley is a long-abandoned, hardened street cat, angry and wary and guarded against anyone intruding on the fragile peace he had carved out for himself. Aziraphale is an anxious housecat, who's just wondering why his owners had thrown him to the streets. He's certain it must've be some sort of mistake. (Ineffable Husbands AU: they're cats. This is as ridiculous as it is angsty.)
Coffee Breath by midnightdragons (M)
He stared, mouth half-open, at the stranger he had collided with, and became momentarily frozen in place as his barreling heart caught up to his fretting mind. The (man? woman? neither? well, there was a he/they pin clasped to their sweater, so at least he had that to go off of) person who he had just crashed into, knocked onto their arse, and made spill coffee all over their things, was undeniably and irrevocably the most gorgeous creature Aziraphale had ever laid eyes on in his entire life. Just his luck.
A rather cliche but cute human AU story with bookshop owner!Aziraphale, plant shop owner!Crowley, and a meet-cute involving spilt coffee, with angst but also lots of fluff because we all need a cute little story sometimes. Featuring a bonus chapter with their "first time."
- Mod D
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