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tastesousweet · 1 month ago

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01 : Who’s the New Guy?

hamzah has a summer gig as the pool boy for one of his friends and y/n can’t help it if she’s just so intrigued by this friend of her brother��s.

01. 02. 03.

crushes came to you quite often.

you remember playground crushes; the boys you liked to stare at from afar as you played in the sand as a child. or the boys who frequented your prestigious ballet studio who were pretty and rambunctious which aided your curiosity. there was presley in high school who you found undeniably cool with his tattoos and effortless guitar playing skills; things ended with your heart torn at the fact that he admitted to enjoying your admiration and desire for him more than you and your entirety. he must’ve thought you were some ditz with the way he spoke to you that night : “i’m sorry, but i’m no liar, i never said i loved you, let alone liked you. in what world would we ever be together, y/n?”

your older sister, mina, has always told you boys are nothing but compliant lap dogs to the other boys around them; she warned you that you’ll never find one that would hold you because just because you asked (or even better if you didn’t have to ask), that he would make sure his buddy is wrapping his arms around a girl before he found it okay to do so. give and take, a fight for validation. a constant look around to ensure they’re accepted among themselves, “they’ll never learn to care if you except the bare minimum from them and it’s only worse that you’re so quick to accept any “love” without them having to at least try, y/n.”

she told you not to get caught up in the drama that came with boys (their breaking hearts and such) — or the other catty girls who were in competition to hold a guy’s attention for longer than a night in bed or date night out.

your older brother (who's also mila's twin) always claimed that your sister was spitting out a mouthful of bullshit whenever she’d start her hate-speech against men. this would typically lead the two to begin their own brawl, leaving you to solemnly look the other way, to find a safe piece of eye-candy that would surely turn your pupils into tiny black hearts.

while you tend to get a little fantastical about your intense desire for devotion and affection, your first, grounded love came in the form of ballet.

at age four you found yourself captivated by a small ballet theater production of sleeping beauty, you still fondly remember your great aunt accompanying you and the way she cried the entire time. you haven’t known a time where you weren’t amazed by the way you could move your body. you remember stretching yourself obsessively and eventually by age six you were watching late night shows with your family while maintaining a full split in front of the tv.

yet now, at nineteen that childhood dream you’ve worked towards your entire life feels like an overwhelming, burnt-out nightmare with clouded vision and harshly barked orders of “higher!” “now tighter!” “follow through!” “be consistent!” from your roster of highly established instructors, all fighting around in your head.

those first two years of school gave you a glimpse of what you’ve always thought you wanted — early mornings, strict diets, long days of structured dancing, endless nights of studying, eye bags covered in concealer, headaches from tight ponytails or buns, icing your knee caps on weekends, losing your mind and your poise demeanor without a doubt by the end of each semester. and above all you missed your parents, so bad.

so, after much pouting (and a few phone calls that consisted of you crying and blubbering about how broken down you’d become), your parents allowed for you to spend your summer break at home with them (rather than your usual confinement to an acclaimed, private ballet institution for the entire break), under the guise that you’d be training with your old high school instructor to ensure you maintain your pristine skill level. you were sure that obligation was easy enough, as you’d already been through the hell of it in the spring.

now the sun beats on your glowy skin as you lie on a cream lounge chair. the bikini you wear is a soft kiss of pink, decorated in tiny black polka dots, that leaves little to imagine. your long legs are crossed at the ankle, bare feet exposed with your toes painted an elegant matching shade of pink. your book is now abandoned at your hip as you gaze, with squinted eyes, at the boy stood across the lawn’s wide stretch of concrete. his focus is on cleaning your family pool — rarely stopping unless he finds it completely necessary to wipe away a growing layer of sweat from his forehead.

he’s hasn’t given you any attention, barely a glance over, nothing close to an introduction. yet he’s somehow become your new person of interest with such little effort or time. you’ve covered yourself in sunscreen (in a slow fashion just in case he wanted a teasing show mid-shift), flipped onto your stomach to show off the curve of your ass as you read a few chapters of a memoir (trying to focus on the words written in times new roman to avoid getting distracted by the tall man), you’ve gone inside to grab a pair of sunglasses (to have a reason to walk by him and gain a shield that allows you to stare without your eyes on display), after ten minutes you decided sunglasses made the world far too dark and you would rather he know you’re staring at him than stare and get a poor view.

there was something about his warm, beautifully tanned skin and toned arms working against his white wife-beater that hugged him well. and his face was so inviting — you liked it when he had a question about a certain pipe and went to ask your dad about it, as he listened he cracked a smile and gave a nod of his head in understanding. it’s unbearable that you don’t know his name, but you can imagine it’s something cute that you’d like the sound of when hearing your voice deliver it.

after a much needed bathroom break, you make your way back outside with a deep red, raspberry popsicle in your hand. you lick over the cold dessert a few times as you move closer to where the boy sits, obviously exhausted, with his head tilted down towards his knees.

“hi,” you speak, standing in front of him.

he seems to be caught off guard by your presence, flinching slightly before looking up (attempting to refrain from scanning over your exposed body), “uh, hey?”

“are you finished?” you question with a slight head tilt.

“oh, not really, i just have t’pressure check the jets in the hot tub. that’s my bad, ill get back to it.” he goes to stand but you place your hand gently on his shoulder so that he stays.

you both look at your hand’s placement then into each other’s eyes. you smile awkwardly, taking your hand off of him and begin pretending to dust something off of his shoulder, “… just some sorta feather or …” you clear your throat and retract your hand again, “sorry, um, i just thought i’d introduce myself. because- well, i live here and i guess i … just wanted to know your name,” you speak softly and bring the popsicle to your mouth to suckle a little more.

your eyes look at him with a sense and emotion he’s not sure anyone has in his entire life. you’re like a viper or siren, some sort of creature that’s hypnotizing him with beauty and desire. as he speaks you continue lapping the popsicle in your mouth, he clears his throat, “hamzah.”

“hamzah? i like it.” you love it.

“yeah?” he looks down at the popsicle that’s now slick from your mouth’s warmth, then he’s looking back in your eyes, “thanks.”

“how’d my parent’s find such a cutie to come pour chlorine in the pool?” you flirt.

“i mean i do more than pour chlorine in a pool, y’know i check the piping, change the tank …” your stare is so captivating it’s hard for him to not feel like blushing, “i’ll, uh, tell you all about it later. t’answer your question, i’m friends with leo and needed a summer gig before goin’ back to school.”

you can’t believe it’s true — your brother doesn’t have nice friends. your brother even doesn’t have friends with real jobs let alone any that plan to complete college. you laugh softly, “no, you’re not? i know all of my brother’s friends.”

hamzah shrugs his shoulders, “i mean, i guess we weren’t the closest in high school,” he pinches his eyes slightly, “you are the younger sister, right? the one who’s got all that dance business goin’ on?”

you shake your head in slight embarrassment at your description, “yes, that’s me with the “dance business”” you smile, “i’m y/n.”

“cool. s’nice to meet you,” he reaches his hand out and you place yours in his hold as you two shake hands.

── .✦

you were pouring a glass of water when the idea came to you; you knew hamzah was bound to be leaving soon but you craved to hear more from him. all it took was a slight (but very intentional) tumble of the words, “i wanna invite that new pool boy to stay dinner,” for your father to immediately agree.

he continues to stir at the sizzling vegetables in his pan, “oh! that’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart, open that for for me?” he nods towards the sliding glass door.

you try not to display your excitement too blatantly, but can’t help that your socked feet glide over to the door.

your father’s immediately calling out, “hey hamzah! c’mere a minute would’ya?”

hamzah immediately bolts over, he’s out of breath and surprised to see you leaning against the open door, “hey,” he directs to you but it’s sounds more like a gasp for air than a word.

“no running by the pool,” you whisper back, watching as his face of confusion turns into another smile.

“fair,” hamzah shrugs.

“hamzah, we were hopin’ you’d stay for dinner tonight?”you father speaks loudly, and the way he says it makes it sound like more of a statement than a question.

his face lights up, “sur-”

“say yes,” you warn through your teeth, knowing your father’s irritation with any use of a word as dismissive as “sure”.

“yes, um, yes that sounds great. thank you, sir.” he can see you giggling beside him, and when your father turns away he playfully nudges your side with his elbow.

── .✦

dinner was full of undying conversation and many overlaps in dialogue. never a dull moment.

“y/n, pass the mashed potatoes,” your brother calls out.

you whine, “leo, i just said my entire body hurts from training, i’ve passed it back and forth like four times already.”

“oh my god, and somehow your complaining just ruined my appetite, anyway. i can always count on you, y/n.” he laughs under his breath.

“that’s enough, now.” your mother speaks up, “but y/n, i’m getting worried, do you think you need some extra sessions dedicated to stretching?”

“i’m fi-”

“shoot, hamzah could give you some tips on stretchin’.” your brother jokes, “weren’t you in ballet?”

hamzah is completely flushed, “like, barely, my parents forced me when i was, like, seven-”

he’s cut off as soon as you register what this could mean for you, “wait, you’d really help me?” you ask with a sense of genuine curiosity, and a big, encouraging smile of course.

“hamzah i never knew you were so, multitalented.” your mother comments.

leo laughs, “he’s n-”

hamzah clears his throat and wipes his mouth with a small napkin, “well, yeah, i’ll help out wherever i can.”

“really?!” you’re relieved that he actually agreed.

“oh good fucking luck,” your brother sighs under his breath and claps a hand against hamzah’s shoulder.

── .✦

“don’t forget you need to meet me at the studio at 6 to beat the rush, wear something flexible, and remember to bring your smart brain and lots of patience — i can be kinda bitchy that early in the morning!”

hamzah sighs, returning to standing a few inches above you now that he’s done tying his shoes in your foyer, “as opposed to bringing my dumb brain and all of my impatience —” he smiles at you and but your face is plain and straight, “right. yeah, i got it all. you also wrote it down for me on my hand, remember?” he shows his hand with purple, glittery ink covering the palm.

your arms are crossed as you explain, “yes but that’s just unreliable- it’ll be gone by morning…” you shrug and watch as he pulls a sweatshirt in over his head, “and i need to tell you these things in case you forget about me and don’t set an alarm.”

he laughs as adjusts the sleeves of the mossy green sweatshirt, “i won’t.”

“cool.”

“so i’m wakin’ up at 10 and goin’ for breakfast then meeting up with you?” he jokes and immediately catches your hand in his own before you get the chance to push his shoulder. he laughs as he brings you close, keeping your hand in his as he offers a warm side hug. “i’ll be at the studio before 6, how about that?”

you nod as you pull away, “you better.”

“uh huh,” he opens your front door and finally calls out “good night!” to your family, who all echo the sentiment back to him. before he fully walks out he turns to you, with your hold on the tall wooden door, “bye, i’ll see you in, like, nine hours or somethin’.”

“bye, thank you,” you smile and watch him rush over to his car parked on the street, “don’t forget, hamzah!” you holler and watch his figure throw a thumbs up into the air before he climbs into his slightly janky car.

── .✦

you both were a couple of yawning, baby fawns with the amount of slow blinks and constant, accidental bumps into each other as you walked into the quiet studio and found your way into a private practice room.

the colors of the walls and equipment were various muted browns and light grays. you set your duffle bag on the ground and stretched your arms above you, “so, what exactly are we doing?”

hamzah rubs at his eyes, he’s clad in basic grey sweatpants and another white wife-beater, his hair is its usual curly with slight frizz from sleep, “umm, you’re the professional here?”

“hamzahhhh, you said you would help!” you drag while adjusting yourself onto the floor, stretching out your legs on either side of you.

“yeah! but i wasn’t expectin’ to have any stretches made! im not a yoga instructor, i was just gonna be your little assistant.” he moves to the ground with you.

“m’kay, here,” you flutter your fingers to encourage him to mimic your position and hold onto your forearms, “and now flatten your back and lean forward,” you both complete the action then return to sitting up.

“what do they always say? come on, deep breaths, in!” you both hold “and out,” you both release.

you smile at him,“you’re a natural, look at you!” you compliment.

the two of you complete your entire yoga flow that you’d do almost every day at university, before progressing into the most random yoga poses you’d heard of under the guise of “let’s just try it!”

there were a few fails due to lack of balance or the need to burst into laughter but generally you two worked well together.

just before you two left you asked hamzah to help you stretch deeper, as you lie flat on a mat, lifting your leg up boldly. “i just need you to kneel down and push my leg all the way into my chest for me …” you bite at your bottom lip to suppress a smile.

hamzah finishes his sip of water, watching you lie there in that tight yoga piece, dangling a foot in the air and inviting him to be so close to you. “yeah? ‘kay, guide me.” he sets the bottle down and kneels in front of you as you asked.

“mhm, yeah here i’ll just,” you move your leg onto his shoulder and bring his hand to your lower thigh, just above your knee, “right … there.” you let your hand linger on his before looking back at him. he’s already focused on your face and your next command, “just lean forward and bring my leg with you,” you accidentally let out the tiniest, whiniest little groan.

“m’sorry,” he whispers with wide eyes.

“no, don’t. it’s good, i needed this,” you remind.

“yeah, just breathe, you’re doin’ good.” he coaches while pushing your leg further.

── .✦

“mmm! if the girls in my class knew i was eating this i’d be skinned and shunned from the program!” you shake your head, raspberry jelly dribbling from the side of your lips. you’re more than grateful hamzah suggested you both stop by a small shop, only a block away, for some post-yoga sweetness.

hamzah continues to walk back towards the studio with you next to him, crinkling wax paper wrapping into his pocket, “that’s gnarly as fuck, you couldn’t even have like a single plain donut? just one?”

“no, and half of ‘em have heart palpitations at the thought of honey nut cheerios. i think donuts would end them, unfortunately.” you wipe your face.

“well, damn maybe ballet-in’ kinda sucks?”

“maybe.” you sigh and bring the large jelly donut up to his mouth as he bites, “what’d you think it was like?”

he shrugs, chews a little, then answers, “i dunno- fun?”

you let out a soft laugh and take another bite. you’re just a little annoyed that hamzah makes it far too easy to crush on him — how dare he be so pretty and kind and actually interested…?

── .✦

a/n: hiii first part of my short series for hamzah! yaaayyy!! hope u all liked this, i did not proof read too in depth so im kinda just prayin it makes sense. love ya! <3

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic fanfic #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah #hamzah x reader #hamzah imagines #martin and hamzah #hamzah fic #hamzahthefantastic x you #hamzahthefantasticxreader #slushynoobz #slushy noobz #slushy virus #slushy noobz virus #thatmartinkid #mandysiphone

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space-blue · 2 months ago

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Viktor meets Jayce first in his human shape during a negotiation between the Zaun clan and the ever expending Piltover base. He's yet unaware of the concept of avatars, but one day soon he'll get to see Jayce's, and this time he won't be looking down.

Viktor is very much the older child... I'd need to design Claggor, but he's the only other kid who'd be anywhere near stable enough to make a good Olo'eyktan in training (but we all know it's going to be Ekko down the line lmao)

Silco smokes in every AU. Here too it's nice plants and generally good for your health. Mild hallucinogen for people who don't have built in tollerance, it helps with the pain of his eye.

The sisters are a disaster in every AU. Powder mixes plants to make notions bombs and arrowheads. She's already a master of poisons and jungle traps.

Vi brawls. Recomns wouldn't be a challenge.

#return to pandora #just some AU crossover sketches #arcane #avatar #na'vi viktor #na'vi silco #na'vi powder #na'vi vi #NAVIVI lmao #zaundads #crossover #avatar 2009 #jayce talis #sketches #fanart

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justaz · 5 months ago

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one of my fav tropes in merlin fanfic is when merlin gets turned into a child and is literally terrified of the knights and arthur (aka his bestest of friends (excluding gwen whoops sorry my love i adore you i promise)) and they're just like "wtf????" and then merlin's little child self isn't in control of his magic and they just go "oooohhhh that makes sense" and i was thinking about it and i need one of those fics where it happens when they're all just chilling in the woods, not in their armor or anything and they just sit around and tell stories to merlin to get him to relax bc he was a bit frightened when he appeared in the woods with a bunch of random men.

gwaine telling the story of how he met merlin and arthur and the tavern brawl and how they won and little merlins just like "whoaaaa i never win any of my fights" and gwaine chuckles and looks at this like seven/eight year old like "and what fights have you got into?" and merlin just shrugs all sheepishly like "well, maybe not fights, but the kids in ealdor don't really like me. they throw stones and call me names and follow me into the woods to hurt me. i never win those fights, there's always too many of them...will fights for me tho!! he usually also gets beat up but he can actually fight so..." and theyre all just like :((( fuck :(( especially arthur who knows how much will meant to merlin but he never understood why

merlin also mentions how they call him names like freak or bastard but his mom won't tell him what the second one means. gwaine is like "you know, all the kids in ealdor are around our age now. we should go and teach them a lesson" and little merlin gasps and grabs gwaine's arm and is like "no! D: that's so mean!" and the knights are just like yep. that's our merlin. complete sweetheart. anyways what i mean is just them growing closer and maybe little merlin sees a flash of red in the distance and freaks and tells them all to run and hide with him which they do while completely befuddled. when they ask him why he's scared merlin just whispers "it's a knight, I saw him. he's from camelot" and the knights are like ??? and merlin looks at them like their crazy "you know how knights from camelot are! they're cruel. they'll kill us the moment they see us. stay quiet!"

anyways idk where i was going with this. ig i don't really need a fic like this i just wanted to get this idea down and out there. maybe leon tries to calm merlin and is like "don't worry, knights of camelot protect us. i mean, we're knights of camelot and we'd never hurt you." and merlin just turns and stares at him like "you're a knight?" and he nods and merlin turns to the rest and is like "you're all knights? of camelot?" and they nod and merlin stands there for a minute before booking it and hiding in the woods. they spend all afternoon and evening searching for him. merlin refuses to come out. but you know he can't exactly survive in the woods for long so he starts wandering when the sound of their footsteps fade and somehow finds himself in gwen's care. look idk my vision was little merlin sitting with the knights and becoming friends and then the knights seeing merlin terrified of knights of camelot idk what happens next stop hounding me get off my back

#bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #knights of the round table #sir leon #sir gwaine #sir elyan #sir percival #sir lancelot #child merlin #whats the tag for that #its like #on ao3 its classified as age regression but i dont wanna tag just that here bc that is not what this post is about LMAO #deaging #de-aging #thats the bitch #magic shenanigans

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cursedonyx · 1 year ago

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So I had a little realisation about our favourite freckled heathen and his unending cheer and charm.

I think we can all agree that part of Sebastian’s allure is that he is so resolutely cheerful, especially in the first half of the game. He’s upbeat, charming, cheeky and extroverted, always smiling and willing to help. He loses the duelling match against you in DADA with more grace than a 15–16-year-old should reasonably have (especially considering Ominis is absolutely steaming in the background because Hecat almost made him fall over) and he’s willing to take the fall for you in the library, being cheerful with you again the next time you meet.

Sure, he has his moments, like when Solomon yells at him. But instead of engaging in an all-out brawl or screaming match, he removes himself from the situation and asks for a moment alone, presumably to calm down. A very mature thing to do.

It’s only when the relic (and likely Slytherin’s book as well) corrupts him that we see him be more on edge, snappier, more prone to temper.

Sebastian’s constant cheer and charm would lead a lot of people to think that he’s unbreakable, that he could be run over by a rampaging hippogriff and he’d just dust himself off and carry on with a smile and a laugh. And he probably would.

The thing is, that kind of constant cheer is likely down to his highly abusive childhood.

Hear me out.

We know that his parents died before he and Anne got their magic, which, according to canon, is usually around seven years old. So they would have been six or younger when their parents died, but for some reason, I think of it as being about five. Old enough to have precious memories of their parents, but still very young and impressionable.

We all know that Solomon never wanted to take the Sallow twins on, and harbours some insane resentment to the situation they’re in: an ex-Auror now living alone and essentially working as a farmer (he can be seen tilling the fields in Feldcroft) suddenly lumbered with two very small children who have just suffered massive emotional trauma, and he’s not equipped to deal with that. So he takes it out on Sebastian, who resembles the brother he presumably strongly disliked.

Whilst Anne is said to have been the most mischievous one out of her, Sebastian and Ominis, I think Sebastian is the most emotional. He likely would have been prone to let his feelings show, especially as a child, but Solomon wouldn’t have wanted to or been able to deal with that.

The thing is, resolutely tough, cheerful people have often been taught from a very young age that their negative emotions aren’t important. That their feelings are a nuisance. That they will be punished for expressing them, whether that’s through physical correction, emotional manipulation, or the removal of affection/attention. I fully expect that the grieving young Sebastian will have been told by Solomon to shut up and sit down and stop snivelling, or to behave, or to act like a man because he didn’t want to deal with it.

Sebastian will have learned to hide his negative emotions, supressing them in favour of trying to be happy to keep Solomon happy; a far preferable situation for him than antagonising the angry man who’s been angry since his parents died. It's possible Sebastian tried to be strong for Anne as well, who I expect would have withdrawn a lot, and as he loves her so much, he would want his twin to be happy, so he was happy for the both of them and did his best to cheer her up.

Being cheerful is safe. Being cheerful is a kind of protective blanket. Because if he lets himself feel all the hurt and the scary and the bad, he won't know how to handle it, so he doesn't. He just keeps smiling.

Sebastian will have unintentionally learned from a young age, or been deliberately trained to hide or mask his negative emotions at all costs, because the price for displaying them has always been serious consequences. But because he bottles it all up, when he breaks, he breaks hard. When his last-ditch attempt to save Anne with the relic fails, he breaks. Every bit of strength he had is gone, and he's left scrambling in an unfamiliar overload of pain and panic.

And when he has some time to think it through, the effects of the relic wearing off, he's truly remorseful for everything and eternally grateful that you're still his friend. Even before then, when you have to decide whether or not to turn him in, he tells you he's glad he met you, trying to fall back on those last threads of positivity that have held him up before.

That poor lad needs as much love and therapy as our lil blind bestie does.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt

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fiddleyoumust · 3 months ago

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Narratively, Shin has the upper hand in High School Frenemy. We've been given a lot of his backstory. His father is gone. I assume dead? His mother remarried and had another child, then divorced. He dreamed of becoming a professional soccer player and had his dream torn away by the person he trusted the most. We clearly understand his motivations and desires and feel deeply for what he's gone through.

In contrast, we have Saint. His mother is gone. I assume dead? He's good at fighting. His father mentioned boxing, but we don't have any details about how passionate he was about it, why he started boxing, or how that turned into him brawling and making trouble at school.

We know Shin took over the gang to protect students in his school, but we have no idea if that's what Saint was doing it for. Outside his love for Shin and his seemingly complicated love for his father, we don't really know anything important about Saint. He doesn't seem to have any dreams or plans for the future, and that doesn't seem to be a new thing. It's not a result of his break with Shin. He was equally anchorless when he and Shin were besties.

This puts Saint at a disadvantage narratively because without understanding where he's coming from, it's hard to sympathize with him and to not place all the blame on him for the ongoing problems between him and Shin.

The one thing I do know, and the thing I hope the show resolves by the end, is that Saint does not love himself. When people say trite shit like, "You can't love other's until you love yourself," Saint and Shin are a prime example of what they mean.

Saint LOVES Shin. He loves him so much that Shin is practically his entire personality, but he doesn't love himself, and that is the thing that keeps hurting them both over and over again. And this isn't something new post break-up. This isn't a result of Saint breaking Shin's leg. We've seen in flashbacks the way he holds on to guilt when Shin gets injured, the way he hesitates when Shin says they can stop being friends if Saint thinks Shin is such a pain in the ass. Deep down, he doesn't think he adds value to Shin's life because he does not value himself.

So, every time Shin gets hurt physically or emotionally, Saint's first instinct is to remove himself. How could Shin NOT be better off without him? He can't fathom a reality where he adds as much value to Shin's life as Shin adds to his, and that is going to continue to be a problem until Saint learns to love himself.

I hope the show gives us a little more insight into why Saint is the way he is, and I hope they give him the opportunity to see himself through Shin's eyes so he can finally understand that he's as vital to Shin as Shin is to him.

#high school frenemy #high school frenemy the series #saintshin #shinsaint #sky wongravee #nani hirunkit #skynani

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anonymousewrites · 3 months ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Three

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift

Summary: Saiki is forced to go to a New Year's party and Valentine's Day arrives, but at least he has (Y/N). (Honestly just a sappy chapter).

How did I get roped into this? thought Saiki. Kaidou called my mom, so I had no choice but to go. My brother is home, so I don’t really want to be there, anyway, but being forced out is annoying. I’ll leave once everyone falls asleep. Saiki rang Kaidou’s doorbell. At least (Y/N) will be here.

“Hey, Saiki,” yawned Kaidou as he opened the door.

“You look tired.”

“Come in. Nendou and (L/N) are already here,” said Kaidou, yawning again as he let Saiki in. “Sorry I’m yawning so much. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I see,” said Saiki, following Kaidou.

“Yesterday, I went to a secret meeting, the ‘Dark Committee.’ It’s held at the end of the year among the sixteen chosen ones,” said Kaidou. “It’s members are—”

“You’re putting me to sleep.”

The truth is, I was so excited about today I couldn’t sleep, thought Kaidou.

What a child.

“But don’t worry. I’ll stay up until midnight for the New Year’s celebration,” said Kaidou, opening the door to his room. “Come in. Nendou, (L/N), Saiki is here.”

“You’re late, pal,” said Nendou. He also looked tired. He yawned.

“Don’t sleep in my bed!” said Kaidou.

“Sorry, I was up late playing games,” said Nendou. “Don’t worry, I can stay up New Year’s Eve.”

You, too?

“Hey, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling and waving. “Welcome to the party.” They laughed at the tired faces of Kaidou and Nendou.

“At least someone isn’t tired,” said Saiki.

The doorbell rang, and Kaidou went out to grab the next person. It was Kuboyasu, who was, like the other boys, very tired.

“Sorry, I stayed up late. Since I was coming here, I had to take care of some things beforehand,” explained Kuboyasu, yawning and sitting down.

“Take care of what?” exclaimed Kaidou.

“New Year Biker Gang Brawl,” said Kuboyasu.

“It’s not the new year yet,” said Saiki, deadpanning.

“Can you schedule that type of thing?” said (Y/N) curiously.

“Don’t worry, I can stay up for New Year’s,” said Kuboyasu, though the circles under his eyes didn’t inspire much faith.

“All that’s left is Hairo,” said Kaidou. “Pretty unusual for him to be late.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang, and a tired Hairo was let in.

“Sorry, I suddenly passed out,” said Hairo, bowing apologetically. He yawned.

“You stayed up late, too?” said Kaidou.

“No, I slept for eight hours,” said Hairo.

“Then don’t complain! I haven’t slept at all!” said Kuboyasu.

“Sorry,” said Hairo. “All I did was run fifty kilometers, practice swings three thousand times, and do five hundred push-ups and sit-ups each. I’m so out of shape!”

“Go home and rest.”

“Just considering that makes me tired,” said (Y/N).

“But I will make it to midnight!” said Hairo.

“Come on you guys, it’s New Year’s Eve!” said Kaidou. “And we still have five hours left.”

“Don’t worry, this is important to us,” said Kuboyasu.

“Yes,” said Nendou.

“A piece of cake,” said Hairo.

“We’ll keep each other awake,” said Kuboyasu.

“Someone should keep Kaidou awake,” said (Y/N), watching his eyes slide closed even as he stood straight up.

“Shun?” said Kuboyasu.

Kaidou blinked and jerked awake.

“You too?!” exclaimed the other boys.

(Y/N) sat down next to Saiki, who sighed as he realized some ridiculous things were coming—hijinks always ensued with this group.

“I fell asleep?” said Kaidou groggily.

“If we mess up, we’ll all pass out,” said Kuboyasu grimly.

“I might be able to leave pretty early,” said Saiki. He looked at (Y/N). “Do you want celebrate the two of us?”

“Sure,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“Saiki and (L/N) seem pretty awake,” said Kuboyasu.

“No, I’m sleepy, too,” lied Saiki. He glanced at (Y/N). They shrugged.

“That’s almost all of us!” said Kuboyasu.

“If we mess up, we’ll all fall asleep and miss New Year’s,” said Kaidou.

“Yeah, but we’ll have had fun together, and I think that’s what matters,” said (Y/N), unconcerned.

“I think I’d just sleep through an alarm,” said Kuboyasu.

“My parents are away on a trip to Hawaii, so they can’t help,” said Kaidou.

“Three more hours,” said Hairo.

“We can play cards to pass the time!” said Nendou, holding up a deck. “Let’s play old maid.” He handed out the cards. However, as soon as he began his turn and reached for a card, his eyes began to close, and he nearly dropped off.

“Wake up! Not you too!” said Hairo. His head dropped next, even as Nendou opened his eyes.

“I’m just resting my eyes,” he lied. “I’m up.”

“Snoring while you’re awake is interesting,” chuckled (Y/N), leaning against the bed with Saiki.

“I’m up!” said Hairo, head jerking up.

“I’m going to splash my face with water! That’ll keep me up!” said Kuboyasu. A couple steps to the sink and he was nearly collapsing, though, the effort too much.

“Wake up!” shouted everyone.

This isn’t going well.

“Two more hours,” groaned Kaidou as everyone struggled to keep their eyes open. “It’s almost the New Year.” He glanced at his friends and blinked tiredly. “Wake up, Nendou.”

“Huh?” said Nendou, trying to open his eyes.

“This coffee woke me up.” His words were confident, but Kuboyasu was staring at nothing with empty eyes. His coffee drippled down his shirt

“I’ve overcome the worst now,” said Hairo, blinking furiously. “Hey, Kuboyasu!”

“I passed out again,” groaned Kuboyasu.

“I’m kind of impressed by how easily they fall asleep,” giggled (Y/N).

“It’s entertaining at least,” agreed Saiki.

“Time for some exercise! This will wake me out!” Hairo did push-ups, going up and down at breakneck speed.

“That’s why you were tired to begin with,” pointed out Saiki, but he wasn’t going to stop him.

“Look, it’s 10:30. Hairo’s bedtime,” said Kuboyasu, noticing the clock.

“It’s definitely bedtime for him,” said (Y/N), watching the pushups stop abruptly as Hairo collapsed and began snoring.

“Hairo, wake up!” said Kaidou, alarmed.

“He isn’t waking up! Hairo!” shouted Kuboyasu.

Nendou grabbed a bucket of water while Kaido and Kuboyasu shook Hairo, but nothing was waking him. Even being soaked in cold water didn’t change a thing.

“I’m a little jealous of how well he’s sleeping,” said (Y/N).

“We can’t wake him up at all,” said Kaidou incredulously.

“You can’t break a habit, I guess,” said Kuboyasu.

“Hairo is done for,” said Kaidou grimly. “At this rate, we’ll end up like that. I have an idea. One hours until midnight. What if we take turns sleeping? We’ll have fifteen minutes each.”

“I guess with four people we don’t all need to stay awake,” said Kuboyasu.

“Okay, let’s nap!” said Nendou.

“Wake me up when it’s time,” said Kaidou, climbing into his bed.

“Hold on!” said Nendou. “Why do you get to go first?”

“Then we’ll decide by rock-paper-scissors! The winner goes first!” said Kaidou.

“One, two, three…”

Saiki—who played because he was being “tired”��won, of course. He lay down in the bed, and the others trudged dejectedly away.

“Are you really going to nap?” asked (Y/N) curiously.

“No.” Saiki sat back up pretty much immediately. “Check the other room.”

(Y/N) peeked in and laughed. “They’re all asleep on their feet. They really need it.”

“Let’s go and enjoy New Year’s,” said Saiki, putting on his coat.

“I feel a bit bad that they’ll miss New Year’s, but we got to hang out, so I think it’s alright to leave them. Right?” said (Y/N).

“Yes.” Saiki wanted to hang out alone with (Y/N) anyways. He took their hand and teleported them out. They ended up in a park that he knew would be empty.

(Y/N) checked their watch. “It’s almost midnight. I wonder if there will be fireworks.”

“Probably,” said Saiki.

“Are you sure you don’t want to head back to your house? What about your parents?” said (Y/N).

“What about yours?” said Saiki.

“What do you think my answer will be?” said (Y/N) sheepishly.

Saiki sighed. There was a reason his parents were bringing (Y/N) into their family (besides being his partner). “Kusuke is back for the day.”

“Ah, that explains avoiding your family,” said (Y/N), chuckling. They watched the clock at the edge of the park click towards midnight. “But we’re with each other, so it’s not too bad.”

“Not too bad?” repeated Saiki.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be good soon.”

“How?”

The clock rang midnight, and fireworks exploded above in the air.

“Like this.” (Y/N) smiled, held Saiki’s collar, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Saiki could have sworn the fireworks were going off in his heart as he closed his eyes and kissed back.

Okay. This is a good New Year’s.

The clock continued to ring. It grew louder and shriller, and he furrowed his brow.

Saiki sat up in confusion, his blankets falling off of him. He was still in his own room, and as he looked around himself, trying to establish his whereabouts, he noticed his alarm going off. It was still New Year’s.

Was that a dream? he thought, confused. Phew. I’m not stuck at Kaidou’s for New Year’s Eve—

He paused as a headache began.

Oh, no. That wasn’t a…premonition. Was it?

“Kuu!” called his mom from down the hall. “You have a call from Kaidou.”

Saiki groaned, then he paused. He lifted his hand to his lips and smiled slightly. “Tell him I’m coming.”

He wasn’t going to give up the chance for such a moment with (Y/N). He loved them, after all.

“You were pretty eager to leave school today,” said (Y/N). They chuckled. “Does Café Mami have a sale going on or something?”

“No, I have something to show you,” said Saiki, leading them towards his house.

(Y/N) tilted their head curiously but smiled. “Alright!”

They arrived at his house, and he led them inside and up to his room. He opened his desk drawer, cleared his throat, and turned back around. He held a small package wrapped in pink paper and a white bow.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” said Saiki.

(Y/N)’s face lit up. They had given Saiki chocolate earlier, but they hadn’t expected anything. Saiki showed affection in other ways, not gifts typically, so this was a pleasant surprise.

“Kusuo, thank you so much!” (Y/N) threw their arms around his neck, and he caught them while levitating the gift.

“You haven’t even seen what it is,” said Saiki, confused.

“I know, but it’s from you, so I’ll like,” said (Y/N), letting go with a grin.

Saiki stared as (Y/N) said the best words he could possibly hear while they just turned away and opened the gift. They took the top off the box and smiled.

“Oh my god!” They pulled out a stuffed animal. It was a little white cat with green glasses and a familiar collar with pink barrettes on it. It was Saiki as a cat. “So cute!”

Saiki smiled slightly as (Y/N) hugged the cat stuffed animal. He had transformed into his cat from once in front of them, and he had never gotten so many cuddles from them. Obviously, they liked cats, so, Saiki had decided to surprise them.

“Thank you, Kusuo,” said (Y/N), smiling again.

“Anything for you.” Saiki watched (Y/N) with a soft smile. Wow, he really did love them.

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holdmecloser-gandydancer · 1 month ago

Text

birthday blues

read here or on ao3

“—And I’m telling you that Lord Artemis Sterling is not only a personal family friend, but I am one of the literal saviors of the universe. Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah from the song. No, that’s my sister. “ Taako pulls the stone away from his face and groans. He rolls his eyes at Lup. “I’m being incredibly brave right now,” he says, covering the stone with his hand.

Lup closes the book she was attempting to read and tosses it aside on the couch. She strides over to the stool Taako has taken to slumping on whilst trying this verbal sparring match and pats him on the shoulder as a glowing support of solidarity. Spying a patch of red hair on the back deck, she steps out of the almost too cold house and into the midsummer heat.

She finds Davenport in the midst of what appears to be a game of solitaire.

“Mind if I hide out here with you?” she asks. Technically more of a formality, she supposes, given that she lives here. But Davenport’s been withdrawn into himself lately. Feels impolite to just drop in on him.

His back is to the door, though he nods at an empty deck chair. “You don't need to ask permission to sit on your deck, you know.” His eyes stay on the cards, seeing some kind of pattern in the haphazard array.

She shrugs, dropping into the seat across from him. The two sit in silence for a bit, the only noise coming from Davenport’s shuffling around of card piles.

“What's he even doing? He's been at it all morning. I could only take so much of hearing his end of the conversation over my coffee before I came out here.” Davenport condenses a few piles down into even fewer piles.

Lup pulls her knees to her chest, picking at the small hole in the knee of her pants. “He's planning this massive birthday party for us. Says that since this is our first together in a decade, it should be some kind of rager.”

Davenport exhales a laugh. “I remember when you and Taako insisted on celebrating your entire birth month during more than a few cycles.”

“And you just went along with it!”

He picks his eyes up from the cards and smiles, “I'm highly motivated by cake, you know this! Shit, I still think about that delicious lemon and blueberry cake that Lu—” He stops himself, almost like he's been electrocuted.

“‘The two of you shouldn't have to make your own birthday cake,’” Lup says, a near exact mimic of Lucretia’s tone. It really was a scrumptious cake, too. Ugly as sin, but only Taako had the heart to tell her so. Everyone else just wanted to spare her feelings.

“Do you hate her?” Lup isn’t sure where this bluntness came from. Now isn’t the time. It’s never the time.

“Do you?” Davenport’s head snaps up abruptly.

“No,” She says immediately. After a few seconds, she amends her statement. “Yes. It’s…it’s not that easy. I asked you first.”

He brings the cards back together to form a single deck and begins shuffling with the same automatic ease and speed that amazed Lup a hundred years ago. “I have so much anger inside of me, Lup. So much that it scares me. And this isn’t new, to be clear. Before I was in the IPRE, I got into my fair share of tavern brawls. I fought over stupid shit just to maybe get that anger out of me. It didn’t work.” He shakes his head as he makes a bridge with the cards. “It worked for a little bit. When we first started training for the mission, I felt so much joy, so much pride in our team that I thought it was going to split me open. And then we got the shit kicked out of us over and over again. I knew it was making me angry, but being struck down for wrath really put it in perspective for me. But knowing that we finally won and finally got to rest did a lot of good for me.” He begins dealing out another game. “And then she took it away. She took away everything that we worked for because she was a child who didn’t know how to deal with being told no. So I think maybe we’ve earned hating her.” He bites at the inside of his cheek and looks into the middle distance.

Lup knows this expression well. After everything, talking too much became a bit more of a struggle for Davenport. He carries it well, all things considered. But she’s sure that’s just another tally against Lucretia. And it should be.

“I spent a lot of time being angry in the staff. Most of my time in there, actually. Mostly at myself. And at the Hunger. And at all of you for not finding me. And at Lucretia, when I realized why none of you found me.” Errant pant threads get ripped off and dropped on the table. “I had thought that I’d done a lot of working through this shit in there. But then I got out and I really wanted to just fireball us all to the Nine Hells and back. Burn it all down so these poor bastards could start over without us. That wouldn’t have done shit though. So I got a job and I have this house with my brother and my husband and Kravitz and an obscene number of cats and I do my best to keep the peace between everyone because it can’t just be Magnus or Merle doing it but someone has to do it because we didn’t go through the meat grinder for 100 years for us to all hate her until she dies.” Lup runs her hands through her hair, tugging close to her scalp. “We fucking won and we’re just throwing away everything we fought for.”

“I don’t see the point in lying. She knows how I feel. How most of us feel.”

“I’m not suggesting that you lie, Cap. I’m suggesting that you just consider finding a way that you can stand to be around her for a few hours. You don’t need to play pattycake and paint each other’s nails, but if you could not shoot daggers at her so she has reason to look like a kicked dog, I think it’d do us all some good.”

“Right, gotta make sure everyone’s on their best behavior for this big birthday bash,” Davenport says flippantly.

Lup smacks the table with an open palm, causing some of “I couldn’t care less about this stupid fucking party I want no part of!” A few birds in the backyard fly away on the wind of her outburst. “Everyone keeps talking about how this is so beautiful, mine and Taako’s first birthday together in ten years and I just don’t care. I don’t want everyone staring at me. People who heard the story so they think they know me. Telling me how inspiring they find me. Who fucking cares? I don’t want to be an inspiration, I just want peace and quiet. I want to sleep in and eat dessert for breakfast and breakfast for dinner and not leave the house.” She shakes her head and looks into the yard. “Besides, you really think Taako’s letting Creesh in the house? That’s blasphemy inside those four walls.”

Davenport is quiet for a while. For a moment, Lup’s sure he’s just up and vanished into the mist or whatever it is men of a certain age do. But there he sits, steadfast and contemplative. It strikes Lup in that moment how much grey has crept into his hair; the unassailable captain looks so tangible, so fragile to Lup for the first time.

Through the glass door, Lup spies Taako watching the pair of them curiously; must have been a little louder than she thought. She puts a finger up to her lips and then nods at one of the empty chairs. Taako quietly pulls the door open and pads onto the deck. Davenport barely glances behind him before nodding.

“My family never made a huge deal out of birthdays. The money usually wasn’t there. And I kept that attitude. Just another day and all that. And then when we were on the mission, the years blended into each other. I liked that. Didn’t have to dodge’s Magnus’s terrible attempts at subtly to see if I wanted new slippers. Didn’t have to admonish Barry’s incredibly unsafe fireworks because he thought that spells just weren’t the same because you couldn’t smell the chemicals hanging in the air after. Didn’t have to excuse myself to cry at cards and watercolor paintings of places I’d never get to see again. Just another day. And then I had the single worst birthday of my life, worse than when Faust Ironwood dumped me during my seventeenth birthday party. That’s a very big unseating, I’ll have you know,” He says blithely. He doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t need to. Everyone alive knows all about Davenport’s worst birthday, lucky guy. “When it was just her and me, even before she got the Bureau off the ground, she tried to make it some kind of positive day. Even through all of that,” he waves his hand around abstractly, “I couldn’t stand it. I think I poured orange juice in her shoes over it.”

“Waste of good orange juice, especially that late in the season,” Lup says, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

“Should’ve sprung for sand. That shit stays in shoes until the heat death of the universe, I’m pretty sure.” Taako says, folding into an empty chair. He looks over at Davenport. “Is that why you were in the middle of the ocean on your birthday this year?”

He shrugs. “Nobody can ambush me with a cake if I’m alone on a boat. ”

“You underestimate us,” Lup says ominously.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m with you, Lup, I can’t face all these people expecting this perfect happiness from me. I can’t celebrate with anyone from the Bureau. They knew me as a mascot and as a butler and try as they might, they don’t know what to do with me. Anytime they try to be deferential, it skeeves me out. They don’t know me. They can’t. I really don’t want them to, for that matter. I don’t want to get close to anyone. I don’t need more friends. I can barely keep up with the ones I have. Last thing I need is people trying to figure out what I want. I’d get stuck with ties and you both know how much I fucking hate wearing ties.”

“I get it. I haven’t done shit for our birthday in—” Taako squints in thought for a moment. “‘Bout a decade.”

“You what?” Lup demands.

Taako raises his eyebrows. “Lup, I never even told anyone my birthday. Not my real one, anyway. I just used the idea of a birthday to get free shit sometimes. Angus fucking sleuthed out my birthday once and I hated it,” he says, not entirely truthfully. He shakes his head. “It just. My birthday, at least how I remembered it, always felt like torture. Then I realized I didn’t have to do it. So I just stopped.”

“Then why are we renting out the entire Sword Coast for our birthday this year?” Lup’s exasperated. Once a fucking gain, she’s the victim of miscommunication and it pisses her off.

Taako searches her face for…something. He’s looking at her and it’s the same look he gave their grandpa when he told them the real story about the tooth faerie and about how the tooth fae ate through enamel of people lost in the Feywild while they slept. The look almost says “take it back, you can take this knife you buried in my chest back and I won’t even be mad at you I promise.”

“Lup, I thought you wanted this. I mean, it’s been so long. You’re…you’re back. This is a triumph and we didn’t get to celebrate because we were worried about not letting the embodiment of apathy vore the plane.”

She sighs. “I don’t need the whole world to throw me a parade. I have everyone I love back and all I want to do is make up for lost time.”

Taako smiles, a little sheepish. “Guess I should call and apologize to Lord Artemis Sterling’s secretary.”

Lup nods. “Might be a good use of your time.”

Davenport bites at the skin around his thumbnail, an old habit reborn like some kind of gross zombie. Everyone has their vices and, he supposes, he could have worse ones. “How about dinner? Merle’s been begging to have everyone over, especially because Chesney’s is about to open. Maybe we can do a potluck?”

“Who’d be there?” Lup asks cautiously. Taako glances between the two of them.

“Everyone? Not everyone everyone, but the crew? Kravitz. Anyone else you both really want. It’ll be nice to have a family dinner. Almost like old times.” Davenport suggests. It feels like he ate fiberglass insulation, but the light that rushes back into Lup’s eyes is almost enough to make up for it.

“Everyone.” Taako agrees, surprising himself. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a good lemon blueberry cake.”

Lup grins. “Me too.”

#taz balance #reese writes #lup #taako #davenport #long post #you will simply always find me thinking about these three #IM SO OUT OF HABIT WRITING GOOD LORD #if there's a typo that's egregious lmk but also. it's 1am as im setting this to queue so

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juuuulez · 1 year ago

Text

📰 | part ten: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, gun violence, father figure! Negan, soooomeeee ooonneee has a crush, teenagers in love.

summary: You tussle with your emotions regarding Carl, whilst Grimes and co pay a surprise visit to the Sanctuary.

omg i’m on fire!!!!! cliffhanger ending……but also next chapter will be similarly juicy so don’t fret! also half-written a carl x reader oneshot/drabble i’ll post soon between chapters :P

i’m so glad you all love my saviour reader story because i am her she is me…….this series is my CHILD i will defend it with my life!

-> masterlist <-

You hadn’t been to Alexandria in, frankly, what felt like years.

It was actually just weeks.

With an alliance between Hilltop, the Kingdom, and Alexandria, things for the Saviours were trickier than ever. Most of the time Negan spent in his office, trying to decode the best play. You helped, of course, and were practically running yourself ragged trying to keep things together at the Sanctuary.

It felt like everyone knew what was happening. Or they expected it, were waiting for it. It irritated you to no end, that others would blatantly show their disbelief in your cause, in Negan’s cause.

And then there was Carl.

You missed him, which was weird. He had become a constant in your life, the arguing and fighting, the pushing and shoving. But now your relationship had crested into something else… and you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you quite enjoyed kissing Carl.

Not that you’d admit that. To him, to anyone. Nobody needed that amount of power over you.

“You can go to bed, doll.”

You looked up from your lap, where a book of supply schedules was scribbled down. You were seated on that long leather couch in Negan’s office, whilst he worked on god knows what. Hopefully a viable strategy.

“No, I’m fine.” You tell him, politely. Too politely.

Truth is, you were hanging on by a thread. But with no supplies from Alexandria, nor Hilltop, the situation at the Sanctuary was becoming dire. You were trying to figure out how to jig things around so that everyone could be satisfied, or maybe even rethinking the points system, making the imaginary economy more competitive.

“I’m serious,” Negan insists, “You don’t gotta be doin’ this shit. It’s below you.”

You roll your eyes, “Who’s gonna do it, then? Simon’s corpse?”

The sarcastic comment earns you a glare in return, which does make you feel a little bad. You’d watched the brawl firsthand, and had almost tried to help Negan, if not for Dwight holding you back. Either way, it didn’t matter, for Simon was eventually strangled to death.

Brutal, but fitting.

Maybe you were trying to fill that void. The line between right-hand man and teenage daughter was thinning.

Negan rose from his seat, coming over to stand in front of you. He didn’t even need to lean down, swiftly plucking the tattered notebook from your lap, to which you groaned and leaned back on the couch.

He inspected it, reading over the numbers and scrawled figures. “You’re doing this wrong.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should start making your wives do the bookkeeping.” You grumbled, laying down on the couch in defeat.

Negan tossed the notebook onto the coffee table, sitting on the couch opposite you. “Doubt they can count past ten.”

It was a terrible thing to say, but got a smile out of you. It was difficult to be in a good mood on so little sleep, so the tiniest hint of happiness was well appreciated.

“When will we go to Alexandria again?”

You tried not to sound too interested in the question, but couldn’t help yourself, and needed to ask. Not for Carl, just for supplies. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Soon. Give it another week,” Negan confirmed, though his eyes said he knew something more. “Awfully interested in that shithole, aren’t you?”

This caused you to roll over, onto your side, so you could glare over at the older man. “We need that shithole to survive.”

There was a playful glint on Negan’s face, the words earning a small laugh from him. “Maybe you do. Bet you’re just itchin’ for your little cyclops.”

The joke causes you to bristle, irritation rising as you hoist yourself from the couch, making a play for the door. On such little sleep, you weren’t in the mood to entertain being teased.

But Negan stopped you, that grin still on his face. “Hey, c’mon, doll. You know I’m just tryin’ to rile you up.” He admits, coming to a stand.

The glare remains, but at least you stop your escape, instead just standing near the door with your arms crossed. You’d likely give some defensive retort, but Negan is already speaking again.

“Everyone has their first crush at some point. I’m just surprised it took you this long.”

“I don’t have a crush,” You practically snarl. “I’m not twelve years old.”

“Okay, sorry. Not a crush,” Negan approaches slowly, like you’ll run off again, though is pleased when you stand still. “Sounds like it’s past your bedtime.”

Your nose scrunches up, eyes narrowed in offence as he continues to treat you like a child. But you know he’s just making a point to tease you, judging by that stupid grin on his face, so you try not to react.

His hands bracket your arms, giving you a little spin so that you’re facing the door. But now you sigh, turning back around, unable to just drop this conversation all together.

“You don’t care?” You ask. “Like, if I did have a crush, you don’t even mind? Not that I do, I’m just… wondering.”

Negan smiles, finding your half-confession quite adorable. “That’s what kids do, darlin’. Besides, the boy’s got his head on straight. Certainly got more balls than his father.”

You look down at the floor, a little pensive. “I don’t have a crush on Carl.” You reiterate, standing your ground, trying to sound firm in order to convince the both of you.

He seems to get the hint, understanding that maybe you don’t even know what’s going on. “I know, doll. Don’t stress it too much.” Negan drops the subject, letting his arm encase your back for a small squeeze before letting you go. “Go get some rest.”

You muster up a little smile, finally accepting the offer and scampering back off to bed. After all, you were exhausted, despite that inherent need to make yourself useful. Supply counts could wait.

It was a comforting space, your bedroom, one you retreated to whenever things got overwhelming. It was filled with photos and trinkets, candy stashed away in the drawers, all the things you didn’t have when growing up. It was your space.

That night, you fell asleep weighing the severity of simply going to Alexandria yourself. You passed out a few minutes into debating what transportation to take.

Fortunately, or, probably unfortunately, that wasn’t necessary.

For Alexandria had come to you.

Gunfire was a familiar sound to wake up to. Usually, it was a low-level squabble, or maybe one of the Saviours proving a point. Either way, it never lasted long.

But this time, there was shouting, and more bullets. It was enough to jolt you awake, pushing past that bleary state of consciousness and waiting, still, for it to continue.

It did.

You climbed out of bed with urgency, moving on autopilot as you threw on some jeans, not bothering to change from your sleep tank before bolting for the door.

Just as your fingertips brushed the bat, you realised it wouldn’t do. That gun was still locked away in the bottom drawer, so you reached for it, shoving a handful of bullets into your pocket before leaving.

Now, you’ve never been a very good shot. That’s why you preferred using the bat, or at the very least, hand-to-hand combat. You had terrible aim. But maybe now was the best time to fix that issue.

So, you made your way through the Sanctuary, swiftly stepping through hallways, gun at the ready. You were outside in minutes, the shouting becoming much clearer now, a voice you could recognise:

Rick Grimes.

“Fuck this..” You grumbled, growing irritated with this relentless back and forth. And now, they were in your home.

Another shot blew out the glass from above you, forcing you further against the wall, as the shards piled on the concrete. Some littered your skin, your shoulders bare, due to still wearing a tank intended for sleeping. You didn’t even have a bra on.

But there were worse problems, you supposed.

The gun felt heavy in your hands, fingers twitching around the trigger. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to use it, though that seemed like wishful thinking. You wondered where Negan was, yet believed he could handle himself. You and this gun were the main concern, a gun you had no idea how to use effectively.

You hid behind anything available, crouched down, trying to survey the surroundings. From here, you could see the scattered factions of makeshift soldiers, though Rick was now missing. You presumed he had a similar thought process to you: Negan.

That was fine, for now.

Clutching the gun tightly, you shifted into view, holding it outwards and discharging a shot into the distance. It echoed in the nearby vicinity, though there was too much gunfire to distinguish where it had came from, luckily. It didn’t seem to hit anyone.

What a waste.

“Hey!”

It was a whisper-shout, one clearly intended to gain your attention. You spun your head around, searching for the voice, amongst all the yelling and fighting taking place within your home. It took an embarrassing amount of time until you saw him.

Carl.

Thank fucking god.

He’d been watching you, on alert for your figure the second they arrived. He clocked your creeping approach into the battle field, ducking behind anything possible. It was almost amusing, the stark contrast in how you usually chose to fight, but made sense after you fired that hopeless shot.

You had no idea what was going on, assuming that Negan and Rick were off fighting, whilst a few Saviours tried to keep the rival gang at bay. Or gangs, plural. You guessed that speaking to Carl would be your best chance at getting a grip on the situation. That, and you weren’t in the mood for a defensive Saviour to shoot him.

So, you tried to get closer, looking left and right to make sure the coast was clear before ducking behind rubble or vehicles, anything to provide cover. Carl was used to fighting, sure, but felt slightly anxious for a reason he couldn’t pin. It was just a bad feeling, like something was not right.

This time, Carl called out your name, causing you to look up and at attention. He held out his hand, despite being meters away, a signal to come closer under the cover he’d found.

You clutch the gun tightly, safety off, poised at your side. But it’s difficult to see everyone, from this position, forcing you to inch out from behind the truck in order to get a visual.

Still holding out his hand, Carl waits, watching as you peek your head out.

Pop!

A shot fires, crackling in the distance, though it takes you down with a solid thud.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #negan smith x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #twd x you #carl grimes x you #the walking dead #negan smith

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shruiee · 2 years ago

Note

On dancer reader, can we have some motherly moment between reader, Baela and Rhaena, with a little Daemon participation, please? (would love to read something about their relationship)

yes!! I love this idea, this is a little blurby. Also Daemon being a total girl dad!!

Masterlist | part one | part 2

There wasn’t a scarcity of children in the Old Palace, all your half sinblings, step siblings and even cousins filled every extravagant room the palace had to offer. Luckily, Daemon and your quarters were rather secluded, spacious marble floored rooms over looking The Sunset Sea, the orange hue of the dusk painted your chambers every evening.

This particular evening, Daemon had taken Baela dragon riding. Moondancer had finally grown large enough to be saddled, a shiny purple leather saddle with a gold moon pendant was worn by the young creature. The curtesy of his niece Rhaenyra, she gifted Daemon and by extension you, a clutch of eggs, four magnificently coloured orbs for the babe within you and the many more to come.

You had lounged out at the Mirrored Palace with your family, some painting away with the newest oil colours from Bravos, the others brawled with each other as you embroidered away a red tunic with gold threads. You hadn’t noticed until the hour of crow that Rhaena wasn’t amongst you. You excused yourself, trailing away at the gardens to find the little white haired beauty, instead you found her handmaidens who told you she was in her chambers.

“Rhaena?” You called out, her small frame sat by the lit hearth that held her egg for over a year now, and many more years elsewhere. You huffed, holding onto the chaise rests to lower yourself onto it. “What’s wrong darling?” You pet her head.

“I- I wonder if the egg for my sister would hatch,” she sulked, you knew this to be a sensitive subject for her, she placed her egg down and looked up at you apologetically for her abruptness. Both girls had firmly decided that the child within you would be a girl and then proceeded to pick an egg from the four Rhaenyra had sent.

“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” you smiled at her, patting the space next to you for her to sit as she cradled her egg. “I do not know much of dragons, I don’t understand it like you do, your father does.” You hugged your arms around her.

“What I do know is, the dragons do not make you who you are,” you stated, a truth you understood about your husband. Caraxes a mere extension of who he was and the fire within him.

“Father seems to think otherwise, everyone in our bloodline has one,” Rhaena pouted as she rest her head against your shoulder “even mother did.”

“That isn’t true, Rhaena,” you cooed “your father wants nothing more than to help you claim one some day, should you ask him he will tell you all the same.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” she questioned, her purple eyes filled with moisture, her bottom lip jutted out and darkened cheeks heated.

“kesrio syt iksā tolī byka,” Daemon’s voice rumbled from behind you, he stood leaning against the posts of the veranda, still in his riding clothes as he approached Rhaena. You are too little.

Rhaena appeared sheepish as she made space for Daemon before plopping herself onto his lap. “I’d rather you be little, chubby and alive rather than a dragon rider. I wasn’t one until I was nearly six summers older than you.” He tickled her tummy making her giggle before resting her head against his shoulder.

“I miss mother,” she reminisced making Daemon turn to you uneasily.

“Well,” you spoke up, pointing at the window where the skies had already darkened “when I miss mine own, I look at the stars.”

“The stars?” Rhaena looked confused.

“Look at them, think of Laena and pick a star that might appear to be her,” you smiled at her “that way, every night your mother can visit you.”

Rhaena looked for a moment, you could see her eyes darting all over before she picked one, her eyes softened “that one,” she whispered pointing at the star.

You later in the week had been met with crucial urgency as your handmaiden huffed, running to you about your husband. Daemon nearly loosing his mind at an ungodly hour in the morrow as he went to rouse Baela. She wanted to see the sun rise from high above the skies, he would have taken Rhaena along with him. He stroked Baela’s pretty hair to rouse her from the pouted dream she had been dreaming, Baela groaned and grumbled, burying herself further under the sheets “papa, no.” She whined as Daemon pulled her.

Instead of chuckling at Baela’s adorable protests, his gut filled with horror as his daughter’s bed was stained with blood. No, no- not his sweetling. He shook Baela harder this time to wake her, looking over her face and arms to find any sign of injury before yelling at the guards to fetch his you and the Maesters.

“Are you hurt? Baela, you must tell me what happened,” he urged her, Baela appeared confused until she saw the blood standing her night gown until she too mirrored her father’s terror.

“Papa, am I going to die?” Baela cried, her bottom lip wobbling. Daemon tried to remain calm as he shook his head, nothing would happen to his daughter. His urgency wasn’t met with enough speedy response, he grew impatient for the Maesters to arrive. “Everything will be fine,” he rocked Baela in his arms.

You burst through Baela’s bed chambers, huffing and cradling your bump as your took in the scene infront of you. The stained bed, the terror on Daemon and Baela’s face, the staining on the lower half of Baela’s nightgown. You shoulders slumped in relief as you slapped a hand over your thudding chest to calm your breathing.

“Daemon she is fine,” you calmly stated.

He began to look at you like madness had filled your head as he gestured to all the blood, how were you not loosing your mind. Merely weeks ago you pulled the entirety of the Old Palace upon your head when Baela cut her elbow from a fall. He shook his head, clutching Baela harder.

“Daemon, she’s flowering.” You sighed, trying to pull Baela away from his tight hold, she looked confused between the two of you.

Daemon frowned “she’s too young,” he shook his head once more, once again refusing to let his daughter go.

“I flowered at eight, she in nine.” you stressed, once again trying to pull Baela away as the Maesters finally came to the her chambers.

The two appeared worried until you spoke without looking at them, asking them to leave a essence of milk of the poppy behind. Baela’s handmaidens we’re ordered to draw a bath for the young girl. “Go on darling,” you nodded at her to clean up as they stripped her sheets.

Daemon still sat on the footrest, looking a little calmer than before as you came to stand in front of him. He groaned, resting his head against your belly before pressing two kisses to it over your robe. “She is fine, Daemon.” You reassured once more by squeezing his shoulder.

“I was so sure-“ he shook his head. “She’s flowering?” Daemon looked up at you, your fingers pushed back his hair as you nodded looking down at him.

“She’s growing,” you stated making Daemon grunt once more, finding the thought of his little girls growing so quickly displeasing.

“See after her? Please,” he requested, you nodded before moving behind the divider when Baela sat submerged in her tube, only her head popped out of the milky water.

“I am not dying?” she asked, still confused. You shook your head.

“It’s your moon blood, it shall happen for every turn of the moon,” you said making her grimace.

“Every moon!” She exclaimed making you giggle.

“Unfortunately so darling,” you smiled at her sympathetically.

The handmaidens brought chamomile tea from the kitchens for you to lace with a drop of milk of the poppy. Enough to make the rumbling pain in her belly heel, her handmaidens wrapped her in thick cloth before helping her back in bed.

“This tea is going to heal her?” Daemon paced by the foot of the bed.

“Don’t be daft Daemon,” you glared at him chicken mothering down your neck. He knows well enough that one cannot just heal away moon blood. “It’s for the pain.”

Rhaena had long awoken and found herself situated next to her twin sister, she appeared a little nervous about the blood but curious. She hugged her sister a little too tight making Baela swat her back before succumbing to her hold. The two of you left the girls to rest as you pulled Daemon out of their rooms.

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you thought over the brave Rogue Prince loosing his bearings over moon blood. He glared out you, making you laugh even harder, choking out apologies as you clutched your bump trying to stop. He groaned all the way through, dragging you back your shared bed chamber as your fit of giggles just wouldn’t stop.

“You can either stop giggling like a child, or I can make you,” he warned, his own lips faltering as they curled upwards with your giggles.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon fic #daemon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fluff #girl dad daemon #hotd baela #baela targaryen x reader #rhaena targaryen #rhaena targaryen x reader

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alexa-yukiyu · 1 year ago

Text

The Little Stowaway Wanderer Chapter 1 (Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

A/N This series is a reformatted series of my original child OC series, which I also posted; as this had to be reformatted to fit the reader outline a lot of things had to be removed and changed to better fit the mold, making it much shorter than the original one, but I wanted to post it since you guys seemed to really want that format and I want to make sure everyone feels included <3

Dividers by @/saradika

The young child has somehow found themselves aboard a ship, looking around the storage place, with only boxes to see and only the waves of the ocean hitting the ship to be heard. The tranquility of the place gave them an inch of reassurance, however.

That thought and reassurance were swiftly shut down as chaos arrived in the form of two brawling men knocking into the stack of boxes right behind them, a squeal escaping them at their sudden entrance and collision, jumping away just as the boxes crashed down.

The two men instantly stop their antics as the childish scream echoes in the ship’s storage room.

“What was that?” questions Thatch

“It sounded like a kid?” Ace said, looking around and spotting a small child rapidly getting up from the ground; he stared at them for a few seconds before grinning.

“Oyaji is gonna be ecstatic; we’ve got ourselves a small stowaway!”

The child is quick to run away from the two Commanders, too spooked by the clash to stop at the call of the two pirates.

You see a large hand wrap around the bottom of the storage box you were hiding in and being slowly lifted.

Thatch lifts the box above his head so the kid is at face level.

When they make eye contact with Thatch, they see a bright, friendly, goofy smile.

“Heeey! Whatcha doing down there?” He says with glee, a big grin across his face, the corner of his eyes crinkling, and he raises his eyebrows, seeming to be having a good time

The child screeches, startling Thatch and causing him to lose hold of the box, dropping It to the ground; a whine escapes the child as she falls along with the box.

They back away until their back hits a wall, completely trapped. Nowhere left to go, they wait in fear, mind racing.

“Hey, Hey, we don’t mean no harm! We just had a bad beginning; we didn’t mean to crash into you like that. I’m sorry we must have frightened you, right?”

He takes one long, slow step to stand over them. He is much taller than most people and looks down at her as he squats down to their level.

They look up at him, taking in his words and nodding slowly.

Ace approaches them, squatting next to Thatch to stare at them.

“We really don’t mean any, nor did we mean to hurt you; we didn’t know you were there. Otherwise, we would have been more careful.”

They relaxed slightly at their words, but the progress of both men was quickly erased. A rough wave hit the ship, shifting the boxes that had tumbled in their previous squaffle the clash and crashing of the boxes, startling the child once again. Reader squeaks, making a run for it, hiding deeper in the storage area.

Thatch and Ace turn to look at the small child.

Thatch frowns as he sees the girl run off.

He leans forward and glances at Ace.

“You ready?”

Ace takes one last look at the child before looking at Thatch, making a chasing motion with his hands as he takes off after them.

Ace’s footsteps shake the storage area as he takes off after them. Thatch follows up behind, still with a big grin on his face.

There we go! Hope you guys enjoy this little adventure; if you like it, be sure to visit my original version with my oc!

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x child!reader #one piece fluff #one piece imagine #one piece x oc #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #ace x reader #ace x y/n #ace x you #thatch x child!reader #thatch x reader #portgas d ace x child!reader #ace x child!reader

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fandomwritingbit · 9 months ago

Text

Too good to be true

william afton x (fem) police reader

synopsis: A two part series about William destroying your life.

It's your first homicide case as a detective, a young child murdered with no tangible leads and you're eager to bring the evil bastard to justice. It's a lot of pressure though, and to much weight on your shoulders leads to questionable decision making.

warnings: child murder, smut, swearing, drinking, domestic arguing/marital problems. just generally mature themes.

A/n: As always this isn't steeped in fnaf lore, just purely from my silly little brain. I'm so glad to finally have this out and be back on here to obsess over men. Hope you like it Xx

“It’s okay, take your time.”

The social worker smiled kindly, hoping that the pleasant expression would hide how her heart was breaking at the words leaving this child’s mouth. It’s harrowing to hear, the topic of death should never be exposed to kids this young, at least not in the cruel fashion it had been mere hours ago. “We can take a break if you want, get a snack?”

The little lad shakes his head, at only seven years old he knows it’s better to get the story over with. Never before had so many adults been so interested in what he has to say, this is serious. Even if he doesn’t understand what happened, he does understand the finality of it. The scary, definitive nature of what’s happened. He’ll never see his friend again. “Can I have some juice?” The boy asks quietly, his voice the epitome of innocence. It makes the social worker’s eyes sting. The lead officer smiles wryly.

“Sure you can, Josh. Shall I go?” The lady switches her attention from the child to the pair of cops sitting across from them.

“No, I’ll go.” You interject, not wanting you and your superior left alone with the weight of this child’s emotions. He hasn’t cried, but you can see the tears brimming beneath his surface. You look Josh in the face and try to speak as kindly as his companion, “Do you like orange?”

He just nods.

…

The room was heavy in silence during your brief absence, you were only gone a couple of minutes, the vast majority of the time spent in thought over the canteen sink. You were promoted to detective only a year ago and so far the cases you’ve been assigned were of little intensity, drunken brawling, verbal domestics, thefts and robberies. And now a child was dead, murdered, and it has utterly devastated the community. But as upsetting as it is, this is an opportunity for career growth, even if you already feel out of your depth.

The crime scene was brutal, the child laid in the outside storage of a restaurant, face down, multiple stab wounds. Blood smeared on the ground that your splatter analyst said horrifyingly suggests that the child dragged themselves closer to the door, only stopping when they no longer had the strength to continue. No murder weapon. There are no obvious suspects, every man and his dog within a 2 mile radius was pulled in for questioning. But the lack of witnesses and the hole in the chain fence leading to the area was a hindrance. The only lead you have is Josh because, unfortunately, he found the body.

You bring the child his drink, handing it to him before sitting down next to the lead officer, mentally steeling yourself for questioning.

“So, Josh.” Your colleague begins, talking to children doesn’t come naturally to him, but you see him trying. “I asked you, what time did you last see the vict- Mary?” He corrects himself, but all three of you know what he was going to say.

“I’m not sure.” He answers in a tiny voice.

He goes to ask again, sitting forward, but you stop him, cutting in to ask the boy in a different way. “I know you all sang happy birthday to the birthday boy at around half twelve. Did Mary get a slice of cake?” The social worker puts her hand on the little lad’s shoulder, whilst he thinks.

After a moment, he says, “No. Auntie Carol asked if she wanted one but she wasn’t there.”

“Okay, thank you.” You smile, before turning to the other officer, talking quietly, “Coroner said T.O.D was between 12:00 and 13:00.”

He agrees, “So it’s looking closer to twelve.”

There was a group of people waiting outside to be questioned, parents, staff, everyone who may have a shred of information and your precinct was struggling to manage it. The deceased’s parents have already been spoken to and ruled out, and so, in the main interview room another detective set about tackling the restaurant’s staff.

“Mr Afton, we just have a few more questions to go over.” The middle-aged policeman lifts his gaze from his documents to look at the restaurant owner over the top of his glasses. He sees the businessman nod in response. There’s nothing to implicate this fella, no motive, no evidence, but he has a previous so caution was to be taken.

With the question ready on his tongue, the officer sits back in the chair. “How often do people go out to the outside storage?”

He meets the man’s eyes, it’s not the first time he’s been under police scrutiny, probably won’t be the last, but the gravity of this investigation is severe. Not wanting to play any games he just divulges what the cop wants to know. “Frequently, we keep ingredients out there, and other supplies, people are always in and out.”

“Even though it’s a fire escape?” There’s doubt in his face.

William Afton reveals a small smile then, he can’t quite figure out what the copper is getting at, “Yeah, there’s a cinder block out there to keep it open. I disconnected the alarm a long time ago.”

The policeman writes that down, it may go over the interviewee’s head but it’s an important question. The killer had to access the area somehow. And either they knew of the fire door and its cinder block or the gap in the fence. A crime of opportunity, from someone who knows the area well, that’s the takeaway.

Looking up from the sheet, the DI asks another question, “And I understand that you and your partner are more handsoff with the day to day, but were you there at the party?”

“I oversaw arrival and seating.” Afton halts but the detective says nothing, it’s clearly unsatisfactory. “... There were two more kids than discussed, it caused some tension. I left Henry to deal with things.” He elaborates dryly, the tone indicates boredom but that’s to be expected after having waited hours for this conversation.

“Tension?” The officer asks curiously, his eyebrows raised in a most provoking way.

William remembers to keep himself professional, maybe he could have worded that better. He tries again, “Well, it wasn’t ideal. Waiters had to set extra places and find more chairs. It was a fuss.”

That seems to resonate better with the detective because he nods, some understanding written in his expression, Afton has to stifle the satisfaction that gives him.

The copper consults his papers again before deciding he’s gotten enough, he stands, taking his glasses off and letting them hang on the chain around his neck. “Right, I’ll let you get back home. We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch.”

With a tight-lipped smile, William follows suit, pushing the chair back and standing. An old impulse to stick his hands out for the cuffs being greatly fought, it was a different time, different station, different crime, but the same old William.

He shakes the detective’s hand, the standing difference of the two is almost comical but neither of them show any signs of amusement. He’s led out the cold interrogation room into the life of the precinct corridor, there’s a lot going on, a mix of uniformed and non officers and some of his staff still awaiting questioning.

But before the policeman can get away, William let’s some curiosity free of its constraints. “Have you spoken to Henry yet?” The man meets his eyes, no longer as stoic as he was during the interview, the burden of inquisition must be a heavy one.

“No. I’ll be handling staff enquiries. Your partner should be in later on. 4 o’clock I think.” William nods, and the officer now no longer concerned with him, heads off down the hallway. He should do the same, he’ll have to sign out, he remembers that from last time too.

As he’s walking back towards reception, a door opens in front of him, a flash of cream walls and a green sofa, before a woman exists holding the hand of a small child that he recognises. He stands aside to let them pass, watching a male officer leave, followed by a female one: you.

You hear the social worker's voice grow quieter as they leave you to lock the door, your keys jangling as you turn the stiff lock. Your mind is so engrossed in theories, you’re wanting to talk to DI Donnelly about the staff profiling and see if anything has come up in the way of a suspect. You’re so engrossed that you don’t think to look behind you before moving.

The very moment you step out you collide with the hardness of a human body much bigger than yours. You stumble from the surprise of it, and large hands catch your waist to stop you tripping. It’s a very intimate way to touch someone and you gasp from the suddenness.

“Ay watch it, lady cop.” The bloke says, when you turn to see who you’ve just accosted, you see an older man with perhaps the most handsome crooked grin you’ve ever seen.

Choosing to ignore the casual sexism of that you go for a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Cos you weren’t looking, he thinks to himself but doesn’t say anything aloud, you do look sorry and you’re cute. For a rozzer.

“You’re alright.” He excuses you, raising his eyebrows.

The only other thing exchanged was a mutual nod of regard before the man walked away towards the exit, leaving you to wonder what role he must play in all of this.

William drives home without the radio, lost in a deep track of convoluted thought. He’ll reach out to Henry later, see if anything’s changed. He doesn't think it will, despite the taskforce on this case he thinks it’ll go cold pretty fast. Children capture the news interest every now and then but once the media has no evidence or case progress to get its hooks into, the case is dead in the water. Unless the parents have the money to keep pushing it.

He pulls outside his house, turning the engine off but not leaving immediately. He’s about to step into the circus here, no doubt his wife has been waiting in bated breath, anxious for any news. He sighs, he probably should have drove around a bit longer knowing she was holding her breath, maybe he’d have got lucky.

He drags his feet on the mat before stepping inside, he hasn’t been outside today but it’s force of habit at this point, then he chucks his jacket towards the hook and closes the door. Sighing again, he sits on the second step to take his shoes off, already on edge at how quiet this fucking house is. She emerges as he reaches for the other shoe, arms folded over her chest like she’s already disapproving of something.

“So? What happened?” Clara’s tone is brisk and strained thin. It sounds like she’s been crying, though he can’t imagine why when it’s him that has to face the bobbies.

He scoffs, “They asked me some questions.” Everything about him is closed right now, and if she knew him at all she’d leave it for a while.

“And?” She’s pissing him off, she’s too prickly to talk to like this. She’s worried, wants to know what’s going to happen, what is happening, but it’s not his responsibility to console her like some fretful little kid.

“I answered them.” She scowls, how can he be like this, so indifferent? Like nothing’s happening, making her feel like she’s overreacting or going mad, maybe both.

“For fuck’s sake, Will.” Her voice cracks with frustration and she pauses a second to regain herself. Immediately losing it once she begins speaking, “Do they know who did it? Do they have someone in custody? Will, when are they going to take the fucking body out of your restaurant?!”

He laughs a little then and stands from the stairs, “Why would I know that? The police will be taking care of that, or the coroners, I don’t fucking know.”

“Don’t know, or don’t care?” There’s tears streaming down his wife’s face and he can’t cope.

“Does it matter?” He looks particularly harsh right now, a sharpness in his gaze and tone that’s like a razor and again her face twists in disgust.

William rubs the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of respite from the headache only Clara can claw out of him. With a deep breath he bends down and picks up his shoes, moving then to pick up his coat from the floor where it landed. He’s not staying, not with her wound tight as a wire-trap and not in a good way.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is quiet now, trying her hand at reasoning. He’s past that though.

“Going out, I can’t deal with you now.” He doesn’t even put the shoes back on, just carries them out with him, shutting the door heavily behind him. Leaving her to her.

It’s about to hit 8pm before you leave the station, it's been a long day but you hardly noticed what with how busy you’ve been. Your questioning didn't end with Josh, and even after talking to four other witnesses, you had your paperwork to do, then discussion with your colleagues. Everyone on the case has their own theories but at this point that’s all they are: theories. Nothing concrete and no real inclination into what to press next.

You change before leaving, knowing that you’re too restless to just go home, you need to be alone with your thoughts over a cold drink. So you get in your car picturing the hotel only a few minutes from your flat, the business-y one with the nice bar and the clientele that will leave you alone. That’s your ticket for that cold drink.

Music plays as you drive there, a CD you’ve made compiling your favourite tunes, it should help take your mind off the horrors you’ve seen today but it doesn’t. You can pull yourself away from the crime scene, that poor child in the centre of it, nor the distant look in young Josh’s eyes. No matter how much you enjoy the song playing, it's just not enough to distract you.

You park easy enough, a weekday night means that the car park isn’t completely full so you manage to get close to the entrance. Which you’re glad of when the moment your car door opens specks of rain tap your skin. Looks like the weather’s about as miserable as you feel.

The hotel bar is all dark furniture and yellow lights, a soft, warm and dark oasis and you feel relief to step inside. It’s a swish bar, not the kind of place to get a pint, even if that’s what you’re craving, it’s a nice glass with a hefty price bar. And so as you approach the bartender you’re thinking of what you want.

There’s only a few stools at the bar, seven or eight at a glance, and they’re mostly full. A gap between two gentlemen both very focused on their drinks, but you don’t want to get chatted up right now, especially from either side. At the otherside there’s two empty ones but one has a jacket laid over it and a drink on the counter. But needs must.

You sit, taking your coat off and laying it over your legs, smiling politely at the bartender.

…

“There you are.” The barman reappears in front of you, setting your drink down on the counter, “That’ll be £3.30, please.”

You scoff a little at that, mentally complaining about how the world’s gone mad with these prices, but you obediently reach into your bag for your wallet, a five pound note soon between your fingers.

“Thank you.” Your hand is raised for your change, you’ll tip later, at this point you don’t know how many drinks you’ll be having.

As the barman is digging around the till for your change the occupier of the seat beside you returns, neglecting to pick up his jacket in favour of sitting on it. You blank the man, receiving your change with a “Cheers,” for the bloke.

You sip the drink through the little straw, it’s nice to be fair and just what you need after today. You’re ready to forget about it, but you’re becoming increasingly aware of the figure next to you looking at you, and any kind of scrutiny is too much right now. So you turn to it, and you recognise the man immediately.

The man you’d bumped into earlier, who you’d since found out a lot about from his interviewer.

“Well, if it isn’t the lady copper. What are the chances of that?” There’s a casualness to his tone and posture that suggests he’s perhaps nearing the point of one drink too many. That’s what prevents your usual curt response of ‘just copper is fine’.

You don't smile, don't show any signs of the polite mannerisms he’d expect, just look at him objectively and he can tell you’re analysing the shit out of him. “Oh I remember you.” You start plainly, wanting to get back to the solitude you came here for. “By which I mean, I have since found out who you are.” It’s designed to be standoffish, encourage him to keep to himself, and play to what you learned about the man from his record: he shouldn’t like the police.

It doesn’t work though, the glasses of whiskey he's had tonight make the very blunt and sober way you’re talking to him more than amusing. And it shows on his face, “Ah someone’s been through some files.” The ways he’s grinning irks you, but if this was any other day in any other place you’d be swivelling yourself around to talk properly to the attractive man beside you. “Bumped into me and had to find out more, I get it.”

Your expression remains stern, he must be drunk as a lord or at least confident as one to say that. “I recognised your… photograph; the man who walked into me and called me ‘lady cop’.” He owns the restaurant the victim was murdered in, he’s a key figure in this case, you shouldn’t really be talking to him at all, let alone in a bar. But your drink was expensive and you’re not going to fucking leave it. “William Afton.” You say his name offhandedly, no feeling on it, but he still likes how pretty it sounds off your tongue.

“You can say mugshot, darling, I’m aware I have one.” He snickers at the look on your face, you were trying to preserve him some dignity in your wording, so much for that. The bloke sticks out his hand for you, “Just William will do it.”

You take his hand before your mind can overcome your manners, introducing yourself as, “DC L/n.” He has a firm handshake, much more respectable than the bitten down nails on his larger than most hands. Then again, he’s a larger than most fella, sat next to you now his feet are completely rested on the floor, whereas yours are tucked neatly on the bar of the stool.

He chuckles at the formality, fucking Detective Constable, you really aren’t budging off your high horse, are you? Normally he’d give up on someone being this clearly closed off with him, but not tonight. He’s starved of the chatter and drink has alway made him want to make new friends, especially when they're as cute and grumpy as you. You need cheering up, and he needs the challenge.

“We’re not at the station now, love. What’s your name?” He watches the frown on your face grow that little bit stronger and has to hide the smirk on his face behind the rim of his drink.

“It’s definitely not ‘love’.” Your voice is firm and you let the silence that follows it sit for a few seconds. But then you consider who you’re doing this for. It’s not yourself, you don’t want to be rude to anyone, let alone a tipsy person who probably doesn't know how annoying he’s being. You’re not doing it for work, there’s no boss here to remind you of your conduct, there’s been no suggestion of his involvement, even with the previous convictions. So why not take your mind off things with some meaningless conversation?

You sigh, then tell him your first name.

“So… is this your regular?” You ask the cliche question in some effort to force yourself into normality, thinking about any other way to ask him if he comes here often, hoping he won't catch on to how his answer might impact if you come back here again.

His eyes narrow at the change in your manner, but he goes along with it, “No. No, I’m just taking a break from domestic bliss.” The words are sarcastic enough that you gather their meaning easily, unhappy at home, coming out to get away from it, it’s fair enough. You nod, mentally clocking the silver band on his left hand and chiding yourself instantly. That’s not the kind of distraction you came here for.

“And what has you here?” He can take a guess, a long, bloody day at work, sufficient to make most people thirsty, but curiosity nips at him, he wants to know how senior you are, what your role in the whole shitshow is. More than that he wants to know what’s come of the police’s incessant questioning, and what ammo they have.

An incredulous laugh leaves you, “Just the joy of work, you know. A lot of difficult things to think about- I already know I’ll never sleep tonight.” You’re only half joking, even with a few more g&ts you don’t see yourself getting any rest.

You sip your drink, realising all of a sudden that you’re not far from needing another. And as you pull the glass away the man beside you says, “Oh, I could help you with that.”

Turning to him straight away, you’re practically scowling. What a thing to fucking say.

At your disdainful expression he adds, through a wicked smirk, “Night nurse- you know the little bottle? That usually sorts me out.” All his suggestiveness dropped, and now you look silly for overreacting.

“Aren’t you funny.” Despite the palpable sarcasm on the words you are smiling, just a little, you can’t help it, your facade draining faster than your gin. You swirl the liquid around, thinking over your words before you say them, you know better than the harmlessness of this, even if you wish you didn’t. “You’re being awfully chummy with me and I’m not sure why. I can’t and won’t tell you about the case.”

You try to hold back the sharp edge of those words but even said nicely they’re cutting.

It doesn't faze him though, and he leans a little closer like he’s jokingly telling you a secret. “I’m half-cut, lovely. I’d be chummy with anyone sat here, especially if they need cheering up as much as you do.”

You let your expression soften a bit, there’s a relief from what he said that there shouldn’t be. “Based on your file, I’d have thought you’d sooner switch seats than sit next to me.” You smirk as you speak, teasing but it’s based in truth.

“Oh calm down.” He’s shaking his head at you, “I’ve nowt against the police, it’s only a job. Until today I hadn’t seen the inside of a police station for going on 20 years. It sounds like you’re the one with prejudices.” He’s openly mocking you now, and you can see why, but he can say what he likes, it doesn’t change what you read.

The officer’s scrawl was plain to see: ‘Fucking filth’ he said to PC Markham, right before headbutting him, adding assault of an officer to his other charges.

“You don’t think people can change then?” He asks, more seriously than anything else he’s said tonight.

You think about it, going over both sides of the argument in your head whilst he waits expectantly. You arrive at, “I think… If they want it enough, then yeah.”

He shrugs then, back to wearing a striking grin, “Well, don’t worry then. I’m good at getting what I want.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you are, you think, trying to hide the thought from your face. Opting to only say, “You’re insufferable.” under your breath.

“No, just drunk. I think I need a water.” There’s a new self-deprecation to his tone and it amuses you. WIlliam glances at your empty glass and already knows you’ll be having another. He likes this back and forth, it’s good fun, much more entertaining than the chat he’d be having at home right now.

He leans forward a bit to catch the bartender's attention, “Will you get us another one of these and a water, thanks mate.” He slides your glass forward for the man to see and he nods, going about the order.

“Oh, you were serious.” You say, partially to yourself, it’s hard to tell with this man. That’s probably the trouble.

He sits back, “Yeah, I’ll have to keep myself sharp if you’re sitting with me, sweetheart.”

You grin, yeah there’s the fucking trouble.

You don’t know how another drink turned into three. And how three turned into you watching him get a hotel room, his elbows on the desk as he talks to the receptionist. And how that turned into keys in his pocket, the two of you getting in a lift. And then your hands pulling on his shirt to get him close enough you can kiss him, his tall frame pressing you against the wall of the lift.

You don’t think about how stupid this is as you’re doing it, you’re too distracted by the heat of him and the all encompassing way his tongue is in your mouth. You moan into the kiss, knuckles taunt with his shirt fabric balled up in them. You’re not drunk, you know what you’re doing. The alcohol isn’t affecting your judgement, it’s only making your blood warm and helping stoke the heat flickering in your core.

He doesn’t hesitate in touching you, neither of you worried about discovery, hands on your hips soon sliding low and squeezing your arse. You gasp a little as his touch brings you to your tippy-toes. The kiss is broken and has your lips tracing down his jaw, on his neck then shamelessly sucking his earlobe. You can feel how much he likes that digging into your stomach and your body rings with want.

His hands are under your shirt before the lift stops, doors opening to reveal a man waiting, a suitcase by his side. You push the man off you, struggling not to laugh, especially when a quick glance reveals that William is. Hot in the face, you right yourself as the man drags his case into the small space, your skirt pulled back down and shirt buttoned back up.

“Uh we’re still going up, mate.” William says, snickering.

“Only one floor.” The man responds bluntly, clearly not wanting any interaction with the two degenerates he’s just uncovered.

You share a look with William, that has you pressing your lips together to stifle laughter. He looks very dishevelled, you hand’t noticed quite how hard you’d been going at him, his shirt is creased and his hair is a fucking mess. God knows what you look like.

It seems to take a long time to go up one floor, but the very second the doors open you and William are quick to leave.

“What a nice chap.” He sniggers and you can finally laugh away some of that embarrassment, how stupid the both of you are, but nothing to be done now. The only compromise you can make now is to keep your hands to yourself until you’re in a more private setting, but that’s easier said than done when your core is tight with need.

Following his form, you try to take mental note of how to get out of here, so many beige corridors to wind around before you’re standing in front of the room this near stranger has purchased. You watch him put the key in the lock and for just a moment you listen to your mind. It’s not a good idea, it’s unprofessional, inappropriate and a host of other things but you’re warm between your legs and the want to continue what was interrupted outweighs reason.

He lets you inside before him and you turn to catch his eyes low on your body, making you grin unwillingly. It’s a nice room, as swanky as the bar downstairs, long flowy curtains shrouding huge windows and a load more pillows on the bed than necessary.

William looks around the room more pragmatically, he wants another drink and there’s got to be something in here, a fancy place like this always has opportunity to spend more money. There’s an odd cabinet a good distance from the foot of the bed, and when he opens it lo and behold an incognito fridge. “You want another drink?”

You look over to William on his knees looking at what you quickly realise is a minibar, curiosity brings you closer and the prices make you wince. You don’t know how this man has it in him to drink, you’re tipsy enough just standing there. “You trying to impress me or something?” You say laughing, “Surely the room was pricey enough.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet. A black labelled bottle placed on the counter, he can’t decide what he wants to indulge in first because you are looking very tempting. You see a look of mischief pass over his face before he says, “Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… which you absolutely are, love.” He delivers that with the smarmiest smirk you’ve ever seen, and a disbelieving laugh escapes you, it’s needlessly full-on but embarrassingly it does work in making heat between your legs flicker back bright.

Still somewhat taken aback you just say, “...You’re shameless.”

It just makes him chuckle, as the evenings gone on you’ve only gotten easier to fluster. “Oh and you’re so prim and proper?” That’s clearly amused him because his tone is dripping with sarcasm. You maintain your eye contact with the man, trying to curb excitement in your blood, you’re aware he’s gotten much closer to you and the prospect is delicious. “I don’t think so, no with how you accosted me in that lift, there for anyone to see.”

He doesn’t need to add ‘And someone did see,’ because that grimy feeling has again caught up with you, you look away then, trying not to think about how disgusted that man looked earlier. It sucks because your usual level-headedness has shagged off and you seem to be making a lot of questionable decisions.

You’re speaking before the embarrassed thoughts are coherent, “Well, I- That’s not something I’d… normally…” You trail off because of the clear enjoyment on his face.

“Come on, are you a police officer or a fucking nun?” He teases, “Looking so ashamed. You do know what we’ve come up here to do, right?”

The mockery gives you a hit of bravery, and you shrug, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for you to stop talking.” You give the last words heavy exasperation and watch that achingly handsome grin slowly spread on his face.

He listens to you.

It’s criminal how eagerly you’re pulling at his clothes, struggling with buttons as dexterity is lost in your fingers to the way your body is reacting to his. There’s little elegance, only your tongue back in his mouth as your shirt is taken off, then your body pulled away from the wall behind you to let him unhook your bra. It’s quick but you still resent how long it’s taking to get what you want.

He’s playing with your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before tugging your hardened nipple between his fingers, it pulls a gasp from you. You’re giggling a little as his action makes it harder to concentrate on what you’re doing. You finally manage to pull the shirt from him, leaving it to crumple on the floor. His body feels good against yours, firm and hot, hair on his chest that you rake your fingers through, leading all the way down to his belt.

His touch is everywhere on you except where you want it most, taking in your curves and again grabbing a handful of your behind. You’re restless, rubbing your legs together for a fraction of the friction your core is demanding, all this fleeting touch is mounting into impatience. William notices and you feel the movement of his hands up to your waistband, where they skirt teasingly around.

You moan some encouragement into his mouth, tilting your hips for better access. But he pulls away from you, smirking to himself. “Take your skirt off for me, love. I’ve tried but for the life of me I can’t find the zip.”

Despite your impatience, you can’t help but laugh, clearly pride had kept him silent for a fair while. “Here then.” You say through your amusement, placing a hand flat on his chest and pushing him lightly, guiding him a pace and a half back until he gets the hint to sit on the bed.

From there he watches you half dressed as far as your waist as you catch hold of the zip on the side of your pencil skirt and pull it down. You step out of it, leaving your shoes under the fabric, a smug expression on your face. He looks good sitting there and a guilty thought flickers through your head at how lucky his wife is.

That thought is cut short when he says, “Come here.” Not giving you much choice when he catches your wrist and manoeuvres you himself, your panties still on but the wet patch on them somehow more revealing than you imagine being fully nude will be.

“Damn.” He grins, leaving you standing before him, his hand tracing the waistband of your knickers before sliding between your legs. You let him, spreading your stance for his access. He follows the shape of your pussy over the material, watching how it clings to your heat. Soon after he slides under the fabric and toys with the abundance of slick waiting there.

You moan at the static sensation buzzing in your core, it’s exactly what you wanted but still a lot and you have to steady yourself on his shoulders. He finds your clit and begins to draw patterns over the nerves that soon have your legs weak. He brings your end into your sights before altering the movement, and the whiplash is near devastating. He snickers when a disapproving frown rests on your face, adjusting his position to press his fingers inside you, willing to give you what you want. Fucking his fingers in and out of you he keeps up with the stimulation on your clit, the pace only quickening when your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your peak rises fast and you fall over it, walls fluttering tight around his digits as your climax washes over you, pulling some desperate noise out of you.

Before your legs are even steady again, you’re desperate for more. So you push him back on the bed, bending down to tackle his belt buckle. The bulge in his trousers is practically taunting you and you’re eager to feel more and think less.

WIlliam’s voice pulls you from your inept action. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He mocks.

You look at him as levelly as you can, your pupils big from your fading pleasure. You know the answer before you speak, “Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t say anything, only reaches down to help you take off the belt, pulling the trousers down and holding you steady so he can lean and shove them off. You take hold of his hardness, now only hidden by his underwear, revelling in the soft grunt that leaves him. He’s deliciously thick in your hands and drunk on it you straddle him, now palming him between your legs. Only now do you think about the condoms in your handbag, knowing you should pull away from him and retrieve them. But that rationale is drowned out by your cunt drooling, begging for immediate stimulation.

Your touch isn’t enough for him, he just wants to feel your warmth wrapped snug around him, so he acts, flicking your hands aside to free his dick. He sits against your stomach, thick and long and almost instantly you’re sliding your slick along him, pussy twitching in anticipation.

His hand on your hip moves you back so he can line himself up with your hole, no more play, no more teasing. He guides you down, a small gasp leaving you as he presses inside. It’s more than you thought and your walls burn with the stretch of taking him; you still yourself for a moment, thighs hovering just above his whilst you try to get used to the fullness of accommodating him. Your respite is cut short when he starts to thrust up into you, sniggering at the surprised moan that escapes you and how your body is almost trying to run away from him. He holds you still, lost in the perfect way your cunt is swallowing him. Soon you’re taking him properly, riding him deep with stuttering breath, pathetic noises leaving you when his cock pressed against the spot inside you that makes you crumble. You’re so focused on your imminent pleasure sparking into life sharpish, you nearly miss the change in the man below you.

“Fuck- that’s it.” He groans, his hands roaming your body. You’re doing the majority of the work, bouncing on him so fucking perfectly and grinding your bundle of nerves against him. Your fluttering walls are telling but he’s hanging onto his edge by a thread, just enough sense about him to help speed up your climax.

You jolt when he suddenly begins rubbing your clit, his hand splayed on your abdomen. It’s a lot and you’re holding on to him tighter and tighter, fingernails digging harder and harder into his shoulders until you’re falling into the waves of bliss. Your back arches as you come, each pulse of your climax making you shiver. Your cunt squeezes around him tight and just like that he’s gone. He thrusts into you a few more times, pushing his release deep inside you, the pace inconsistent as he rides it out.

Both of you still, and you listen to his quickened breath as your pussy still flutters around him, you’re all over goosebumps but you hardly notice, too focused on the warmth trickling around him and settling between your legs.

You don’t stop there. You get next to no sleep, spending the rest of the night clutching the headboard, then with your face buried in the dishevelled sheets. Later with your leg hooked over the hips of this man, dirty words dripping from your lips pushing him to give you more. Hours spent having easily some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Until the two of you have no more to give.

It’s still dark, but a look at your watch tells you the day’s not far from arriving and so, you move. Taking yourself from the disordered bed and into the cool of the room. Your clothes are strewn all over and you begin to gather them one by one, aware you’re under the scrutiny of the man you’re leaving behind.

You’re halfway through putting them back on when William decides he should probably do the same. You watch from the corner of your eye as he stands up unashamedly naked and even after you’ve had your share you still appreciate the sight, which you then realise he was probably doing to you before getting up.

He moves to pick up his underwear, wincing through his teeth at the action, making you turn towards him with pinched brows. You see him raise his arm up and run his hand along his shoulders, his expression difficult to read.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with uncertainty, a part of you thinking that there’s no way he’s as sore as you are, you feel like you’ve spent hours on the bucking broncos.

“Wait-” He sounds confused but when he turns to walk over to a mirror on the wall your eyes go wide with understanding. You’ve left your mark on him alright: long scratches on his shoulders and back, each bringing back a memory of the night’s activity.

When he sees, his instant reaction is to laugh but fucking hell, it’s pretty bad. How the hell hadn’t he noticed?

You have a hand over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to hide the incredulous laughter begging to be shown. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your giggling to yourself, “I didn’t-”

“That is…�� He cuts you off unintentionally, chuckling in disbelief as he looks from the mirror to you, then back again, “unambiguous… What the fuck am I supposed to tell my wife?”

You snort. “I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t think I… did that.” You hadn’t even thought about it, about how all traces of you on this man are liable to destroy a marriage, though to be fair, you’re not often a homewrecker.

“Well, it was definitely you, sweetheart. Shit.” You’re lucky that he’s found this amusing and not gone the other way, but his marriage is dead on the rocks anyway, if Clara showed any interest in taking his shirt off he’d be looking around for a hidden camera.

…

You and William part ways soon after, part of you wanting to see him again, the rest knowing that that’s probably not a good idea. But the morning seems to be running away with itself and you don’t have time to think about it, it’s already nearly 7am and you've got to be at the station by 9.

That doesn’t stop you from reliving the night over and over during your commute though.

As good a time as you’ve had you can’t shake the feeling that it was perhaps too good to be true.

If you made it to the end, thank you sm, you guys reading my stuff is my motivation to keep being excessively horny x

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