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stephstars08 · 1 year ago

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Still Alive ~ Chapter Nine (Last Chapter)

Ethan Landry x Reader

Warnings: Adult Language, After math of last chapter, A little bit of Angst but Fluff at the end, Mental Breakdown, Mention of Blood, Past Trauma, Mention of Daddy Issues, and Anxiety. (Sorry if I forgot any!)

Word Count: 2,397

Author’s Note: And here we are, the final chapter! Thank you to each and everyone of you for reading this story! It warmed my heart seeing you all comment and tell me how much you loved this story. It means so much to me that you all enjoyed my writing. I enjoy writing but I do have my insecurities about it so thank you so much for your kind messages. I know I already mentioned this but I wanted to say it again, I will be taking this coming week off on here so I won’t be posting since I have some personal things going on and also wanted to take some time off to catch up on some more writing. My inbox will still be opened so don’t be afraid to message me anything! I hope you all enjoy the last chapter and again thank you so much for reading this book. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you all think of the final chapter!

Y/N was at the hospital getting her side wrapped up. The doctor told her that she was lucky that the bullet just grazed her side. “Okay, Ms. Riley. You are all patched up.” The nurse told her. “Thank you.” Y/N said in a soft tone. “You’re welcome.” The nurse said cleaning up everything. “The doctor wants you to take it easy for a couple of days and drink plenty of water.” The nurse told her which earned a nod from Y/N as her answer. After the nurse walked out of the room Y/N carefully stood up and changed into the fresh pair of clothes that Chad and Tara brought her from her apartment. She was being as careful as she could putting on her shirt. They already got rid of her bloody shirt that wasn’t just soaked in her blood right when she got there.

After she was fully clothed, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She just leaned her back on the door and stared down at the wall that was in front of her. She felt completely lost. She didn’t know where to go. She didn’t know who she should go see first since so many people she loves and cares for are lying in a hospital bed. She really wished last night was just one of her horrible nightmares. Y/N decided to just go to the waiting room at the front of the hospital. She knows that she shouldn’t be alone and go find one of her friends but that’s just the first thing that came to her mind and to be honest, she wanted to be alone. Y/N carefully sat down on the bench where not even twenty-four hours ago she was surrounded by all her friends. Now, she’s all alone. She leaned her head against the wall behind her and closed her eyes so the lights on the ceiling didn’t blind her. She sat there in complete silence till someone called her name.

When she opened her eyes, she was met with a surprise. “Sidney!” Y/N said surprised to see her Godmother standing in front of her. “Come here.” Sidney said as she put her arms out towards her. Y/N stood up and gave Sidney a big hug. “I’m so happy to see that you’re okay.” Sidney said as she held Y/N as close as she could but of course was careful of her wounded side. Y/N laid her head on Sidney’s shoulder. “Sam gave me a call catching me up on what happened.” Sidney said pulling away from the hug and putting her hands on both of Y/N’s shoulders. “How’s your side?” Sidney asked with concern in her tone. “Okay, the bullet just grazed me.” Y/N answered her. “Fuck, I should’ve been here.” Sidney said with a heavy sigh. “What? So, you can be laying in a hospital bed, too?” Y/N said, shaking her head. “I’m glad you stayed away. You shouldn’t have to deal with this Ghostface shit your whole life.” Y/N told her.

“How’s your mom? Can she have visitors?” Sidney asked her not to argue with her since that’s the least thing she wanted to do seeing the state Y/N is in. Sidney can read Y/N like a book, and she knew Y/N was feeling the same thing she was feeling after her second round of Ghostface. “Yeah, follow me.” Y/N answered her and walked away with Sidney following close behind her. Y/N led Sidney to the room her mom was in. When they walked inside the room, Gale was sitting up in the bed and Sam was by her bedside. “There’s my little girl!” Gale said in relief she was so happy to see Y/N is okay and is standing in the same room as her. When Sam told her what happened she wanted to get out of bed to go see her. But surprisingly Sam was able to keep her there. Y/N walked over to her mom and gave her a long-waited hug. As the mother and daughter reunited Sam and Sidney shared a hug.

After Y/N pulled away she stepped to the side so Sidney and Gale could share a hug. “Sid, what are you doing here?” Gale asked after they let go of each other. She told Sidney not to come because she told her the same thing Y/N told her earlier. “I gave her a call to catch her up on everything that had happened.” Sam told her as she stood with Y/N. “I had to come and make sure that everyone is alright.” Sidney told Gale. “Where’s Mark and the kids?” Gale asked her in a curious tone. “They are home. I told Mark I didn’t want the kids sitting in a hospital.” Sidney answered her. “How are you feeling?” She asked Gale. “Very high on pain meds but other than that, I feel good.” Gale answered with a giggle which also made Sidney giggle as well. “I’m so relieved that everyone is alright.” Sidney said which made Y/N break down crying. She didn’t realize how long she had been keeping her tears in till now.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Sidney asked her with worry and panicking a little bit. “Ethan!” Y/N cried out. His name was the only thing that could come out of her mouth. Sam gave her a hug just like she did last night. As Y/N cried onto Sam’s shoulder Sidney rubbed her back in comfort. Gale wished there was something she could do since she hadn’t seen her daughter this upset since her dad’s murder. “Y/N! Y/N!” Two voices called out to her. When Y/N let go of Sam she saw Tara and Chad standing in the doorway catching their breaths. “Woah, what’s going on?” Sam asked them. “Ethan.” Chad said still trying to catch his breath. “He’s awake.” Tara said looking at Y/N with a small smile appearing on her lips. “W-what?” Y/N said in a stutter since her body went into full shock. “He told us that he wants to see you.” Chad told her finally catching his breath.

Y/N gave them a nod as she let go of Sam and followed Chad and Tara to the room Ethan was in. Y/N saw Mindy standing in the hallway with her waist all wrapped up. She had a smile on her face. “Go get him, tiger.” Mindy said giving Y/N a wink. Y/N took a deep breath to calm her racing nerves and stepped into the hospital room. She saw Ethan lying in the bed looking alive. Some color came back to his face. When his brown eyes met hers, a whole weight was lifted off her shoulders. She saw the color back into his bright eyes that were full of darkness. “Hey beautiful.” Ethan said as his lips curved into a weak smile.

Y/N quickly walked to his bedside and connected her lips with his. Both of them put everything they felt into the kiss. Y/N didn’t think that she would ever feel his soft lips on top of hers. When they pulled away, they were gasping for air, especially Ethan. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. To see your memorizing eyes open.” Y/N told him as happy tears streamed down her face. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” Ethan reassured her as he put one of his hands onto her cheek to wipe away her tears. He brought her back down to connect their lips again. Even though the kiss was short it still had just as much passion as the last kiss had.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Ethan apologized for not telling her his real last name. “I’m sorry for not believing you when your fucked up family tried to turn me against you.” Y/N said apologizing as well. “Don’t be sorry about that. They are gone. They can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Ethan reassured her as he lightly stroked her cheek. She leaned into his warm touch that still made her feel safe. She still felt secured by his touch.

“I love you.” Ethan told her, which made her heart flutter. “I love you, too.” Y/N told him and connected her lips with his for the third time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some weeks have passed, and everything has been the way it was before Y/N’s second Ghostface massacre happened. Y/N finally feels like the girl she was before her dad died. She and Ethan are officially together and always by each other’s side of course when they aren’t in class. Ethan was scared to tell the group the truth about his real name and family, but Y/N reassured him that they would except him and of course, she was right. He told them everything, he had only told Y/N like how terribly his dad treated him and always chose Ritchie and Quinn over him. Everyone gave him so much credit for losing contact with his dad after turning eighteen.

Ethan was so relieved that everyone still wanted him around after what his psychotic family put them through. Ethan isn’t going to lie, he’s a bit afraid he’ll feel that same darkness his family got pulled into, but Sam told him he’s a good person and he will stay on the good side just like she has. She tells him that they are both nothing like their evil family members.

Y/N and her mom are not just on good terms, they are on great terms just like Sam and Tara are. Gale has really become the mom she always wanted to be. She thanks Sidney a lot for helping her and Y/N bond again. Sidney stepped into Dewey’s role and helped Y/N and Gale stay together.

Y/N was currently at the art show in a big auditorium on the college campus. Seeing that shrine really inspired her to make something that keeps her father and her Aunt Tatum remember a whole lot better. She sculpted their faces out of clay with a name tag of their whole name on the bottom. Y/N sat next to her beautiful artwork as people walked around the room. Her eyes lit up when her Y/E/C eyes met a pair of brown ones. She jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his chest.

“I’m guessing you missed me?” Ethan said as he let out a laugh returning the hug. “Anytime I’m not with you, I’m missing you.” Y/N said to him leaning up and give him a sweet kiss on the lips which he returned. “Geez Y/N, when did you get so cheesy?” Mindy said walking up to the couple with Chad, Tara, and Sam. Tara and Chad had their hands linked together since Y/N helped them confess their feelings for one anther and now they are a couple. “Leave her alone, Mindy!” Chad told his twin sister in a stern tone giving her a small punch to her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s happy and in love.” Tara said looking at Y/N and Ethan in awe. Ethan smiled and gave Y/N a light kiss on the top of her head which always makes the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. Yep, that feeling is never going to go away which Y/N doesn’t mind one bit.

“Wow, Y/N! This is amazing.” Sam said looking at her artwork in amazement. “Thanks! It was a pain in the ass to make but it was worth it.” Y/N said making everyone laugh. “Also, this one really helped me get it down as well.” She added, looking up at Ethan who gave her another kiss to the lips. “Hey guys.” Sidney said walking up to the group with Gale by her side. Everyone was surprised to see Sidney since Gale wanted to surprise Y/N with her. “Oh my gosh!” Y/N said in a surprised tone letting go of Ethan to give her a big hug. “You know I couldn’t miss this.” Sidney said to her, returning the hug. “I tried to get Kirby to come but she’s stuck on a case in Atlanta, but she sends her love.” Gale told her after Y/N let go of Sidney to give her daughter a quick hug. ��I’ll have to give her a call, later.” Y/N said letting go of her mom. “Can we see it?” Sidney asked Y/N referring to her artwork. The whole group was blocking their view of the sculptures. She kept what she was making a secret from Sidney and Gale since she wanted it to be a surprise.

Everyone moved to the side so Gale and Sidney could see the sculptures which brought tears to both of the women’s eyes. “Wow!” Sidney said, looking between the sculptures in awe. “Oh, sweetie! These are beautiful!” Gale said wrapping an arm around Y/N and rubbing it lightly. “Thank you, I feel like this is a better tribute to dad and Aunt Tatum than that stupid shrine.” Y/N said as she wrapped her arm around her mom’s back rubbing it as well. She knew her dad and Aunt Tatum were smiling down at her. She knew they were proud of her, and she knew she was going to continue to make them proud. Live out the life she knew her dad wanted her to live.

As the night went on everyone mingled around checking out more artwork. Y/N got a lot of compliments on her artwork and told them the story behind it which she was finally okay with telling. When her dad first got killed, she hid from her family’s history with Ghostface because she was ashamed to be a part of that history but as the days pasted, she embraced it instead of running from the truth. Sidney actually helped her with that since she knew that same feeling.

After the event was over the group decided to go out somewhere to grab dinner together. As they walked down the busy New York sidewalk Y/N took Ethan’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Are you okay?” Ethan asked her in a soft tone looking over at her. “I’m great!” Y/N told him and gave him a kiss on the cheek which made his cheeks turn a light red like they always did when she would kiss him.

For the first time in a year, she can answer that question with the truth and not a lie.

*Tags*

@sweetirilly @aqellano @igotmajordaddyissues @athenalive @hotweeb @ghostlyboiii @marshallowy @callsignwidow @rolly-polly-molly

(IF YOUR NAME IF CROSSED OUT IT IS BECAUSE TUMBLR WOULDN’T LET ME TAG YOU, SORRY!)

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leviathans-watching · 2 years ago

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Hi I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

Can I request a shot with MC’s neighbor sort of just moving in and seeing the shenanigans of MC’s life that is the three realms.

Chaotic lessons from Solomon.

Accidentally catching MC using magic through a window they forgot to close.

Talking to Dia and Barbatos and Dia missing all social cues and taking everything literally.

Either be MC x Mammon or platonic with all

But also the brothers as they waltz into MC’s home whenever they are or are not in their home.

I can also see luke and mc bringing this guy extra sweets they baked

I’m sorry, I know this is a lot. I just thought your writing would match this perfectly.

Okay

Lots love love

❤️❤️❤️

my new neighbors are demons *not clickbait*

includes: mc & the brothers, reader & mc (they/them for mc, no pronouns mentioned for reader)

wc: 1.2k | rated g | m.list

a/n: this is outside pov where reader is not mc, unlike most of my works. you have been warned lol. ty for requesting and i hope you enjoy. my inbox is closed atm!

please reblog <33

You sigh, half-tired, half-contented as you survey your new living room, which is only sort of put together. But you have all of your boxes inside and can finally get to unpacking, so for the moment, you’re satisfied.

The house is cute, with enough space for you and all of your things, and from what you’ve seen so far, the neighborhood seems nice and welcoming. You look forward to introducing yourself and getting to know all of your neighbors.

Cookie platter in hand, you walk up the steps to the house next door, which is quite a bit larger than yours. The gardens are super pretty, and the whole property has a light and airy feeling to it.

Ringing the bell, you step back a few paces, waiting to see if the door gets opened.

It does, and forcefully.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice asks, and you look up to see an attractive man with silvery-white hair watching you impatiently.

“Oh, hello!” you say, “I’m your new neighbor, it’s nice to meet you! I thought I’d come around and introduce myself.”

His shoulders relax slightly and his gaze turns less accusing. “Oh, okay. let me get the owner really quick.”

He disappears, and you wait. When the door opens again it's to someone much more inviting.

“It’s nice to meet you,” they say, welcoming you in. “I’m MC. Sorry for the rude welcoming the first time around, I have some, uh, roommates who aren’t used to living around here yet.”

“No worries,” you say, looking around at the foyer with wide eyes. The house had looked large from the outside, but this was something else. “I totally get it.”

MC leads you to the kitchen, gesturing for you to put the cookies on the counter. “Let me call my roommates down so we can have some proper introductions, yeah?”

They type something on their phone (which you notice is a brand you don’t recognize), and a moment later several guys enter the room. You greet them all warmly, and learn that the guy who’d answered the door the first time is named Mammon.

You can’t help but wonder about such an eclectic group. None of them look anything alike, but it’s clear they’re all very close. You almost feel lonely, so you decide to stop thinking about it.

“So, what do you do?” One of them - Satan, if you remember correctly - asks, and you look over at him.

“Oh, right now I just work from home,” you reply, and his eyebrows raise. You try to decipher the meaning of the look but it disappears before you can get a good grasp.

“So do most of us,” another - Leviathan, was it? - says, and you nod.

“We can be kind of loud,” MC says, and you look over at them. “If you’re ever bothered, just come bang on our door to shut us up. As you can imagine, it gets kind of lively around here.”

Oh, you can imagine.

“Good to know,” you say with a laugh. “I listen to music a lot so I doubt it’ll bother me.”

As you continue to talk and quaint yourself with them, you think that these might be the most interesting people you’ve ever met. Something about them just seems kind of weird in a way you can’t really explain.

You yawn, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug, trying to gather the energy to start your day. Your kitchen window curtains are pulled back, the window cracked, allowing you to see almost your neighbor’s entire front yard.

It’s as your idly staring when you see it.

The front door is thrown open, someone whose name you can’t remember running out, getting followed closely by Mammon, who launches himself at the other, tackling him in a full body take-down. You can only watch, wide-eyed as the two tussle, grass flying everywhere.

“Mammon, Asmo,” someone calls from the stoop, and you look back over to see MC standing there, hands on their hips. The two immediately separate, sheepishly, from what you can tell. “That’s enough. You’re going to disturb the neighbors.”

“Ugh, who cares,” Mammon calls back. “I miss the House of Lamentation. We didn’t have to worry about any stinkin’ neighbors there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” MC says. “Just get inside.”

The two head inside, movements almost mechanical, as if they're not in charge of their bodies. Nah, your definitely imagining things. And House of Lamentation? What kind of name is that? Just what is with these people?

You’re working at your desk when you hear a knock on your door.

“One moment,” you call, heading for the door. When you open it, it’s not to a delivery driver like you’d been expecting, but a little boy and a few guys.

“Hi!” the little boy says. “We’re friends of MC, and they said you brought them cookies and I wanted to return the favor. I’m Luke!”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the offered box. “That was very sweet of you.” You introduce yourself to them, and the guys tell you their names as well. Barbatos, Diavolo, Solomon, and Simeon.

“How are you liking living here?” Simeon asks politely, and you shrug.

“Still getting used to it, but it’s definitely better than my old place,” you say, “Man, compared to this house, my apartment was so small. I could barely move in there.”

“Really?” Diavolo asks, gold eyes wide, and Barbatos coughs lightly.

“I believe that was an exaggeration.”

“Oh, yes,” you say, slightly confused. “It wasn’t literally that small.”

“And uh, I hope that Lucifer and the others haven’t been giving you any trouble,” Simeon cute in, with a little laugh you’d almost call nervous, except ‘Simeon’ and ‘nervous’ didn’t really seem to belong in the same sentence.

“Not at all,” you say. “I don;t see much of them, to be honest, since i work so much.”

“That’s good,” he says with what seems to be more relief than the situation calls for, and you chuckle awkwardly.

After a long moment, you look back inside your house, towards your desk. “Um, thank you again for the treats Luke. I’m sure they’ll be delicious. But I really do have to be getting back to work now, so…”

“Of course,” Solomon says smoothly. “Don’t let us keep you. Have a good day.”

“You too,” you say, with one last smile. How does MC know so many interesting people? Their life must be crazy.

It’s when you’re taking an evening walk down the street that you see the weirdest thing. The blinds in MC’s big bay window are open, allowing you to see in.

Not that you’re peeping or anything! A flash of light just caught your attention.

As you watch, you see more light gathering, forming, almost a portal. A moment passes and a figure slowly forms, stepping into their living room. It’s MC! The light fades but you can still see the room, and realize with a jolt that they’re staring straight at you.

What the hell is going on with your neighbors?

No, it’s none of your business. Who cares if MC just came through a freaking portal. Not your problem. None of your business.

You paste on a smile and give a little wave, resuming your steps, but all MC does is wink, raising their finger to their lips in the ‘quiet’ symbol, before pulling the blinds down, leaving you to stare, wondering if you imagined it all.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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knowyourplace-fool · 3 years ago

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(Lol I just seen your post about how your inbox is a lil empty) Heyyyyy I'm from your kpop blog I forgot my emoji so can I be 🥴 anon

Can I request mean dom jean who gets jealous when Armin flirts with oc and she flirts back? It can be noncon, dubcon, abuse it don't matter to me☺️

( I haven't made a request in ages so please excuse me if I don't make sense lol)

You are an amazing writer and I love you 😘

⚠️: NON CON, Yandere!Jean, alternative universe, baby trapping, somnophilia, Jean takes advantage of drunk reader, degrading, choking

-> sorry for any mistakes

-> although I don’t write for Jean, I still did it after seeing dilf!jean cuz DAMN it was hawt

-> thank you for supporting me on here too !! <3

-> also, welcome to the fam!!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jean had been your fwb ever since you started college

You two had met at a party and hit it off right away

After that, you both agreed to casually hookup since you guys didn’t want to get into relationships yet

For months, everything was going smoothly

No one (or at least you thought) knew about your fwb with Jean

The sex with him was good too

He was rough and preferred to talk dirty rather than degrade

He also was able to last throughout the night, unlike your ex’s

When you guys agreed to be fwb, it had to be no strings attached

And if you did catch feelings, you’d have to tell each other and go on from there

Jean was afraid of being rejected

After the first month of screwing around with you, he realized how compatible you guys are

Even if he’d come over to rant, you’d listen to him like a good friend and never made him feel bad about himself

You were caring, smart, kind and considerate

His ideal type of women

Over the months, he started becoming more possessive and more paranoid

He’d randomly stop by your dorm to check on what you were doing and if you were alone or not

And if you went out, you needed to tell Jean for “safety reasons”

You didn’t think anything of this behaviour, you’d figured that he was looking out for you because some people are sickos

Your mutual friend group decided to go out to a club on a Friday night to have some fun, so of course you and Jean tagged along

Everything was going great, you guys were drinking, doing shots and dancing while Jean sat back and watched

You had a low alcohol tolerance so after a couple of shots, you were pretty intoxicated

Not only did you have a low alcohol tolerance but so did Armin, who had also taken the same amount of shots as you

You two had started dancing together, and before you knew it, your hands were wrapped around him and your lips were almost touching his

You guys kept flirting back and forth the entire night and when you were going in for the kiss, someone pulled you away

Jean was close to punching Armin but he controlled himself and instead pushed him harshly, away from you

You were slurring on your words, asking Jean “what do… what do you think you’rrrrrreeee doingggg?”

He pulled you out of the club and you whined when the cold wind hits your nude arms

Jean took off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders before pulling you to his car

For a hour, you blacked out

The last thing you remember was being inside of Jean’s car

When your eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the bright light, you realized that your hands were tied behind your back

Your face was pressed into the bedsheets and you were confused until a mass amount of pain punched your lower abdomen repeatedly

It was then, you were able to figure out what the hell was going on

You turned your head to the side, stunned to see Jean pounding you from behind

“You think you can grind on Armin and get away with it. I won’t fucking let you. I’ll fill you with my cum and you’ll have my babies.” He muttered, unaware that you’re awake.

You were about to say something but his cock hit deeper in you and you moaned out loud, catching his attention

“Oh? The whore’s awake now? Of course she wakes up after I mention Armin, right?”

“Jean, stop! You’re hurting me.”

“Good, now you know how I’m feeling.”

“I’m serious, get off of me!”

“What? You think I’m joking or something.”

Your head was spinning so fast, you couldn’t find the energy to fight him off

“Stop! Please, my head is hurting so badly!”

“Cry about it, slut. I need to punish you after the little stunt you pulled.”

“I didn’t do anything! I was drunk, Jean!”

You yelled out, trying to squirm away

He pulled your body up and wrapped his arm around your neck, choking you slightly

“Don’t you ever fucking raise your voice at me!”

He moved faster, pulling on your hair and sucking the back of your ear

Your face was soaked with tears and snot

You were shaking in fear because of Jean. You’d never thought he’d do this to you because all the time he was worried about your safety

And now he’s the one hurting you

Suddenly, you felt him twitching inside you

‘Good, that means he close,’ you thought before realizing a millisecond too late that you felt his bare cock twitching inside of you

“Jean no!”

He choked you harder, shutting you up before covering your warm walls with his thick cum

He let out a deep groan right into your ear, pushing his whole cock in

“That’s much much better. You can’t go whoring around now with my baby stuffed in you.”

#🥴 anon #jean smut #jean krischtein #tw: noncon #tw: dark fic #aot smut #yandere aot #yandere jean #attack on titan smut

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

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ay yo? lmao haiiiii any chance we can get some haikyuu boys and nicknames they'd call their s/o? a lil deprived of kageyama, so if possible can you pls include him?? i hope you're doing well :)

omg wait i remember seeing this in my inbox and planning on answering it but i ,,, i forgot :( im sorry :( but here it is lovely <3

HAIKYUU BOYS AND NICKNAMES

ANGEL ! —

akaashi; out of all his nicknames for you, this is his favorite!! he just thinks it’s very fitting for you, because you’re nothing short of ethereal for him. loves to say it when he’s first greeting you or as he kisses you gn or!!! when he says thank you :)

osamu; it slips sometimes with him!! not his go-to but it’s very familiar on his tongue when it comes to you, and that’s very endearing :,) just slips casually when he’s asking you a question like, “angel, do we need milk?”

daichi; omg he usually adds to it and it ends up being some cheesy stuff like “angel-face” and it makes you all flustered because wtf man :( and he always says it while laughing teasingly too ugh :(

suna; suna has the cheesiest nicknames for you and you cannot convince me otherwise, and you can never tell if it’s genuine or ironic but,,, it doesn’t matter. he sounds so sweet calling you “angel” so whatever :)

aran; this man. this man. he says it cause he knows it has you weak. he says it so lovingly, so sweetly, so casually, so suave and relaxed and his voice is so smooth and deep. who wouldn’t be swooning over him???

aone; AONE AONE PLS AONE PLEASE. he’d just think it’s such a sweet and kind and soft nickname and he likes the way it sounds when it’s whispered and he thinks nothing is more perfect than nicknaming you angel and he says it all the time like “ok, angel,” and “see you tomorrow, angel,” and, “love you, angel,” and it’s so quiet but so sweet hwbwjsjd

oikawa; he’s about to be in 90% of these cause he’ll be calling you anything but your name. is it because he wants to be annoying and to get on your nerves? or is it because he genuinely means it? the world will never know. you’re not even sure he himself does.

DOLL ! —

matsukawa; are you kidding me this is his. it’s HIS. he sounds so hot saying it and he looks so hot saying it and he’s so charming and it’s so like easy on his tongue. and he has a slight drawl to it too and he always says it with this aura of relaxation and ease it’s so hot. he just. he loves it. he loves you. you love it. the world is a better place.

atsumu; he thinks he’s way cooler than he is when he says it. you suppose he is pretty hot when he calls you doll but you’re not gonna tell him that!!! it’s not his go-to but you can catch it slipping off his tongue every once in a while.

kuroo; yesyesyes he loves it. only ever says it when he’s so up close and personal with you like cups your cheeks and hovers his lips against yours like, “heya, doll,” and he’s just so handsome. ugh.

kageyama; at the start of your relationship, kageyama called you by your name and nothing else!! but then he had like this talk w someone and they asked him what he calls you and he realized like,,, am i supposed to be doing it differently??? spent so long just searching up “cute nicknames for my s/o” and then he found “doll” and was like ok. i’ll try. and he tried!! and it stuck!! plus timeskip kags calling you doll??? that’s so hot bye

oikawa; this might be the only sincere nickname he has for you cause everything else is either to provoke you or to be cringy and annoying. and i’m sure you prefer doll over sweet cheeks and pumpkin pie and cinnamon whatever like you hungry tōru?? anyways he loves loves loves calling you doll cause he thinks it’s such a ? smooth and serene nickname? and his voice always gets deeper and quiet when he says it so!!!!

SUNSHINE ! —

hinata; please he is all the sunshine, but he always claims that you’re the true sun in his life. idk hinata would be so lame yet so cute like that :( and he always says it with such a big grin he’s so cute pls :(

tendō; he’s so cute he’s so cute he’s so cute !!!!! your contact name is “my sunshine” definitely definitely definitely. he is literally in love with you and wants the whole world to know it. he loves screaming it out for everyone to hear but also absolutely adores like hugging you from behind and whispering in your ear as he kisses your cheek, “hey, sunshine.” :(((((

kenma; kenma doesn’t wanna think too hard on the whole nicknames thing but he also does kind of sort of really wants to call you something special and the first thing that pops in his head is sunshine. first time he used it you were Shocked but he was acting nonchalant about it (read: freaking out on the inside) and you were like “ok guess im sunshine now.” and you are his sunshine to this day.

BABY/BABE ! —

atsumu; it’s easy and it’s endearing!! he personally loves being called babe but he loves hugging you close to him after a long day and just sighing, “hey, baby,” like. he loves it okay. he thinks it’s perfect cause it fits and cause it’s like kinda traditional yk!!

bokuto; he loves calling you baby cause he just cannot fathom that you’re his like he loves to always say it!!! and he loves how casual it is too like he can just call you that?? that’s so cool??

iwaizumi; again with the traditional but endearing and fitting. he doesn’t have to think too hard on it, but also it still means something and is more than just your name or a shorter version of it. also he sounds so hot calling you baby or babe idk i just know it.

hanamaki; king of “babe! babe :( babeeee! babee. babe come on! babe! baby :(” you’re 99% sure he’s just provoking you at this point. like say babe one more time. but he actually loves resorting to baby, especially when you’re upset and he wants to be as endearing and kind as he can to you.

daichi; very traditional too tbh. honestly when you two first started dating it was all he could think of saying without feeling awkward or feeling like he was trying too hard. later on when he started to feel more comfortable and more secure he got more creative.

nishinoya; he has been waiting for this moment his whole life. the moment he can actually call someone his baby or babe. it’s his favorite and possibly only nickname (aside calling you pretty or gorgeous or handsome) and it will always be.

MY LOVE ! —

akaashi; definitely definitely definitely calls you “my love” like i am 100% sure of this. akaashi is just so. he’s just so romantic but it’s also so unintentional? he says it because it feels natural and it feels right like you are his love after all, aren’t you?

sakusa; he’s not one for elaborate nicknames honestly, and he feels like “my love” is the right balance of sweet, kind, fitting, and subtle and serene. it’s not doing too much but it’s also doing more than enough yk? also people that look like they would wear a trench coat/blazer and a turtleneck beneath also look like they would use the term “my love” hence sakusa and akaashi.

tendō; i am telling you guys he is a simp. the loveliest simp ever. he says it so sweetly too like it genuinely makes your tummy twist and heart backflip when you hear him say it cause you can hear how genuine he is in his words oh my god.

kita; he just !!! he is just husband material okay!!! he is so endearing and he says it in the softest most genuine voice ever and it’s literally his go to because yes you are his love you’re his entire world!!! he loves you!! he wants you to know it every time he calls out to you!!

BUNNY/PUPPY ! —

bokuto; ARE YOU KIDDING ME. HE LOVES IT. he. loves it. he just finds it so cute and like. he loves the way he associates it with you now. prefers puppy over bunny but like. he loves both. he adores both.

matsukawa; calls you bunny all the time. not more than doll, but it’s definitely so common. he won’t use it around others not because it’s embarrassing but more because he kinda wants it to be just a thing between the two of you, honestly.

kenma; IT SLIPPED ONCE AND HE WAS LIKE. A DEER CAUGHT IN THE HEADLIGHTS. he calls you bunny!! sometimes, not always. when he wants something from you mostly. “pass me the water.” “no.” “bunny please :(” it works like magic every time.

oikawa; oh my god can you imagine??? he loves it so much because one, he thinks it’s such a cute nickname props to whoever decided let’s use pets as literal pet names, but also two, he thinks nothing describes you or fits you better. you are just his bunny :( his puppy :( he loves you :(

kageyama; timeskip kageyama calls you puppy. i have nothing more to say.

hinata; timeskip hinata calls you puppy. again, i shall say no more.

suna; hello !!! he loves to call you bunny and/or puppy. the feel of satisfaction he gets when he calls you that like ,,, he feels like you’re properly his yk? yk.

KITTEN ! —

kuroo; this one is for him and only him.

LOVELY ! — (maybe sweetheart too)

osamu; is there anything more beautiful than a tired osamu snuggling up to yoi and with a deep gravely voice saying, “missed you, lovely,” ? no there is not. it’s his favorite nickname for you, and he uses it all the time!! kisses your forehead as he leaves and tells you, “have a good day, lovely,” and comes back home and says, “hiya, lovely,” and tilts his head when you wanna talk to him about something like, “what’s up lovely?” cause you are his lovely, you’re his loveliest.

sugawara; i have no other explanation other than i can picture it perfectly. he thinks it’s the best choice of a pet name he’s ever chosen and thought of. and he loves the smile on your face whenever he says it, he thinks it’s the sweetest thing ever <3

BAE ! —

hanamaki; is it a joke? is it not? both.

okay im sure i missed so many boys but i can’t think of any rn bc it’s like. hella late :( but i wanted to put something out for you guys!! point is, if i didnt mention a boy and you want to know, send me an ask!! and if i didn’t mention a nickname and you want to know that too? send me an ask well!! ill be happy to answer it <3

love u all mwah <3

1K notes · View notes

erensangel444 · 4 years ago

Text

just a humble bounty hunter

spike spiegel x reader

DNI if not 16+ thank you!

cowboy bebop fr fr is one of my favorite animes it’s just 😘

this fic is spike x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender-neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this fic has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

a/n: i want this life plz. ALSO, I LOVE THIS TROPE: two unemotionally available people whose hearts are taken by another, but for some reason, they can’t have the person they want, so they seek out each other for comfort(aka sex), and eventually, it turns in to something more, and there’s a little bit of angst, but in the end, their hearts belong to one another now. IM GONNA CRY :,) i don’t know if that made any sense but ya feel me???

okay don’t beat me up....but this has a cliche confessing-our-love-in-the-rain scene. IM A SUCKER FOR THE CLICHES OKAY?!! also faye’s lowkey a cock-blocker in this?? I LOVE HER THO, i want her to stomp on me.

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain language), stealing, use of drugs(just weed), violence(no death), germs?? bc transfer of something from one person’s mouth to another(just a cherry stem), alcohol consumption, smut; dry humping, unprotected sex w/ creampie, cumplay, oral(male!receiving), mentions of public sex, degradation + praise,

word count:

summary: attempting to forget the past with a cowboy, unknowingly creating a future.

you could hear the thrum of electricity throughout the bebop. you slid open your door, the lights near the bottom of the wall lighting the walkway. you walked into the kitchen, the room dark beside the moonlight shining in through the open gateway. you grabbed a soda from the fridge, walking towards the open entrance of the bebop.

you could make out spike’s figure in the distance, the slight flare from his cigarette making him easily distinguishable. you opened your soda, spike’s head turning at the sound. he noticed it was you, taking another puff from his cigarette before smiling at you and turning back around.

you had landed on cacri, a possible bounty in the area. the ship sat in the water for tonight, in a bay that was a docking area for ships. it overlooked the city, and if you turned to the other side, the sea stretched for miles fading into a distance of nothingness.

you walked over to spike, who was standing at the edge of the ship. you sat down, your legs hanging off of the ship. you set your soda down, sitting back on your arms. “rough night?” you joked, the soft waves of the water brushing against the ship.

you heard spike chuckle from above you, muttering as he held the cigarette in between his lips, “you could say that,”. you looked up at him, spike already looking down at you. he pulled the cigarette from his lips, holding it out to you, to which you shook your head left and right.

“i prefer more medicinal herbs,” you sighed jokingly, spike smiling down at you. “to each their own,” he mumbled with the cigarette in between his lips, looking back out to the water. you laid your back down on the ship, looking up at the stars. “god that’s what i need right now, some weed,” you declared, sitting back up. “i’ll be back,” you said, standing up and grabbing your soda from the walkway of the ship. “i’ll come with you,” spike offered, rushing to catch up with you. you pouted mockingly, “think i can’t handle myself?”. you walked into the kitchen with spike, setting your soda down on the island.

“you’ve shown full and well you can handle yourself,” spike praised, smirking at you, “maybe i’m just interested in partaking in some of those medicinal herbs,”.

you and spike crammed into your tight ship, the sound of the ship taking off causing ripples along the water. spike had found a 24-hour dispensary not too far away, and you set the ship down about a block away. you walked in, the bell on the door ringing.

a woman sat behind the cash register, smacking her gum loudly. she looked up at you and spike, giving the pair of you an uninterested stare before looking back down at her nail filer.

you looked at spike, raising one eyebrow with a soft smile, spike laughing softly. you walked through the store, grabbing rolling paper and a bag of weed, a strain called “strawnana”. spike couldn’t help but pick up gummy bear edibles, and so you headed to the cashier placing it all out on the countertop in front of you.

“id,” the cashier grumbled. you realized that you hadn’t brought your id and turned towards spike, looking for a solution. “we forgot em’” spike said plainly. the cashier’s unimpressed look remained. “the legal age here is 18 though, right?” spike asked, though he already knew the answer. “we look over 18 right,” spike smiled, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“no id, no weed,” the cashier said plainly, pointing to a sign behind her that read ‘we card!’. “you know,” spike started, leaning on the countertop, “i really hate to do this, but,” he grabbed the rolling paper and bud, running towards the door.

you paused for a moment, before realizing what was going on. you grabbed the gummy bears from atop the counter, running towards spike who was holding the door open. you could hear a “hey! come back here!” from behind you, and you turned to see spike throw up a peace sign to the cashier.

you ran down the block, running towards your ship. you slowed down, walking for a moment, laughter coming over you. “you’re fucking crazy,” you sighed airily, walking beside spike who let out a soft laugh.

“we got it though didn’t we?” he said with a smile.

you and spike were back outside of the bebop, sitting on the take-off strip. the joint was in between your lips as you took a drag, inhaling the substance. you blew it out with a puff, coughing once with a light chuckle before handing it over to spike.

spike took a hit before blowing out the smoke. the joint had become shorter, barely being held between spike’s fingers. spike deaded the joint, setting it in the ashtray. “yeah, this is what i needed,” you sighed, lying down. it seemed like the stars were brighter than they were before as you looked up at the sky now.

the soft noise of the waves brushing against the ship lulled you further into a calm state. “do you do this often?” spike asked, turning towards you. “only after we get a bounty, shit’s expensive,” you said honestly, spike laughing softly.

spike laid down next to you, looking up at the stars. “s’pretty huh?” you said simply, turning towards spike. spike hummed out an affirmation, still looking at the sky. you smiled at his expression, turning back towards the sky.

“it’s cold,” spike said, sitting back up, “let’s go inside,” you offered, standing up and walking back towards the entrance of the bebop. spike was trailing behind you, gummy bear package in hand.

the loud noise of the gears turning as the gate to the take-off strip closed finally came to a cease. you plopped down on the couch, sighing softly before spike sat down next to you. “feel real good,” he drawled before lying his head down on your lap and smiling up at you.

you just laughed softly, your hand falling to spike’s hair out of instinct. “do you have someone you miss?” spike spoke softly, the conversation taking an abrupt turn. you sucked your bottom lip in before deciding to speak. spike was being vulnerable, the least you could do was reciprocate his vulnerability.

“yeah,” you said plainly, trying to control the shakiness of your voice, “don’t think i’ll ever be able to get em’ back, though. try to tell myself it’s no use to think about them, but i can’t help it,” your voice trailed off towards the end of the sentence.

spike squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to shake away a vision before he spoke quietly, “i miss her, fucked up bringing her into my life,” your hand paused in his hair for a moment, latching onto his every word, “don’t even know where she is, even if i did, i don’t know if i could face her,”. the room grew silent for a moment, your hand resuming its ministrations in spike’s hair.

“love sucks, huh?” you said simply, spike giving you a weak smile. “s’like,” you paused for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts, “no matter how hard you tried to forget, it’s still there, still in the back of your mind,”. spike’s eye lit up at your words. he pushed into your hand, and you hadn’t even realized your hand had stopped.

you continued playing with his hair as spike spoke, “i try so hard not be stuck in my past, but it’s always there, like you said, in the back of my mind,”. you looked down at spike nodding. the room grew silent once more, neither of you itching to say anything.

“jus’ wanna forget,” spike said, his voice breaking slightly. he sat up abruptly, leaning beside you on the couch. he turned to face you, his face closer to you now. “don’t you wanna forget?” he said, his eyes crinkling. you could feel the heat flush to your cheeks, and you nodded, afraid your words would betray you.

next thing you knew spike’s lips were on yours. you hesitated for a moment before reveling in the feel of the kiss. your hands fell to spike’s hair, spike’s hands tracing down your body. his hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto his lap. you let out a slight gasp, pulling away for a moment and looking at spike.

you kissed him once more, mumbling into spike’s lips, “jus’ to forget,”. spike lifted a bit off of the couch, trying to lean into the kiss more, his hands drifting to your backside. spike hummed into your lips, agreeing.

spike was peeling your shirt over your head as your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. the kiss was quickly becoming more desperate, muffled moans and grunts falling from both of your lips. you couldn’t help but rock on spike’s laps, your arousal dampening your panties.

“sh-shit,” spike pulled away, leaning his head back on the couch. you continued to grind on his lap, your hands tracing over his chest, his shirt fully unbuttoned. “jus’ like that,” he groaned, before pulling you in for another kiss, your whimpers being muffled by his lips

your hands fell to the button of his pants, fumbling with the item before an abrupt clearing of the throat interrupted you. you pulled away from spike’s lips quickly, looking towards the doorway.

faye was leaning along the wall, smirking at the pair of you. you quickly removed yourself from spike’s lap, grabbing your shirt from the floor. “and to think i only came for a glass of water and got a free show,”

“s’not for free actually, pay up” spike grumbled, buttoning back up his shirt. you stood up from the couch, desperately wanting to cave in on yourself as you spoke softly, “goodnight, spike,”.

you looked down at the man, an apologetic expression on your face. “goodnight,” he said, smiling up softly at you.“night, faye,” you said, passing by her. “night y/n!” she yelled down the hall, “cute bra by the way,”.

“shut up faye!”

you hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, tossing and turning, throwing the covers off of your body before curling up in them once more. you knew faye was going to give you shit about it in the morning, and you could deal with that.

but what did this mean for you and spike?

you awoke to ein licking at your face, ed chanting at the end of your bed, “bacon! bacon! bacon!” she grinned, ein barking at her excitement. “alright, fine,” you grumbled, “just get ein off of me!”.

edward grabbed the dog from the bed, ein licking her face, “yuck! your breath stinks ein,”. you laughed at edward, patting ein’s head. “come on, ed,” you said, walking down the halls of the bebop. you were silently praying that spike was still asleep.

you walked into the kitchen to find faye sitting at the countertop, drinking coffee. she smirked at you over her cup, “good morning, sunshine!” she said in a sweet tone, “morning faye,” you replied. you turned to look at her, grabbing the bacon from the fridge.

she set her coffee cup down at the countertop, smiling at you. “faye,” you whined, drawing out the e. “we have a lot to discuss, very important things to discuss,” she whispered, ed sitting on the floor playing with ein.

“let me at least make some coffee first,” you grumbled, putting the first piece of bacon onto the pan.

ed was happily chewing on her bacon, playing chess in the living room. you and faye sat at the countertop, coffee cups in hand. “first off,” faye started, and you prepared yourself for the slew of judgements to be thrown at you. “what the fuck?”.

“let me explain,” you assured her, faye just clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “no need for explanations, it was like i walked in on a porno,” “hey! it was not that bad,” you chastised, looking back down to your coffee.

“we were high, it didn’t mean anything, trust me,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. your stomach turned at your words, but you ignored it. “it better not of, cause we’ve got a bounty to catch, and i can’t have you lovebugs getting in the way of cold, hard money,” faye said.

you laughed softly, “you’re just gonna gamble it away anyways,”. faye pushed your shoulder, “and who’s gonna be getting wasted at the bar while i invest my money wisely,” she teased. “oh yeah, you’re a prime example of a smart spender. at least my money is wasted on vodka,”. she took a sip from her coffee, “is that really that much better?”.

you both laughed softly, ed cheering from across the room at a smart chess move she had made. you and faye sat at the countertop for a while, conversing. faye had gone to shower, leaving you in the kitchen. you washed your two coffee cups, drying them off afterwards.

“morning, spike!” you heard ed say happily from across the room, your eyes shooting up. “g’morning kid,” he grumbled, walking over to the countertop while rubbing his eyes. “morning,” you said, trying to contain a sense of normalcy within your voice.

“hey,” he said, his voice softening. “i-i’m gonna go shower,” you said, spike nodding. you walked out of the kitchen, rushing towards your bathroom once you were out of spike’s line of sight.

“slow down, speed racer,” jet joked as you brushed past him. “sorry, jet,” you said, smiling sheepishly. you opened the door to your bathroom, closing it quickly after.

you leaned against the metal of the door, taking a deep breath. why couldn’t you just act normal? last night hadn’t meant anything, it was just to forget. you rationalized last night, realizing your actions were out of proportion. spike wouldn’t act differently, so you decided not to either.

a knock on the door broke you from your thoughts. you unlocked it, sliding open the door. “spike?” the man pushed inside of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “can’t just fuckin ignore it,” he said, shaking his head.

“wanted more last night,” he said, staring at you intently. “know you did too,”. “spike, w-we can��t,” you reasoned, spike backing you up against the wall. “why not? it’s harmless sex,” “harmless sex,” you repeated. spike nodded, “just to forget,” you whispered, “just to forget,” spike repeated.

you pulled him in for a kiss, moaning at contact. you had been itching for the feel of his lips on yours since last night. his hands quickly fell to the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head. he pulled away for a moment, unbuttoning his own shirt before his lips found yours once more.

your hand fell to his pants, tugging at them, hoping that spike would get the message. he read you loud and clear, pulling his sweats down and attempting to shimmy out of them. his pants pooled at his feet as he tugged at your sleep shorts pulling them down your body.

spike lifted you up, your legs latching around his waist. he stepped out of his sweats, walking you over to the countertop. his hand drifted to your lace-covered center, rubbing at your clit through the fabric. “can feel it through your panties, you’re dripping,” spike teased. “fuck,” you sighed, your head falling back into the mirror.

“can’t say i’m much better,” spike groaned, grabbing your hand and pulling it to his bulge. you gasped slightly, looking at him. he was big. spike just smirked up at you, grinding his bulge against your center. the fabric between the two of you created more friction, whimpers falling freely from your lips as spike groaned lowly into your shoulder.

he placed kisses onto your skin, pulling away for a moment, “want it?” he asked, grinding into you more. “gonna-fuck-gonna be too loud,” you whined, looking at spike. spike pulled away from you completely and you whimpered at the loss of contact.

he turned on the shower, the water falling from the showerhead, creating noise as it hit the floor of the shower. “problem solved,” he said, smiling at you. he kissed you once more, his fingers pulling your panties to the side, rubbing at your slit. he moaned into your mouth pulling away, “won’t even need to prep you, so fuckin’ ready for me,” spike said, his eyes staring at his finger rubbing through your slit, the digit quickly becoming covered in your slick.

“n-need you inside!” you yelped as spike’s thumb rubbed at your clit. “fuck,” spike sighed, pulling his boxers down your legs. you shimmied out of your panties, lifting your hips from the countertop of the sink. you kicked them onto the floor, grabbing at the back of spike’s head, kissing him. he pulled away breathless, looking at you.

“you’re sure?” he asked. you couldn’t help the way your heart slightly palpitated as you nodded eagerly. “are you?” you asked, your hand rubbing at the back of his neck. he nodded the same as you had. “okay,” you said quietly, spike repeating the word as he pushed into you slowly.

you both let out a slight gasp at the push inside, smiling at one another after. as spike pushed further inside, the whimpers and mewls falling from your lips grew in volume. he bottomed out, pulling you in for a kiss, groaning into your mouth.

“so fuckin’ tight, clenching on me,” spike groaned. you whined as spike pulled out slightly, thrusting back into you. you both let out airy moans at that. spike was breathing deeply as you adjusted to the feel of his cock inside of you. “m-move!” you mewled, desperate for more, “please, want it!”. spike obliged, his eyes lingering on his cock pushing in and out of you.

his eyes raked over your body, looking up at your face contorted in pleasure. “so good, spike! s-so good!” you whimpered. his cock brushed against your walls, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. “oh fuck,” spike moaned airily.

he nuzzled his face into your neck, his moans and groans muffled by your skin. “c-close!” you yelped. spike pulled away from your lips, his forehead pressing against yours. “come on,” he said, his voice shaky. “lemme feel it, wanna feel you cum on my cock, come on, angel,” he rambled, thrusting in and out of you at a rough pace now.

spike brought his thumb down to your clit, rubbing quick circles on the bundle of nerves. “s-spike!” you moaned as you came on his cock, your toes curling, a mantra of spike’s name falling from your lips.

spike took in your expression, your eyebrows furrowed, your tongue lolling out of your mouth slightly. he looked down to the ring of white around his cock, moaning at the sight. he looked back up at you, your eyes open now.

“cum inside, i’m on the pill,” you said, panting. “wanna feel it inside me,” you whimpered. spike moaned, throwing his head back. your hands traced over his abs, your nails scratching softly at the skin. “y/n, fuck, gonna, gonna-” spike groaned. his head fell into your shoulder, his moans muffled by your shoulder as his warm load filled you.

you sighed as spike’s thrust slowed, spike bottoming out once more. “fuck,” he sighed, the explicit turning into a soft laugh. you joined in, laughing softly. you pulled him in for another kiss, smiling into his lips.

he pulled out of you, causing you to wince at the stretch. you closed your legs abruptly, not wanting his cum to leak out of you and onto the floor. “no keep em open,” he said, his hand falling to your thigh, “wanna see it pool out of you,”. you raised an eyebrow at him, “i’ll clean it up,” he promised. you obliged, opening your thighs.

“fuck,” spike groaned, watching his cum leak out of you. you laughed softly at his astonishment, spike looking up at you. “what’s so funny?” he asked, smirking. “didn’t take you as being interested in cum play, but now that i think about it though, it makes a lot of sense,” you teased, smiling at him.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “oh, nothing,” you joked, grinning at him now. you pushed yourself off of the countertop, standing next to spike now. “get in the shower, bozo,” he joked.

“only if you join,” you teased, leaning close to him, “ya kinda smell like shit, spike,” you joked. “smell didn’t bother you earlier, huh?” spike teased, smiling at you. you felt your cheeks flush with heat as you stepped into the shower, spike behind you.

the water cascaded over your bodies, your head pressed against spike’s chest as the smell of your tangerine soap flooded your senses.

the bounty was on a well-known gambler, who had a tendency to rob casinos where he had lost his money. he always had two pretty women on his arms, though it boggled your mind how he did, the man not being particularly attractive, his personality even worse.

that’s why you had an issue with the plan to catch this bounty. you and faye were sent in to be his arm-candy for the night. the plan was to approach him at the bar, he’d take one look at the two of you, and drag you to whatever table he and his entourage sat at that night.

faye had gone in a dark red, spaghetti strap gown, and you in a black strapless gown, the top of your breasts peeking out perfectly from the dress. your hair had been pinned up, a few strands falling to frame your face.

you walked out from your room in the chosen attire for the night, a scowl on your face. faye whistled as you entered the room with a yell of “do a little spin,”. her commentary brought a smile to your face as you smiled softly with a holler of “you first,”.

you looked over to spike, his eyes raking over your figure. you couldn’t help the feeling in your stomach, spike’s eyes raising to your face and offering you a sheepish smile, knowing he’d been caught.

you laughed softly to yourself as jet began explaining the plan for tonight.

you stood at the bar, sipping on a vodka cranberry as you waited for the bounty to approach the bar. faye and you had on undetectable earpieces as you leaned against the bar, scouting the area. spike sat at a blackjack table not too far from the bar, acting as a protective measure.

you knew as soon the bounty entered, a large mass of people coming into the bar, everyone turning to them and murmuring. you and faye just had to wait patiently until they approached the bar. you figured that the group would secure a table before coming to the bar.

you toyed with the ice in your cup, sighing softly. “he’s headed over,” you heard spike’s voice in your ear, shivering at the sound. you put on your best fake smile, sitting down on the bar stool. you pushed your arms together, accentuating your cleavage.

faye sat opposite of you, in a similar pose. “right behind you,” spike said, your body slightly tensing before you forced yourself to relax. “what are two beautiful ladies like you doing all alone?” the man groveled, an ugly grin on his face.

god, men were so predictable.

you turned around on your stool, forcing a sultry smile onto your expression. “looking for someone to make us feel less alone,” you said in a seductive tone, the man laughing softly. “you’re in luck then,” the man drawled, grabbing you by your waist and spinning you into him.

you had to physically stop the bile forming in your throat, letting out an airy giggle in response. spike’s voice was sounding through your earpiece, “never heard you laugh like that before,”. you tried your best ignored spike’s commentary, latching your arm around the man, faye on the opposite side of him.

you had been seated at a poker table for a good hour now, clapping your hands together enthusiastically to cheer on the man who was your bounty for the night. you had grown exhausted with your facade, but you just had to wait for the perfect opportunity.

you leaned up against the man’s side, your hand falling to his thigh. “think i left something in my ship, would you mind walking me out?” you said, peering up at him your eyes wide.

he clicked his tongue to the side of his mouth, smirking, before grabbing your waist, and sliding out of the booth. he walked you out of the casino, his hand falling to your backside, full-on grabbing your ass. you held back from ripping his dirty hands off at you, silently praying for the moment where you could give this fucker what he deserved.

“where’s your ship?” he said as you got further into the parking lot. you just smirked at that, faye walking out from the casino. “about that,” you sighed before landing a roundhouse kick to the man’s face. he fell to the ground groaning, and you kicked him once in his stomach for good measure.

you knelt down next to him, pulling the gun from his pants as you hovered over his face, “just so you know, not every woman wants your grimy hands all over them, i’m not a piece of fuckin property,”. you stood back up fully, towering over the man. spike walked out from behind his ship, handcuffs in hand.

“you, though,” he drawled, sitting the man up and handcuffing his hands behind his back, “are property of the bebop,”. you just smiled at spike, walking him back to spike’s ship. “hurry before his buddies come out here,” you said, basically shoving the man into spike’s ship

“sure you can handle em?” he asked, full and well knowing you were capable of defending yourself. “have i ever had a problem?” you smirked, spike just laughing softly. the pair of you walked away from spike’s ship and back to the entrance of the casino. just in time, you thought.

“sorry, boys,” you smirked, walking over to the group. faye had positioned herself along the wall of the building, acting as backup for when the fight began. “seems like your friend left,” you shrugged.

“you bitch!” one of his friends shouted, charging at you. you dodged the punch he had thrown, grabbing his arm before flipping him onto his back on the ground. he laid there, squirming in pain. a second man charged at you, spike easily stopping him by swiping the man’s leg with his foot. the man tumbled over, spike landing a kick to his face for good measure.

“who’s next?”

you, faye and spike had cleared out the group, the men laying near the exit of the casino, moans of pain sounding out in the silence of the night. “see ya back on the bebop,” you waved to faye, then to spike with a smile, opening the door to your ship.

you had decided that after all your hard work, you deserved a treat. you set your ship down near the closest 24 hour liquor store. you opened the door, a bell ringing. you gave a soft wave to the cashier before ducking down the isle, in search of a bottle of wine.

you grabbed the cheapest one from the shelf, shuffling through the items in your clutch, pulling out your id and card. you set the wine down in front of the cashier, “this all?” he asked, to which you nodded simply. “5.50,” he totaled the amount, and you handed him your card.

“have a good night,” you said simply, opening the door of the liquor store, the cold air brushing against your face as you walked back to your ship.

“rough night?” spike joked, walking into the living room of the bebop. you simply smiled at the parallel of his words with yours from the night before as you spoke, “guess you could say that,” you sighed, propping your feet up on the table.

the clock read 2:37 AM. the bounty you had collected tonight was on a man named hobi jones, wanted for numerous armed robberies. he now was in the holding cell of the bebop, the plan being to drop him off to the police station in the morning.

“looks like you’ve turned to the drink,” spike commented, his hand motioning to the bottle you brought to your lips. “a little cheap wine never hurt anybody,” you smiled, handing the bottle over to him. “merlot? didn’t realize it was that bad of night,” spike joked, taking a sip from the bottle.

“hey!” you laughed, “i chose the cheapest shit, not my fault i’m a broke bounty hunter,” “kinda is your fault,”. you both sat in silence for a moment, passing the bottle amongst yourselves. “you’re plotting,” spike said, eyeing you. you turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “huh?” you said simply, smiling softly.

“well, i mean, you’re sitting on the couch, looking like this” his eyes raked over your figure, “and you seduced me into joining you for a bottle of wine,” “seduced you?” you asked, your smile growing now. “if anything,” you teased, setting the bottle down on the table before positioning yourself atop spike’s lap, “i think you coming in here shirtless, practically naked, is a bit slutty, don’t you agree?”.

spike laughed softly at your words, his hands falling to your hips as he rutted you against his lap, “what are you gonna do about it?” he said simply. your lips were on his in an instance, soft hums falling from both of your lips. “looked so fuckin’ good in that dress tonight,” spike mumbled into your lips, his hands digging into your ass.

“w-wanna blow you,” you whimpered, pulling away from spike’s lips. “god, please,” he groaned, looking down at you as you kissed down his chest. your hands fell to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them down his legs. you palmed him through his boxers, his cock already half-hard.

you tapped at his left thigh, spike lifting his hips up slightly. you tugged the boxers down his body, the fabric pooling around spike’s feet. his cock sprung up, slapping softly against his stomach. “fuck,” you sighed airily, your thumb rubbing across his slit, spreading his precum against the tip of his cock.

“shit,” spike hissed, leaning into your touch. one hand hovered one spike’s thigh, softly scratching at the skin. you wrapped your mouth around the tip, sucking gently, spike letting out a loud sigh. your free hand wrapped around the base of spike’s cock, moving up and down his length along with your mouth.

you pulled away from his member, a string of saliva connected to your lips. you grinned up at spike, the man putting a hand over his eyes with a mutter of “you’re trying to fuckin’ kill me,”. you laughed softly, your eyes falling back down to his cock.

you planted your hands on his thigh, mumbling against the tip of his cock, “fuck my throat,”. spike’s breath hitched as he stared down at you, his jaw slack. “please,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment. you opened your eyes at the feeling of spike’s thumb brushing across your cheek.

“yeah? open wide then, tongue out,” spike smirked down at you. your tongue lolled out of your mouth, spike’s hands latching into your hair as he inched your mouth down his cock. “fuck,” he drew out the word, “so good,”. your nose brushed against the skin of his pelvis as you gagged around his cock, your nails digging into his thigh.

“fuck,” he groaned, pulling you off of his cock, “looked so pretty choking on my cock,”. tears were forming in your eyes, close to pooling over your lower lid. a string of spit was connected to your mouth as you panted, catching your breath. “want my cum down your throat?” spike asked, already knowing the answer.

you nodded eagerly, planting your hands back on his thighs. “just use me,” you whined, your hand falling into your panties and rubbing at your clit. spike’s hands were back on your hair, your mouth wrapping around his saliva covered member. “shit,” spike groaned, thrusting into your mouth slightly. “just want me to use you, huh?” his voice was shaky now, spike getting closer to his release.

you gagged on his cock, the sound of you choking sounding throughout the room. tears were falling down your cheeks now, your nose slightly runny, but you reveled in it. you loved the sound of spike losing his mind above you, his hands gripping your hair tighter.

“gonna flood your throat-shit-gonna take it all right?” spike moaned. you couldn’t answer, your mouth full of his cock. spike didn’t wait for an answer, his hip thrusting up once as he pushed you against the base of his cock, your nose pushed against the skin of his pelvis. spike’s load burst into your throat as you tried to swallow in time with the spurts.

he pulled you off his cock slightly, only the tip of his cock on your tongue as one of his hands fell to jerk his length. some of his cum dribbled down your chin as you breathed heavily. spike’s hands fell onto the couch next to him, spike throwing his head back. he looked back down at you, your hands in between your legs, your slick covering your fingers.

“i came,” you whimpered softly, bringing your finger to your lips and wrapping your mouth around the digit. spike laughed softly from above you, “so fuckin’ dirty,” he drawled, his fingers collecting the cum from your chin before being pushed into your mouth, your fingers sucking on his digit.

you smiled up at spike once he removed his finger from your mouth, sighing softly before standing up. “get to bed,” you said softly, “we’ve got some money to make tomorrow,”. spike smiled up at you, “drinks tomorrow?” he said, causing you to pause in walking to your bedroom.

you turned to look at him over your shoulder, grinning, “only if you’re paying,”

the crew had collected a decent amount of money from the bounty, the sum being spent between the four of you, and ed received spending money out of each of your amounts.

your newfound--and most likely short-lived--wealth was being spent at the bar, spike sitting on the stool next to you. “another round please,” spike raised his hand slightly, the bartender nodding. your cheek was on your hand, your arm leaning on the countertop as you faced spike.

“you wanna know why i’m such a good kisser,” spike leaned next to your ear, whispering. you laughed softly, raising one eyebrow, “who said you were a good kisser?” you teased. the bartender poured more vodka into your two shot glasses, spike asking for a small bowl of cherries.

“you know i’ll let that dig slide,” he smirked at you, “only cause you look so good,”. you blushed at spike’s words, regaining your composure, “not to bad yourself, spiegel,” you smiled softly. the bartender placed a small glass bowl of cherries next to spike, spike uttering out a short thanks.

“back to my amazing kissing skills,” he said confidently, causing your smile to grow. “watch this,” he said, staring you intently. he took one of the cherries, the stem held in between his thumb and pointer finger. he popped the fruit into his mouth, only the stem held in between his fingers.

“now for the main event,” he smiled, placing the cherry stem on his tongue. he closed his mouth, still staring at you, his eyes twinkling. you could see his cheeks moving, his tongue tying the cherry tongue into a knot.

he stuck his tongue out, his words jumbled, “see? told you,”. spike stuck his tongue back in his mouth as you muttered, “oh shut up,” attaching your lips to his. the kiss took spike by surprise before he melted into it, his hand falling to your waist. you pulled away, smiling at spike before sticking out your tongue, the cherry stem on your tongue. “see?” you drawled, mimicking spike.

the night ended with spike hiking up your dress in one of the bathroom stalls, his cock pushing into your warm walls.

you woke up with a blasting headache, the alcohol from last night coming back in full-swing. you groaned, sitting up in your bed, your head in your hands. begrudgingly, you made your way to the kitchen.

the bebop was unnaturally quiet, ed’s laughter wasn’t sounding throughout the living room, nor was faye’s ridiculing tone. you walked into the kitchen, spike sitting at one of the stools at the island.

“where is everybody?” you asked, pouring yourself coffee from the pot. “jet is at the bank making an investment or some dumb shit like that, faye’s at the casino, and ed,” he paused for a moment, “i don’t know where ed is,”.

you laughed softly, “she always finds her way back here so i’m not too worried,”. you groaned quietly, rubbing at your forehead. “hangover?” spike questioned, to which you nodded. “mrs. cherry stem can’t hold her alcohol then?” spike teased. you just shook your head with a soft smile, “fuck off,” you joked, standing up and opening the kitchen cabinets in search for advil.

“if anything,” you started, finding the advil and popping open the container, “you’re mr. cherry stem, you started that bullshit,”. you put the advil container back away walking over to the stool you were sitting in.

“i thought you’d be glad i started it, i mean from the way you were yelling my name in the bathroom last night,” he raised his voice an octave, taking on a more nasally tone, “spike! spike!”. you shoved him in his shoulder, spike mocking hurt as he clutched his shoulder with a pouted lip.

“you know you really shouldn’t take advil, doesn’t help much,” he said plainly, taking a sip from his coffee. “i have a much better hangover cure,” he proclaimed, standing up from his seat. you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him shuffle around the kitchen, pulling out a multitude of items.

when he had finally gathered everything, he pointed his finger at you, raising and eyebrow as he tried to contain a smile. “now watch very closely, i’ll only teach you this once,”. you laughed softly, raising your hand to your forehead in salute.

“raw egg yolk,” spike said, cracking the egg into a bowl, your upper lip curling in disgust. “bear with me,” he chuckled. he grabbed the yolk with a spoon, separating it from the egg whites. he placed it into the glass, smiling at you.

“pepper,” he said, sprinkling the seasoning from the canister on top of the egg yolk in the glass. “now for my favorite part,” he celebrated, grabbing the bottle of gin, pouring some of the liquid into the glass.

“why do i feel like this is gonna make me more drunk if anything,” you sighed, laying your head on your arms as you watched spike. he smiled, “would that really be that bad?”. you chuckled in response, looking over at spike as he grabbed the hot sauce with a proclamation, “last ingredient!”.

“and there you have it, my speciality, a prairie oyster,” he cheered, pushing the glass over to you. “spike,” you began to complain, drawing out his name. “jus’ try it! it works wonders, promise you,” he reassured you.

“if i die, i’m haunting you in the afterlife,” “i’d welcome it,”. you grabbed the glass, lifting it to your mouth, swallowing the entirety of its substance. “yuck,” you exclaimed after swallowing, sticking out your tongue. “they grow up so fast,” spike teased, causing you to smile over at him.

“you want pancakes?” you asked, standing up from your stool as you moved throughout the kitchen, grabbing pancake mix from the pantry, blueberries from the fridge. “you know me so well,” spike said, standing up after you. he leaned on the wall, watching you mix the pancake batter.

“need some music,” he stated, grabbing his phone. dream by the pied pipers began playing through the speaker of his phone, spike’s arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck. “gonna make me burn myself,” you laughed, pouring the batter into the pan.

“dance with me then,” spike said, spinning you around. you gasped before smiling up at him. “may i have this dance?” he joked, curtsying. “you may,” the grin audible in your voice as you held out your hand.

spike grabbed your hand, pulling you close, his hands falling to your waist, your hands latching behind his neck. he hadn’t stopped looking at you, a soft smile still on his face. you shuffled around the kitchen, step-together-step, spike grinning now.

“my pancake’s gonna burn,” you laughed softly, leaning up to give spike a chaste kiss before wiggling out of his hold. you walked over to the stove, grabbing the spatula and flipping the pancake over.

spike’s arms were around your waist once more, spike leaving soft kisses on your exposed shoulder, only a thin tank top strap covering the skin. “so clingy today, spike,” you teased. “jus’ wanna be close,” he mumbled into your skin. “s’alright,” you said softly, your cheeks flushing with heat.

you felt that familiar feeling clutch onto your heart, but you pushed it away, not wanting to recognize what it meant, not wanting to be reminded of its familiarity.

faye’s voice broke you from the comfort of spike’s arms, “hello lovebirds,” she said, walking over to the kitchen island. “faye,” you reprimanded slightly, telling her not to go any further. she just laughed, raising an eyebrow at you as spike now stood further away from you. he paused the music on his phone, his eyes still lingering on your face.

“you can take the first one spike,” you said, placing the blueberry pancake on a plate and handing it to spike.

you were sitting on your bed, your mini yamaha keyboard sitting in front of you. your fingers played different chords as you quietly sung along. a knock on your door broke you from your tranquility as you raised your voice, “come in,”.

the door slid open, spike standing behind it. “hey,” you said, smiling up at him. you hadn’t really talked since this morning, faye interrupting whatever moment was going on between the two of you. maybe it was a good thing that she had interrupted you.

maybe you were getting to attached, maybe this was becoming more than just forgetting. was it more for spike? “y/n, hey,” spike waved his hand in front of your face breaking you from your thoughts. “sorry,” you muttered, “zoned out for a sec, what’d ya need,” you said, patting the bed for spike to sit down.

he sat, tracing his finger across your keyboard, “didn’t know you played,” he said, looking at you intently. “not very well,” you smiled, “plus it’s a mini keyboard, not much i can do with it,” “play something for me,” spike suggested.

“i’m really not very good spi-” “please?” he asked, and you couldn’t help but oblige. your fingers pressed on the simple chords, your voice adding onto the music.

“sweet creature,” you sung softly, “had another talk about where it’s going wrong,”. you continued singing, your fingers pressing the keys in accordance to the notes you were singing. you couldn’t look up at spike, embarrassment consuming you as your eyes remained glued to your keyboard.

unable to cope with the feeling brewing in your stomach, you lifted your hand away from the keyboard. you mustered up the courage to look up at spike, his cheeks flushed a light pink, “y-your voice,” his voice broke for a moment, and you could visibly see him swallow. his voice grew quieter, “it’s really pretty,”.

you both sat there in silence for a moment. you could see the slightest hint of hurt etched on spike’s face, but it wasn’t your room to question why. you just wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug and muttering a “thank you,” into his skin.

you don’t know how long you remained that way, but eventually spike’s arms were clutching onto you, your body acting as his anchor. you were his anchor.

though the two of you had gotten distracted for a moment, spike had originally come into your room to ask if you wanted to go grab something to eat. you now sat in a booth at spike’s favorite ramen restaurant. “s’good huh?” spike smiled as he watched you slurp up noodles.

“why have i never been invited here before?” you chastised jokingly, “can’t believe you would hide something like this from me,” you said dramatically, grabbing more noodles with your chopsticks. “i’ll only come here with you from now on,” spike promised. you couldn’t help the way your heartbeat quickened at his words.

“they give free matcha ice cream after the meal too,” spike added. you dropped your chopsticks into your bowl, looking over at spike with a smile. “i think i’m in heaven,” you reasoned, spike laughing softly.

spike had asked for the ice cream to go, and the pair of you now walked around the city center, matcha ice creams in hand. you pointed out a boutique, you and spike walking inside. the store was full of jewelry, candles, and other random items. you scanned through the rings sitting in a jewelry case.

your eye fell on a green aventurine ring, the jewel grabbing your attention.”the green one?” spike asked, turning towards you. you looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a soft smile on your face, “how’d you know?” you asked, looking back down at the ring.

“suits you,” he said, his shoulder brushing against yours, “get it,”. you shook your head, turning to look around the store, “blew most of my bounty money already, shouldn’t spend anymore,” you reasoned. “did i say you’d be paying?” spike said, almost as though it puzzled him that you thought you’d pay for your own ring.

“spike, i can’t let you d-” “quit being stubborn, grab the ring,” he interrupted, walking towards the cash register. you grabbed the ring, quickly following behind him. the cashier rang it up with a mumble of, “7 dollars and 37 cents”. spike handed her a 10 dollar bill before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the store.

he grabbed your hand, slipping the ring on your pointer finger, “s’pretty,” he murmured, looking back up at your face. “yeah,” you said softly, and before your brain could catch up, you were wrapping your arms around his body and pulling him in for a hug.

“thank you,” you mumbled into spike’s chest, the giving a short hum in answer.

though cacri had been a beautiful planet, you were glad to be somewhere with a beautiful beach. hot, white sand that toasted the soles of your feet, almost crystal clear water. you were lounging in a beach chair, an umbrella over your face. you were reading an old play titled blithe spirit, you had picked it up from a bookstore after the ramen date with spike.

you reasoned that you shouldn’t call it a date, feelings already being designated as non-acceptable. you sighed, pushing your sunglasses onto your hair. though spike was the reason for your inner turmoil, you couldn’t help but watch him splash ed with water.

he had a huge grin on his face, and you could hear his laughter. your eyes raked further down his body, pausing on his abdomen before you turned your attention back to your book.

“you brought food right,” you heard spike’s voice, lifting your head as you saw him jogging towards you. ‘mhm’ you nodded, leaning over your chair and tapping on the picnic basket.

“ohh yum,” spike cheered, pulling out the container of chocolate covered strawberries. “want one?” he said, holding the fruit out to you. you accepted with a smile, biting down on the chocolate covered delicacy. a small amount of juice dribbled down your chin, spike laughing softly at you.

“always so messy,” he sighed, his thumb collecting the strawberry juice before bringing the digit to his tongue and lifting it up. you could feel the heat in your cheeks, that familiar tingle spreading throughout your body.

“bathing suit’s pretty on you,” he complimented, his eyes raking over your figure with a smirk. he bit the chocolate covered strawberry whole, placing the remains on the cover of the container.

“thanks for the snack,” spike grinned, running back down towards the shoreline. jet groaned from beside you, flipping over onto his back.

“you guys disgust me,” he grumbled.

jet and ed walked back to jet’s ship with calls of, “see you back on the ship,”. faye had spent the day at the casino, and you teased her slightly for it earlier in the morning when she discussed her plans for the day.

you and spike had crammed into his ship for the beach trip, and you found yourself attempting to stuff towels and a picnic basket into the tight area. eventually, you both were seated, spike’s ship lifting off.

“heard this song the other day,” spike said, looking at you for a second before focusing his attention back in front of him. “search up hey lover by daughter’s of eve,” he said, tilting his head towards his phone that sat in the center console of the ship.

you grabbed the device, typing in the song title. music flooded the speakers of spike’s ship as you smiled at his head bobbing along to the beat. “hey hey hey lover,” spike sung off pitch, causing you to laugh softly.

he smiled over at you, “s’ earth music,” he said, turning the volume down slightly. “from the 1960s or something, long time ago,” “s’neat,” you smiled over at him. spike’s hand fell back to the volume nozzle, the music growing louder once more.

spike’s hand grabbed yours causing you to gasp softly. he closed your hand into a fist, using it as a makeshift microphone as he continued to sing off-key. “focus on getting us back to the bebop,” you laughed softly, pulling your hand from his hold.

you sought out comfort from spike, your hand grabbing his. you soon realized the gravity of your actions, planning to pull away, but spike’s hand softly squeezed yours. you let your hands rest latched together on the center console as the moon began its ascent in the night sky.

spike had come into your room that night, his body snuggling against yours under the cover. your soft breaths became synchronized as his arm wrapped around your midsection, the pair of you drifting off into sleep

that morning when you woke up, spike was no longer next to you.

you couldn’t help but wonder what you had done wrong. did he realize you had fallen in love with him? did you even realize it? you shook away the thoughts, getting into your ship.

spike had ignored you the entirety of the day, rushing out of the kitchen once he had seen you. you had decided that you needed some weed, something to calm you down. you were using it as a coping mechanism. you hadn’t gotten high in a while, most of your time spent with spike.

you had blanked out the entire flight there, your brain on autopilot. you set your ship down, pushing open the door as you stepped out of your ship. the bell on the dispensary door rang, the cashier giving you a soft wave which you returned with a smile. you grabbed rolling paper, and a small bag of bud, the cashier totaling the amount.

“thanks,” you said softly, pushing open the door. you walked back to your ship, your mind flooded with images of spike, overrun with worries. on a lighter note, the planet you were on for this next bounty was actually one you had been to before.

there was a beautiful lookout area that you had gone to with faye, and in no rush to return to the bebop, you set your destination for the lookout spot.

you had only been at the lookout for about 30 minutes when you felt the first drop of rain hit your skin. “fuck,” you grumbled. you set the joint down onto the dirt, stepping on it before you rushed into your ship. the rain was hitting the windshield, your ship lifting off as you headed back to the bebop.

the rain seemed to worsen as you got closer to the bebop, the raindrops hitting your windshield sounding like pellets. you set your ship down on the landing strip of the bebop, groaning at the thought of having to rush inside. you prepared yourself for the feeling of the cold rain on your skin, pushing open the door of your ship.

you yelped slightly, rushing down the landing strip and towards the entrance gate, which to your surprise, was already open. a figure was rushing towards you, and you soon made it out to be spike. the ship had been set down in the water for the night, close to the harbor, the lamplights from the sidewalk lighting up spike’s face.

“where were you,” he yelled as he rushed over to you. “you didn’t care earlier,” you grumbled walking towards the entrance of the bebop. spike grabbed your hand, turning you back towards him. “i was worried about you,” he yelled over the sound of the rain, and you couldn’t tell if tears were forming in your eyes or if it was just the rain.

“yeah?” you yelled, your voice shaky, “all i’ve been doing all fucking day is worrying about you!” you ennunciated the last word with a jab to his chest. the rain was still coming down hard, your eyes squinting. “i can’t-” your voice hiccuped, your throat feeling tighter, “c-can’t do this anymore, spike,”.

spike eyes remained at you, his bottom lip under his upper one. “it was jus’ to forget right?” you continued at spike’s silence, “so it doesn’t matter,”. you turned back walking towards the entrance once more.

“wasn’t to forget,” spike yelled over the rain, walking towards you as you paused your movements. “i-i was so scared this morning,” his voice quieted for a moment and you had to lean in to hear him. “you were humming something in your sleep, some tune,” he paused, looking down at the floor.

“every thing reminded me of her, every whistle i heard along to the melody of a song, every hum along to a certain tune,” he was looking at you now. “b-but for once, th-this wasn’t her anymore. i didn’t think about her,” spike’s voice broke.

“it was only you,” he finished. you responded in the only way you saw acceptable, your hands planting on spike’s cheek as you pulled him in for a kiss. “s’ only been you,” spike mumbled into your lips. “only you,” you mumbled back. the kiss grew more passionate before you both pulled away, breathless. “

“i’m sorry,” he said, pulling you into him, your face pressing against the wet fabric of his shirt. “just want you,” you hiccuped, tears falling down your face now. “i’m not leaving,” spike reassured you.

the rain cascaded over your bodies, the memories of a past love washing away along with it. as the sky cleared, the moon marked the creation of new memories. new love blossomed with the dew.

#cowboy bebop smut #cowboy bebop imagine #cowboy bebop fic #cowboy bebop x reader #spike smut #spike imagine #spike fic #spike x reader #spike spiegel smutt #spike spiegel imagine #spike spiegel fic #spike spiegel x reader #smut #imagine

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leahseclipse · 4 years ago

Text

Unexpected visit

“Could you do a one-shot about Spencer and y/n aka his secret long term gf. They have a baby together and Spencer hasn't told the team for security reasons and one day y/n passes by the BAU when returming from a baby check up or smth and she goes to see him (with the baby), completely forgetting that they don't know anything and the baby (who can talk a little) calls him dada in front of everyone and the team is just left in shock. And just pure chaos ensues (aka everyone loving the baby genius)”

Requested by: @enchantedthoughts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None that I can think of, just cute dad!spencer

Summary: Spencer and his girlfriend had a child together that stayed a secret for security reasons; but when the reader happens to go to the bureau one day, the visit, supposed to be casual, turns into a surprising revelation that no one expected.

Word count: 1.8 k

A/N: AAAAA TYSM- It’s like, my very very first request, and I was so excited the day I went into my inbox to see that ;;;;;;;- you have no idea how happy u made me by sending me a request- I hope that you'll like it,, I currently don’t have a child and never took care of one, so excuse me for the mistakes I've did for the behaviour and stuff,,,

(The fic hasn't been checked over so I'm sorry if there's any mistakes.)

When their daughter was born, they didn’t quite expect what had followed next. It was really difficult, but, the only complication that was to be taken into account was to not let anything slip out about her.

As much as Spencer wanted to, he couldn’t mention her at work, after both him and y/n had discussed the possible risks. Of course, the possibility of them occurring are not frequent, but not impossible as Spencer insisted during the chat they’ve had.

He had thought that it would be better to keep her as a secret for security reasons after witnessing what had happened around him; whether with people he was close with, or people he’d encounter with during cases, or at work.

On y/n’s side, she only happened to be working part-time at a small café, she’d mainly take orders and eventually clean, but she wasn’t very close with them, and had her daughter before she began working there, so whether she had let them know or not, nothing much would have changed.

Even though her job wasn’t as dangerous and totally not the same as Spencer’s, it also was preferable not to say anything else, she just decided not to inform her colleagues either.

At first, keeping the secret wasn’t as easy as they’d thought, but the only thing that they both wanted was to keep her safe, and it if meant that they couldn’t share it, especially for Spencer, as his team was as his family, they had to do with it, their child’s safety would go first.

They had managed to keep up with both their works and personal lives; Spencer would often have to take calls where no one could hear nor see him so he could see her.

It really was surprising to see him with a different phone, his old phone wasn’t the one to be usually seen, but he couldn’t resist to see her.

Spencer happened to be less at home than y/n, so video calls were a solution to be with her, in a way.

After that, the sudden change eventually had to be explained, as he wasn’t the kind to even touch a computer usually.

They had wished that the phone would be the only explanation to do, but Spencer’s work had decided otherwise.

Spencer didn’t seem to find excuses that would be seen as serious, or even understandable when the time to step aside for having time with his family when she was born had come.

It had eventually went well, really. More than expected.

Even if he couldn’t be home as he wanted to after he had to go back to work full-time, he really appreciated the little time he’d have with them.

He really didn’t expect all of this to happen at all just a few years ago, but he couldn’t wish for better now.

Both appreciated being with their daughter everyday, they’d get to discover more and more about her and enjoyed every moment they’d spend all together.

She had even begun talking a bit, sometimes some blabbering, or even fairly understandable words; like ‘dada’ or ‘mama’ recently, along with many others, including some invented ones.

They have been amazed by the number of stuff she’d learn each day, and couldn’t wait to see more.

Unfortunately, it’d have to wait.

She had a couple of appointments scheduled to see how she was doing, and happened to have one today, so ‘admiration time’ would have to wait.

Luckily, the appointment was on one of y/n’s days off, which could be attended without having to look for someone to cover her shift, or for Spencer to excuse himself if he didn’t happen to be on a case.

As expected, it didn’t take much time and she wasn’t fuzzy or anything, she was really calm for once, it really wasn’t surprising. She was usually calm in general and wouldn’t cause much problems.

But now that the appointment was done, she didn’t happen to have much on her schedule, and she could either go home or take a walk with her.

The weather seemed nice...ish, but she wasn’t so sure. She could, perhaps...pretend that Spencer forgot something, and go to his work?

That seemed like a good idea, and totally what she wanted to do.

Y/N had first decided to make a quick trip back to the apartment to catch some stuff she’d probably need, before heading to the car towards the bureau, it didn’t take much, just about twenty minutes, and plus, her daughter happened to be a bit sleepy, which was quite nice instead of having her cry the whole ride.

She had never come here at all, only walked by it or saw it when she happened to drive by, but never had she actually stepped inside.

She didn’t even know where to go, and even find where the hell Spencer could be, the only information she’d had was that he could possibly be at the 6th floor, somewhere in a room with desks.

Wow, very helpful.

The desks are literally EVERYWHERE.

She didn’t know what any of them looked like, she had only heard from them, and if Spencer showed her pictures of them, that must have been a while ago, because she barely remembers a single one.

That’s when she began to ask herself what the hell she was doing here.

How was she going to do, if literally, no one knew her, and, now that she realises, isn’t really supposed to be here.

She probably...got herself into a mess. Probably.

Y/N had swore that the universe was against her, because just when she had stepped in the ‘room with desks’, a couple of voices could be heard from the small staircase leading to a corridor.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice asked, which seemed a bit...nervous as well.

She tried her best not to let too much emotions show on her face, as she was literally around at least...eight profilers.

“Dada!” The child that she held in her arms yelled, as she pointed at Spencer.

Definitely screwed.

It’s over.

“Did that child just call him dad, or did I misheard it?” A blonde woman -probably JJ- asked, looking around as if she looked for approbation.

“You didn’t misheard it.” They all said.

In the meantime, y/n and Spencer just looked in the void, definitely realising that the secret they had tried to keep had just exposed them.

They wouldn’t have thought once that their own child would expose them.

“I think we may own everyone here an explanation, no?” Y/N hesitantly asked, looking at Spencer as if he could make the situation less worse than it already was.

“...we do.” Spencer answered, walking up to where his girlfriend was.

“For how long have you been hiding this beautiful girl and that cutie…?”

“Uh...I’ve been with her for...almost four years, and she’s going to be two soon.” Spencer answered, looking at Penelope. “You guys are really worrying me, is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just that...we’re, really, really, surprised. Especially for the child.”

“Yeah, it uh...mainly was for security reasons, for both of them. It if wasn’t for that, you guys would have already known.”

“At least uh...you know me, and I know you guys.” Y/N said, trying to break the silence.

“It’s really wow...she has Spence’s eyes too.” JJ told, a small smile on her face.

“She’s way too cute, no wonder why she’s so beautiful, look at her parents.” Penelope gestured at the couple.

“You really did hide them from us for a while.” One of the men said, as y/n just looked in confusion. “Oh, I’m uh, Matt.”

“Y/N. It’s uh…a bit overwhelming, there’s a lot of people I don’t know. I know names, but not which name to put on who’s face.

“It wasn’t...planned.” Spencer joined, pulling her close to reassure her.

"It's ok, don't worry. It won't change anything, we love you as much as we loved you before, we're happy to know that everything is going well with your small family."

"Yeah, I was aware of that, I've heard a lot of good stuff about everyone, I was just afraid. It's been a while since we got together, and had her, so it sure was surprising to know that your genius had a small family without anyone knowing." Y/N said, looking down at the small girl in her arms.

"It sure wasn't easy. I've had to find an excuse for whatever family member when I needed to take care of her. At least, I don't have to create an excuse about an imaginary aunt anymore." Spencer admitted.

"And also, if uh…we do have another one, you won't have to find a super difficult excuse, that time."

"Oh, yeah...that."

"That, yeah. I've had her before I began working, so I didn't have explanations to do. Now uh...am I supposed to let them know?"

"If you want to. It's already too late here. Our own child exposed us, even, if it was a bit too late to get out of that mess from the moment everyone saw her. Hm?"

"A...bit too late. But, as she was great today, we can excuse her."

"Mhm. We can." Spencer agreed, as he looked at the people around along with y/n.

"So, everything's good?" Y/N asked.

"Of course! We're not upset or anything, it was just surprising at first. But now that I know about you two, you don't imagine the number of gifts and attention you're about to get." Penelope clearly did everyone else know that she wouldn't take her attention off them for a while.

"I can imagine. She's going to have a lot of aunts and uncles now that she has everyone here, she's going to be so spoiled." Y/N joked.

"You have no idea." A black haired woman said, she probably was Emily.

"Do you have time right now? You could stay for a bit, we don't have much to do." Spencer asked Y/N, to which she was quick to answer by nodding.

"Yeah, I am. Plus, after that, I don't think that I would get to go home before answering a million questions." Y/N said, trying to not look more stressed that she already was.

"Yay! We get to spend more with them!" Garcia said, visibly excited at the idea.

Even though nothing of that was planned to happen for a while, it went well overall. Of course, they would have preferred to wait a bit more, but they can't do much now.

The positive point is that she'll get to talk about her freely now, especially with his co-workers now that they know.

They've all been surprised, but very welcoming. They all reassured her and she really liked their presence.

Y/N really knew what Spencer meant when he considered them as family, they really were as a real one, and now, she gets to be a part of it along with their daughter.

The unexpected visit turned out to be a surprising revelation, that again, surprisingly turned out into a joyful mess.

---

Tags: @homoose ;

#criminal minds #spencer reid #cm #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fluff #cm fic #matthew gray gubler fic #Matthew Gray Gubler

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yoditorian · 4 years ago

Text

close to what

frankie morales/reader

as part of @din-damn-djarin‘s birthday song challenge, i picked dancing under red skies by dermot kennedy. it’s a favourite song of mine, i think it’s beautiful, and i felt like it fit this idea i’ve had swirling around for a little bit. this fic is extremely personal to me but it’s also not pretty. i don’t want to romanticise addiction or use it as a plot device, so PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.

the support group and hospital drop-off box is drawn directly from my own experience. my inbox and ask box are always open if you need to talk, but i am by no means a professional. if you are struggling with themes of this fic a quick internet search should help you find resources local to you 💛

main masterlist

word count: 3.2k // warnings: addiction, PTSD, nightmares (inc. death mentions), recovery and relapse, therapy mentions, hospital mention, references to past substance abuse, implied reader is in addiction recovery, swears probably, ‘they’ as a pronoun in reference to the reader

Your ringtone is obnoxiously loud in the darkness of your bedroom but at least that means you don’t have to worry about where it is, reaching out blindly towards your nightstand where it blares by your head.

“You’re from the group thing, right? He’s mentioned you a few times.”

You don’t recognise the voice on the other end, maybe you should have checked who it was before answering. You pull the phone away from your ear for a second and glance at the time first, 4:03am. No call at four in the morning can involve good news. But it’s the name on the screen that has you wide awake in a split second: Frankie.

“Is he okay?” You ask, putting whoever it is on speaker while you fumble for the lamp on your bedside table. An old sweater hangs over your bedpost, the logo of a sports team you’ve never heard of cracked and faded beyond recognition, and you tug it over your head in a panic.

“I don’t know, he’s locked himself in the bathroom. I just- he won’t come out. He won’t listen to me, he always listens to me.”

There’s a stifled something and a quiet knock. But no sound from Frankie, just the shaking sigh of the man you’re speaking to. He tells you his name quietly, Santiago, and you remember Frankie mentioning his oldest friend. An image pops up in your mind as you wrestle your jeans on, a fuzzy picture on Frankie’s phone screen, passed to you over the sticky table in a diner, of two men standing knee-deep in a river. Soaked to the bone but grinning ear to ear. Pope’s got him, if no one else has. That’s what he told you.

You stay on the phone with Santiago on the drive over, convincing yourself it's out of concern for him instead of the anxiety churning in your stomach. Frankie still makes no sound in the bathroom, the door stays locked, and you try not to think too hard before you have all the facts.

The Santiago that meets you at Frankie’s front door is a far cry from the man in the photograph. He looks exhausted, on the verge of tears. You’re pretty sure you’re not faring much better.

“Last door,” He breathes, “Down the hall.”

You follow his instructions, finding the only closed door in the hallway and tapping lightly on the painted wood. Listening for a moment, you can just barely hear a shuddering breath. That’s better than nothing, at least it means he’s alive.

“Frankie?” You try, praying that he’ll relent when he realises it’s you. Santiago stands at the other end of the hall, wringing his hands together, phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder as he whispers frantically into it. He barely catches himself from crashing to his knees when the bathroom door clicks softly.

“Can I come in?” You have to ask him. All this has to be on his terms, he has to set the boundaries. Anything less than that is dangerous, you won’t risk him hurting himself.

He says nothing, but the door pulls back just a fraction of an inch and that’s all the confirmation you need. You push the door open enough to slip inside and shut it softly behind you again.

Frankie’s sitting on the floor, his back against the bathtub and legs stretched out in front of him. A quick look over proves he’s not hurt, and you’d breathe a sigh of relief if it weren’t for the little ziplock bag between his knees.

He’s very pointedly not looking at it, or you, instead choosing to glare at a spot on the ceiling. You maneuver yourself to sit opposite him, against the wall with your knees tucked up against your chest.

“Did you take any?” It almost feels wrong to break the silence that’s settled over the two of you.

You wait with bated breath until he gives the slightest shake of his head. He hasn’t touched it. Okay, that’s the worst case scenario eliminated. It’s enough to have your heart rate calm a little, it doesn’t make things better by a long shot, but at least it’s something.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” You ask, picking at a loose thread of your sweatshirt.

His chin falls to his chest and he pulls his knees up towards him and you’re sure this is it. This is where you lose him. But Frankie takes a deep breath. And then another. And then, he musters the courage to look you in the eyes. He doesn’t see pity, not like he thought he would. You don’t look disappointed or upset or angry, the way he was so sure you would be. You’re just waiting, letting him take the reins, he stores the knowledge away. In case he ever needs to dig you out.

“I don’t know what happened,” God, his throat is scratchy, “I just- I had a bad night. And I called Pope, and then-”

He breaks off with a heart-wrenching crack in his voice and you can’t help but reach out to him. Just a hand, stretched across the space between you. He holds onto you like his life depends on it.

“And I remembered I kept a bag on top of the medicine cabinet. And now you’re here.”

It’s to the point, simple, methodical. Like he’s back in the army and giving a flight report to his CO. You wonder if that’s what he needs right now, maybe spelling things out is better for him than asking what it is you can do. It’s easier, sometimes, when someone just tells you what’s going to happen.

“Do you want to take it?” You have to know, for his safety if nothing else. You need him to tell you if there’s going to be a problem, if there’s a risk and he needs more than you. He knows you’re not going to walk out the door and give up on him if he says yes.

It has to be his choice.

Frankie shakes his head again, a grimace on his face like he feels sick at the thought, and you squeeze his fingers between yours. You need him to understand that he hasn’t failed, that he won’t fail. Tripping up and falling behind are part of the process, and you know he knows that. He’s been going to the support group longer than you have. Recovery is messy and far from simple. He’ll get back to where he was, one bad night isn’t going to ruin him.

Your lower back aches from the hardwood floor but you show no sign of discomfort, waiting until Frankie is completely back in his own head before you make any move to suggest where to go from here.

“There’s a drop-off box at the hospital, you fancy a drive?” You keep his hand in yours, terrified that he’ll slip back if you let go.

God, he hates this. He hates that he can’t even look at you for more than a few seconds without his resolve threatening to crack. He hates that you’re not angry at him for any of it, not even a little bit. He deserves anger, he deserves your disappointment.

You were never supposed to see him like this, that much he’s sure of. Or, he convinced himself of at least. He’s been going to group and therapy and he’s kept up his tests and he’s stayed far away from anything that might even tempt him a little. And that was before you even showed up. Standing awkwardly in the doorway with a nervous smile and eyes the size of dinner plates. But he’d been by your side in a flash, asking you to give him a hand setting up chairs, and that was it.

Frankie knows the ins and outs of recovery, you don’t need to tell him that he hasn’t failed. But he can’t help feeling like maybe he never really started in the first place, leaving that one bag out of sight. Life had been busy enough to preoccupy him, between everything else he kind of just forgot about it. He let it gather dust and it should have stayed that way.

And then, it felt like he was falling out of the sky. And he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

Nightmares aren’t an unusual thing for him, or for any former soldier, but the memories they stem from seem to warp into something else entirely when he’s too tired to pay attention. Sometimes he’s alone in the helicopter, sometimes he’s with family, sometimes strangers. It was his team tonight. A vivid memory of a time he almost couldn’t save them.

The crash never happened, he knows that. He’d righted the bird and got his team to safety the way he knew he could. But that knowledge doesn’t stop his mind from wandering, from drowning him in fear when he imagines what might have happened had he not done his job. If they’d crashed in the middle of nowhere. Would any of them have died on impact? Would they have been left stranded, wounded and starving? He’s woken up in a cold sweat too many times, each ending more horrific than the last.

Tonight had been the last straw. And Frankie had found himself in his bathroom, patting along the top of the medicine cabinet, before he could even realise what he was doing.

He’d called Santiago, still blinking back images of his best friend’s bloody and lifeless face, just to hear his voice initially. But he hadn’t managed to explain anything past the sob lodged in his throat, and he’d heard the jingle of car keys before he could tell Pope he didn’t need to drive all the way across town at two o’clock in the morning.

At least nobody had called Will, because that would have meant that Benny would have shown up too. Maybe even Tom would have dragged his ass out of bed. Frankie didn’t need to disappoint all his friends in one night.

Santiago is bound by friendship, best and oldest, he’d never say anything if Frankie didn’t want him to. And you, you’re bound by- well, you’re not really bound by anything. You could get up off of his bathroom floor right now and never look back. Get to your feet, and walk right out of his life. But you won’t.

He knows you won’t because you’re still holding tight to his hand, even though the angle and distance has you leaned forward awkwardly. You’re still looking at him like you believe in him, even though he almost threw everything he’s worked so hard for down the drain. You’re here, despite everything. Despite only knowing him for a couple of months, despite getting a call from a stranger at four in the morning, despite everything he’s done to be undeserving of anything good or kind in his life.

You’re here, still, looking at him like he can do anything. That’s something. That’s enough for him.

“I don’t even want to look at it.” Frankie croaks, and keeps his eyes steady on yours even as his voice wavers. To anybody else, he might sound unsure. But you hear that steely determination underneath it all, the same one that’s convinced you to keep moving any time you’ve faltered.

“That’s okay, I can take it.” You waste no time in snapping the little bag up in your free hand, and stuffing it in your back pocket. A phone rings in the hall, hurriedly answered, and you suddenly remember the other man waiting outside.

Frankie’s still looking at you, dark eyes unsteady and unsure, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him. He comes back to you, slowly, and takes a few shaky breaths.

“Do you want him to come with, or?” You leave the question open. His choice, entirely, the way everything tonight has been. He lost control for a moment and fought, tooth and nail, to get it back. You can’t take any decision about this away from him.

He shakes his head, loosens his grip on your hand, and asks you to give him a minute. It hurts, leaving him alone on his bathroom floor. But he’ll come out, you’re certain of that much.

“Is-” Santiago cuts himself off when you emerge and pull the door just shy of closed behind you, like he’s afraid to even ask the question. Let alone know the answer.

“He’ll be okay. We’re taking his last stash to the drop-off box.”

Santiago’s whole body sags in relief, and you can’t help but lean against the wall for support yourself. The little ziplock bag in your back pocket is a weight you don’t think you’ll ever stop carrying, even after it’s disposed of, but you’re more than happy to bear it when Frankie steps out of the bathroom and Santiago tugs him into a hug that almost breaks his ribs.

It’s easy to forget, when you get that low, that you have people. But they’ll always show up when you call.

You leave them to their moment and shuffle back through to the main room, your car keys and phone left on the kitchen counter where you’d abandoned them. You’re not sure why you bother checking your messages, maybe it’s to keep your hands busy, maybe it’s so you don’t feel like you’re intruding on Frankie and his oldest friend. They speak in hushed tones as your thumbnail scratches back and forth across a crack in your screen protector.

“I’m sorry.” Frankie’s voice is rough, muffled into the other man’s shoulder.

“Don’t be,” Pope squeezes him just a little tighter before pulling back far enough to look him in the eye, “Be sorry you didn’t tell me they were so pretty.”

It should feel odd, the way that he speaks as though the last few hours haven’t even happened. How a simple, harmless joke is all it takes for Frankie’s heart to settle. Pope doesn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him,

“Didn’t I?” A shy, shaky smile settles on his features as Santiago stifles a yawn, “Crash here tonight, you’re not driving anywhere on no sleep.”

Ever the caretaker, even in the wake of his worst moments. It’s a hard habit to break after all they’ve been through. Something tells Frankie, even as Pope relents and walks through to the living room to find a blanket and settle on the couch, he’ll still be awake once they get back.

You’re quiet when he follows you out of his apartment, quiet as your footsteps echo in the stairwell, quiet when you cross the street to your car and unlock the doors. Part of him still worries that you’re disappointed, that you’re angry or upset or that he’s fucked up so bad that you’ve already decided to drop him home without a word and he’ll never hear from you again.

But another look at you out of the corner of his eye as you plug your seatbelt in disproves any other theory he might have. You’re quiet because you know that he doesn’t need you to talk, that he just needs you right here beside him so he can be brave enough to take the next step.

The radio is playing some acoustic, folky sounding song that neither of you have heard before, and it’s comforting to just sit and absorb the peace of the night as you drive. You’re conscious of Frankie’s eyes on you, although you’re sure he’s trying to be subtle about his staring. His seemingly unwavering attention does little to quiet the voice you’ve been hearing in the back of your mind for the last few weeks.

He still can’t quite believe it. That you’d wake up, in the middle of the night, and haul ass across town for him. For him. Something about it somehow makes ribcage feel like it's about to burst and cave in at the same time. But now is definitely not the time to be thinking about the tiny baby crush he may or may not be developing on you.

You don’t miss the way he tenses when you pull into the hospital parking lot, muscles locked so tight that a stiff breeze could shatter him into pieces. He turns to you when you say his name softly, and his eyes are wide with a terror so familiar that your heart breaks in your chest.

“I can’t do it.” He chokes the admission out like it’s poison, and in just four words you can hear every ounce of hatred he has for himself in this moment. He thinks he’s weak, because he can’t even throw a little plastic bag into a hatch, because he can’t even bring himself to move.

“That’s okay. Did you want me to?” You offer, it’s plain as day on his face that he doesn’t know how to ask you.

You’re grateful for the unusual warmth of the night when you step out of the car, comfortable enough not to need a jacket at this time of day. The sky is just starting to turn that odd shade of blue-grey, the barest hints of dawn on the horizon. Another day, just like tomorrow will be. Sometimes, the next day is all you can hope for.

The metal handle is cold when you wrap your hand around it and haul the creaky hatch open, you fish the bag out of your pocket and don’t even pay it a second glance as you set it on the little shelf and let the door snap shut. Gone. But you can still feel it eating away at you, you can still see how it weighs on Frankie’s shoulders when you shuffle across the concrete and climb back into the car.

He says he’s not hungry when you ask, and you don’t push it. He’ll eat when he’s ready. He’ll live when he’s ready. You don’t mind, you’ve got a better idea anyway.

“Where are we going?” He asks when he realises you’re heading completely the opposite way from his apartment building. You shoot him a smile, turning your eyes back to the road before you can read too far into the look in his eyes.

The beach is dead, just like you thought it would be, and you’re grateful as you shut off the engine.

“We are gonna throw rocks in the sea.” You say and part of him wonders if you’ve always known exactly what he needs.

If someone had told Frankie, twenty four hours ago, that he’d be skipping pebbles on the sea with you at sunrise, he would have laughed. But here he is, flecks of the rising sun on the sea reflecting on your face, and you’re smiling at him like that as a breeze ruffles his hair. Maybe this is all he needs to find the courage to stare right down the barrel of his faults. He doesn’t know how you do it, maybe you can do it together.

You reach over and take his hand when you spot the lone tear tracking its way down his cheek.

“You’ll be alright. I promise.” You smile just as the sun finally breaks fully over the horizon, sky streaked with orange and pink.

“Yeah, I know.” Frankie can’t help but smile back.

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@brothersdrxke @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean

#this is the most personal thing i've ever written i am Afraid #yikes okay #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #liz does words #sfw

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horansqueen · 4 years ago

Text

New Angel - Chapter 18

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1 ☆ chapter 2 ☆ chapter 3 ☆ chapter 4 ☆ chapter 5 ☆ chapter 6 ☆ chapter 7 ☆ chapter 8 ☆ chapter 9 ☆ chapter 10 ☆ chapter 11 ☆ chapter 12 ☆ chapter 13 ☆ chapter 14 ☆ chapter 15 ☆ chapter 16 ☆ chapter 17

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.5k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

"I can't believe you brought me here." Millie sighed, shaking her head slightly but grabbing a ball anyway. "I can't play, you know it!"

"You mentioned not being good at golf, and at football, but you never said anything about bowling." I argued, trying not to smile too much.

"I mentioned sports in general!" she let out a bit louder. "I suck at all of them."

This time, I couldn't help my lips from curling big. It was finally friday and also the fifth day Millie and I were spending together. It was insane how fast time seemed to pass when we were together but I liked it. I also liked the fact that she was ready to follow me in my stupid ideas, and I was happy to follow her in her crazy ones. I had had many friendships in my life but nothing ever felt like this one. I was trying new things, learning things too, and even discovering things about myself that I don't think I would have found out without Millie's help. I knew it wouldn't always be entertaining the way this week had been but it could definitely be enriching forever.

"You can do it! I believe in you!" I let out, half-joking.

She raised her nose up and grimaced before shaking her head. "Don't be money on me, you'll quickly become poor."

I chuckled and she turned around, grabbing the ball and throwing it in the alley. It rolled around and quickly reached the gutter, making me press my lips together as I tried not to laugh. Okay, maybe she really sucked at it.

"Okay, this is confirmed." Millie let out as she walked up to me. "Bowling is still a sport. I suck at it."

I laughed and finally got up, waking up to her and grabbing a ball too. I was not the best at bowling but I was not so bad either, and I grabbed her arm on my way, bringing her with me. I handed her the ball and she frowned for half a second before grabbing it and I turned her around, placing her hands on the ball. She allowed me to move her fingers, staring at what I was doing and licking her lips. It made me smile more and I kept my hand over hers.

"Okay fist off, you need to relax a bit. You're way too tensed. You need to stay relaxed when you give the swing." I explained slowly, waiting a few seconds. "God, Mill, relax!"

She sighed but I finally felt her relax against me as I pressed my body slightly more against hers.

"Now you need to line up and not just throw the ball and hope it'll find the right way."

Millie's shoulders fell and she turned to me, frowning at me. It made me chuckle again and she raised her eyebrows.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No," I argued. "I think you expect to be bad at it so you put zero effort in it."

This time, her traits softened and she licked her lips again without answering my comment. "Okay, and what else?"

"Your swing needs to be relaxed, but when you finally throw the ball, you need to some power. Aim for the middle. Oh, and twist your wrist on the left. Not too much, just enough, okay?"

"This is too much information at the same time."

"Come on, Mill. You can do it."

I took a few steps back but kept my eyes on her as she breathed in and out before finally throwing the ball. Instead to get in the gutter, it rolled in the alley and hit two pins that feel down. Millie turned around swiftly, her brown hair moving around her body, and threw her arms in the air, letting her head fall back slightly.

"Yes! I'm the bowling queen!"

I crossed my arms on my chest and started laughing at her reaction. Some people turned around to look at us and I rolled my eyes, a smile still spread on my lips.

"Yea yea, I'm still gonna win."

We kept playing for a while and even if I won all the games, she was getting better and better and for some reason, it made me proud of her. We walked back to my car and as I was driving home, I saw her took her shoes off and bring her feet on the seat, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Maybe someday, we can go try playing golf together." she explained, making me raise my eyebrows in surprised before I glanced at her. "If you're ready to teach me, of course."

"Yea! Yea of course!"

She sent me a bigger smile and leaned her cheek on her knees, still looking at me. "Cool, you're a good teacher, and I actually had fun."

"That was the goal."

As soon as we walked back in the apartment, she walked to the kitchen and I rushed to my room, grabbing a pack of cards and joining her as she put two beers on the table along with a bottle of vodka. We sat in front of each other and I started dealing the cards.

It was a ritual we had with Louis on every friday night but even if we hadn't talked about it together, neither of us had expected Louis to be there. He was barely at the apartment anyway these days and the fact that Millie still had feelings for him made me think it was actually better that way. We both knew he was spending all his time at his girlfriend's but we didn't mention it. In fact, we hadn't talked about Louis, Grace or Summer at all on that day either and I was fine with it. We could spend time filling the lists and all of that during the weekend... or never.

Millie pushed her empty beer away and filled our shot glasses with vodka. We swallowed it at the same time and I saw her eyes water.

"Don't drink too much." I pointed out, my lips curling on the right. "We're having a party tomorrow night, and also you won't be able to see your cards."

Millie laughed louder than expected and she shrugged a shoulder. "I probably won't get drunk tomorrow, to make sure everyone's safe."

"That's very mature of you." I replied with a small smile. "Now show me what you got."

Her eyes met mine and her lips curled into a cheeky smile. "Are you ready to lose?"

Just as I was about to answer, we heard the front door open and we both jumped slightly, not expecting it. Louis frowned when he entered the kitchen and after a few seconds, his face changed. Maybe I should have felt guilty for doing something with Millie that he was normally a part of, but I didn't.

"Shit, it's friday already?" he asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning closer. "Why didn't you guys remind me?"

"We just thought you were busy." Millie mentioned, shrugging a shoulder and looking at the cards in her hands.

"Maybe I could invite El?" he asked, ignoring her innuendo. "She could play with us."

"No, she can not." my best friend quickly replied before I could say anything.

"Fuck off Millie, why are you acting like that?"

I kicked my friend under the table and cleared my throat to catch Louis' attention but his eyes never left Millie who wouldn't even blink.

"What Millie means is that it's a thing we had only the three of us, you know?" I tried to explain calmly. "It's our thing, and adding someone would just not work."

It took over a minute for Louis to finally move his body back, his hands sliding on the table before they fell on each side of him. I could feel anger emanating of him and I didn't really understand what made him so mad. After all, he was the one who was never here, he was the one who literally dropped us for his girlfriend, and he was the one who broke Millie's heart. If anything, we should be the angry ones.

"Well apparently, you guys don't need me anymore."

I was expecting him to storm off but it's Millie who got up quickly, her chair making an annoying noise as it rubbed against the floor.

"You're the one who doesn't need us anymore, Louis!" she pointed out, making my heart jump in my chest. "So you know what? You fuck off!"

Quickly, Millie threw her cards on the table and grabbed the bottle of vodka, rushing out of the kitchen. i jumped again when she closed the door of her room roughly and slowly got up, shaking my head and leaning myself with my hands on the table.

"Did you really propose to bring your girlfriend here? Are you stupid of what?"

i was talking low but I knew he totally heard how pissed I was with the tone of my voice.

"Shut up, Niall!" Louis quickly replied, his voice louder than mine. He searched for something in his pocket and shook it between his fingers. I frowned slightly until I realized it was Millie's list and my lips parted.

"You didn't have the right to read this." I pointed out, my heart skipping a beat.

"Oh yea? Well Millie forgot it in the living room!"

It was definitely an accident and somehow, I thought it could have just slipped out of her pocket when we were watching tv. She probably didn't know it was there and even if she did, she probably thought Louis wouldn't come back for a while and that it was safe. I knew it was wrong of me to blame him for checking a random paper but I was mad anyway.

"That is none of your business!" I let out, trying to snatch the paper out of his hand.

He pulled away just in time and I breathed in, trying to remain calm. "This is my fucking business! My name is all over it!" he argued.

"That doesn't make it your business!"

I was getting even angrier and at the same time, I just wanted to leave and join Millie. It was her I should be with instead to be arguing with Louis, which was most likely useless anyway.

"Oh but it's your business, right? Because you think I was not good enough for her! You think she deserves better than me!"

In a rough movement, Louis threw the list on the table and I quickly grabbed it tight as I remembered what I had written on it.

"She does! She fucking does, okay!" I almost yelled. "You didn't treat her the way she deserves! She deserves better!"

"And who's better, Horan? Uh? Who's better for her? You?"

The way he said the last word was like a slap in the face and without thinking, I moved my upper body back, still staring at him. I didn't want to pick sides at first but now I had done it without even thinking about it. I looked at my best friend and felt my heart drop in my chest. We were both fighting for no good reason and I hated it. I licked my lips and breathed in deeply before sighing.

"Look, I'm not gonna fight with you, okay?" I let out in a softer tone. "You and Millie... you went through something, and she needs time. Which works because you're busy too. I just want to be there for her, okay? Don't take it so personal."

"How can I not?" Louis pointed out, still a bit mad. "This is my name! This is me you're talking about!"

I sighed again and shook my head. "Just.. go find your girlfriend, okay? I'll see you at the party tomorrow."

Louis' eyes moved up and down on me and finally sighed too. "Yea, it's better I leave for now."

Without an other word, he walked to his room probably to grab a few things and I waited until I heard the front door close again. I walked to my room to get changed and turned all the lights off before walking to until Millie's door, knocking gently on it.

"Mill, can I come in?"

It took a few seconds and I heard the door unlock before it opened. Millie stood in front of me, staring in my eyes, and I noticed she got changed too. We stared at each other for a while and I raised my eyebrows, making her sigh but move away to let me in.

We ended up laying in her bed, under the covers, facing each other, and I kept silent for a while. Her eyes seemed to shine with the lights coming from her window and I realized she had been tearing up, maybe she even shed a few tears.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm.. I'm at that point where my heart aches because I love him but I know he's not meant for me. I know I was not happy with him. I know that what we had was not what a love relationship should be. And... realizing that hurts, too."

I let my eyes room on her face and it made me think about Grace. Perhaps I was exactly at that same place when it came to my ex girlfriend and although it did hurt, I was slowly getting used to it. Maybe I should give Summer a chance, after all? It was not good to stick or hang on to something like the relationship I had with Grace, or the one Millie had with Louis. We should both seek something better and I knew it. Happiness was possible, it just needed a bigger effort.

"That's a first step in the right direction." I explained in a whisper. "You're doing great, I'm super proud of you."

Millie's lips curled in a grateful smile and she pressed her lips together.

"Thank you. I'm proud of you too."" she murmured back. "You're gonna sleep here with me?"

"If you want me to." I proposed with a shrug as she nodded quickly. "Then I will."

She reached for the lamp near her bed and turned the light off before laying back down in bed. I started thinking about Summer and how I never really gave her a chance. I didn't love her but I really liked her. She was a pretty and sweet girl and I had no idea why I was rejecting her over and over again. I knew I needed time to make a choice but the more I was thinking about it, the more I knew my choice wouldn't be Grace.

"Niall?"

"Mm?"

"You're never gonna leave, right?" she breathed out, taking me out of my thoughts.

"Where do you want me to go?"

"You know what I mean." she whispered again, making my eyes flutter open. I kept blinking a few times until I could see her shadow in the dark. "I lost Louis, I don't want to lose you, too."

I reached for her hand on the mattress and squeezed her fingers as tight as I could. "I'm never gonna leave, I promise. I'll always be there for you."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan story #niall horan love story #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan writing #niall horan au #my fanfics #newangel

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dannypuro · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! In the last chapter and the 'Combeferre finds out that the idiots got their act together' bit you wrote recently, you mention that Combeferre picks Enjy up when hugging. First of all, that it adorable and I love it. Secondly, what was Enjy's reaction the first time that he did that? Also 'ferre repeatedly bullying bakers to make strawberry cakes for Enjy is perfect. Overall, something telling is awesome! Thank you so much for writing it!

(Hello! This is Something Telling verse (aka time-zapped, 1830s Enjolras, modern-era), and takes place somewhere between chapters 6 and 7. this ask has been sitting in my inbox for months, but i..... forgot that i had the draft sitting in my documents 😬. oops. anyways, thank you for sending it!!!!! here is the first Big Hug and best friends time. also.... exr pining, because it’s something telling and that’s the way it goes. but my asks are always open!!!! i accept all forms of questions and prompts!!!!!!)

“Combeferre’s coming back home tomorrow.”

Enjolras looks up from his book. He would not truly say that he had been reading it, per se, not since Grantaire returned from a morning of boxing with Bahorel in naught but a- a tank top, Enjolras believes he had called it, but the name of it is, in his opinion, much less significant than the way in which it clings to his back with lingering sweat, the way in which he can see the edge of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the way-

Well. He had certainly been looking at his book. For the most part.

He clears his throat. “Pardon?” He manages.

Grantaire, thank the Lord, does not seem to notice his momentary… distraction. He sets his phone down. “Combeferre’s gonna be back from Morocco tomorrow. Joly says his flight comes in at four.”

Enjolras does what he can to parse that--even still, after weeks in this time, he cannot shake the semblance of strangeness, of unfamiliarity, that coats the words of everyone he meets. Even Grantaire, especially Grantaire, sounds, at times, as though he is speaking an unfamiliar tongue. (He wishes--God above, he wishes--to know it as he knows his own. To know Grantaire’s words, to know Grantaire, without the boundary of concentration required, without having to ask questions that must sound hopelessly stupid to everyone else in the world. To Grantaire. But-) “His… flight?”

Granaire grimaces. Enjolras nearly wishes that he had not asked at all, aside from the fact that he does not understand. “Um. Okay. So.” He looks about himself, swears. Enjolras fights the urge to shrink in on himself, to tell Grantaire that it does not matter, to bury his nose back in his book. Only, then Grantaire sits down beside him upon the sofa, so. Perhaps he will not withdraw his question. “Um. Wait. Okay.” He draws in a breath. “Fuck.”

He flushes hot. “You need not explain if it is troublesome,” he mutters.

Grantaire swears again. Enjolras fidgets with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “Um. So like. You know a boat?”

“A boat.” Surely, Grantaire is not asking if-

He nods, eyes wide and genuine and- and fucking caring. His shoulders are rather close to Enjolras’s own. He is still wearing no sleeves.

He forces himself to breathe in, then out. “Yes,” he says, “I know of boats.” He does what he can to keep the ice from his tone--he cannot say for sure whether or not he succeeds.

Grantaire winces. “Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Obviously, sorry, I- Anyways, it’s like a boat that’s in the sky?”

Enjolras clears his throat. “You have lost me,” he admits. He does not feel guilty for doing so, for he is fairly certain that the fault does not fall upon him, in this rare instance.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Um. Picture, like, a giant metal tube?” That means nothing. Enjolras nods, anyways. “RIght, and then imagine that, like, a bunch of people go into it and then it flies to somewhere else in the world really, really fast. And then you get out of the tube.”

And-

Ah. Of course. Grantaire is making some sort of joke, some mockery at Enjolras’s expense. He scowls. “I do not appreciate it when you make light of the fact that I do not understand your time, Grantaire. You know this.”

Grantaire sputters. He looks- not guilty, not truly, but regretful enough that Enjolras cannot help but to regret a bit of the harshness in his words.

He sighs. “It is not- It is fine. Only- I haven’t really any other way to learn these things, but to ask you, and so I do not-” He shakes his head. “It is fine.”

“No!” It is sudden, just a mite louder than Enjolras had been expecting--he startles, despite his efforts. Grantaire curses, then curses again, but softer, and then says, “Enj, no, I wouldn’t, I’m not, just-” he fumbles for his phone, prods at it for a few moments, then holds it out to Enjolras. “I wouldn’t,” he says, again.

Enjolras squints down at the phone. The glass is illuminated, showing- Well, it does seem to be a large tube, as Grantaire had said, but he still does not-

The vessel in the video lifts off of the ground. He turns to Grantaire with a start. “There- There are people within?”

He nods. “It’s a plane. An airplane. Lots of people take them.”

Enjolras feels rather as though he is going to be ill. He cannot tear his eyes from the phone. “And Combeferre shall be… inside of one? As it flies?” His hands have taken to shaking; try as he might, he cannot seem to still them. He hands the phone back to Grantaire, instead, presses his palms to the cushions of the sofa.

Grantaire nods again, and keeps talking, but Enjolras cannot- he cannot quite manage to pay mind to what he says, for-

Oh, but he does not fancy that idea at all, of a man being- being propelled through the air, as such. Particularly if the man in question is Combeferre, for Enjolras has only just met him, has only just managed to befriend him, and Combeferre is terribly kind and frightfully intelligent and funny in a way that makes Courfeyrac groan but that Enjolras quite likes, actually, and-

“Enjolras?”

“I-” his voice cracks; he tries again. “I feel I must voice my concern.”

Grantaire pauses, frowns. Enjolras feels somewhat as though he has said something foolish--but then, he often feels such, and this is too important for him to rescind, even if Grantaire does think him a fool, and- “Because of the plane?”

He nods. “I only think that-” he swallows, starts again. “It only seems as though it would be rather- rather hazardous, would it not be simpler for him to travel by ship? Surely- Surely there is much less risk of-” he breaks off, manages a jerky shrug.

There is a pause.

“Oh,” Grantaire says, soft.

He shrugs again, though he is fairly certain that it is not particularly convincing.

Grantaire is looking at him… oddly. Something squirms beneath his skin. “I mean- Enjolras, hey, he’ll be okay,” he says, but-

“You cannot know that,” Enjolras snaps, and he regrets it, as soon as he has, but he cannot seem to make himself stop, just yet, either. “I was not aware that you were an expert in- in aired plains.”

Annoyingly, relievingly, predictably, Grantaire does not even flinch, he just looks a little sadder. Damn it all. (He also presses a little closer, his arm bared against Enjolras’s own, damn it, damn it.) “People fly all the time,” he reasons.

“Foolish people,” he spits out. “Fools and- and geese, only, would elect to do such a thing.” He is being ridiculous, he knows it, but oh, he does not like this one bit, not at all. “Men are not pigeons.”

“Men aren’t fish, either,” Grantaire jostles him, gently. Enjolras fights the urge to lean into it. “We still have boats, though, dude. Continual progress, and all that?”

“And yet, if a boat sinks, its passengers do not find themselves plummeting to the earth, dude.”

Grantaire snorts a laugh.

“I do not find it humorous, Grantaire!”

“Sorry.” Grantaire draws in a breath, scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He huffs.

Grantaire hesitates, and then settles an arm about his shoulders. As though Enjolras would ever deny him that--as though he could ever quell that selfish, poorly-hidden bit inside of him that relishes in the warmth, the closeness, the impropriety of the act. “Want me to call him?” he offers, and again, Enjolras is selfish, and he nearly-

Nearly agrees, nearly jumps on the offer like he knows he shouldn’t, for he- he misses Combeferre, and he does not like the idea of him hurtling about through the sky, and yet-

“No,” he says, “You needn’t.” He swallows. “You needn’t bother Combeferre, when he is surely quite busy with his family. I would not wish to impose.” This is the polite thing to do, he reassures himself, Combeferre will be fine, and simply because he is one of Enjolras’s dearest friends does not mean that he does, or ought, hold similar ground in Combeferre’s heart, and it is fine.

It is fine.

Grantaire looks… sad, almost; it makes something ache deep beneath Enjolras’s ribs. “Enjolras-” he begins-

“It is fine.”

“Enj-”

Enjolras opens his book rather pointedly. Grantaire stops talking, but he doesn’t- he doesn’t actually remove his arm from Enjolras’s shoulders.

And.

Well.

Enjolras certainly shan’t be the one to remind him that it isn’t quite proper.

Enjolras is poor company the following morning, he is aware of this.

Being aware of it does not, however, quite mean that he is able to bring himself to do anything to correct his comportement. Rather, he leans his cheek upon his hand and picks at a whorl in the tabletop and does what he can not to flinch at the sound of a truck being unloaded outside the window, at the spray of grapeshot which fits so seamlessly into each echo that he cannot quite manage to convince himself that it is not real. (It was real, is real, in a way, but he cannot- he cannot think on that, not now, not when he already has so much to think on.)

Grantaire-

Grantaire is speaking to him, he realizes, from the kitchen, but he does not notice it until it is too late, until he can catch no more than “-up to you, really,” and then, because Enjolras has taken too long to speak, taken too long to parse what he would even be talking about, “Enjolras?” He pokes his head out of the doorway. (He is sleep-rumpled, soft, concerned.)

Damn it, damn it.

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he manages. “I’m afraid that I was not quite listening.”

At times, he wishes- he wishes that Grantaire would just grow tired of him, of his horrid behavior, instead of being so endlessly kind; that, at least, Enjolras would know what to do with. (At times, Enjolras is so afraid that it will happen that he thinks he would give anything not to ever think of it again.) As it is, Grantaire frowns. “I just- I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast, I don’t- Enj, are you okay?”

Oh. He must look rather poorly. He had not, after all, gotten much sleep at all the night before; he supposes that he had been hoping that it would not show on his face. (It is a vain thought, as well, which is vaguely infuriating. Before he met Grantaire, he so rarely thought about things so inconsequential as exhaustion.) “You may cook what you choose. It matters not.”

Grantaire crosses his arms. His shirt is very thin.

Enjolras presses his wrists to the table to stop his hands from shaking as he glares back. It nearly works.

Grantaire, infuriatingly, says nothing.

He grits his teeth, then sighs. “I slept poorly. This is all.”

Grantaire pauses, at that. Enjolras takes a moment to wonder as to whether he has had any coffee, this morning--likely not. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. “This is about Combeferre,” he says, at last, once he has collected himself.

Damn it.

Enjolras should have elected to become enamored by somebody who is less perceptive.

Not that-

Not that he is enamored, of course.

He forces a quiet laugh, hopes that it is convincing enough to draw the furrow from Grantaire’s brow. It is not. “I- I am being foolish,” he admits, eventually. “As you said, Combeferre will be fine.” It does not sound particularly convincing, even from his own mouth. Especially from his own mouth. Part of him wishes that Grantaire would say it again, instead.

His hands are still shaking. Perhaps, he finds himself thinking, they will carry on this way forever; it is difficult to imagine that he could ever fire a rifle straight, anymore.

No matter.

Grantaire makes an odd noise at the back of his throat.

“It is fine,” Enjolras reminds him, for if he does not stop looking so very wretched Enjolras may- not cry, likely, but- but it stings, in any case. “I simply. Well. Combeferre is a good man, and I- Well. Ah. You see, he- He has told me that I am his friend, and I haven’t terribly many friends, aside from you, and I know that you trust these- these aired plains, but I cannot seem to bring myself to do so, and so I- I am simply rather anxious. It is nothing serious.” (Enjolras thinks of a young man, a boy, far younger than Combeferre, at his feet with his jaw shot off and his hand wrapped like a vise around his ankle, of blood soaking into the seams of his boots, of the spray of grapeshot against brick and against bone, and-)

Grantaire looks, if anything, more distressed than before. Heavens, but Enjolras is poor at this. “I should call Combeferre,” he says, resolutely. He fumbles for his phone. “Yeah, I should-”

“I would not have you do so.” It comes out just on the side of too sharp, but Grantaire does not startle, he simply winces, as though pained. “There is no need to disturb him by imposing, as such. So kindly do not.”

He returns his phone to his pocket. “Okay. Um.” He does not return to the kitchen; rather, he continues to linger, uncertain in a way in which Enjolras is not accustomed to seeing him. “Do you want anything for breakfast? Like, anything specific?”

And, well, in the spirit of absolute frankness, Enjolras does not--he is not particularly hungry at all, but-

But he is beginning to get to know Grantaire a little better, now, and he is beginning to guess that cookery means a bit more to him than it does to most others, and perhaps, perhaps, this is something that he needs to be able to do for Enjolras, right now.

Enjolras may be selfish, may be too cruel in ways that he cannot avoid, but he can give Grantaire this. He thinks on it, but he does not truly-

Ah.

Well, perhaps- Perhaps he is not completely without cravings. “Have we any more of the lamb sausage which you purchased at the market the other day?” he hazards.

Grantaire beams. (Enjolras’s heart flutters like a small, helpless bird.) “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, man, totally.”

He returns to the kitchen to make Enjolras breakfast. Enjolras tries very, very hard not to think of the way in which the soft, strong set to Combeferre’s jaw so resembles that of the boy whose hand he still feels around his ankle, before it got shot off. It nearly works.

It is not until mid-afternoon that he- that he truly cannot stand it, cannot calm his heart where it hammers out a stuttering rhythm in his chest; cannot still his hands from shaking, even for a moment; cannot bring himself to read, to write, to sit calmly; cannot manage to drive his mind from thoughts of fire and of life lost and of the sharp spray of grapeshot and of horrible, ridiculous contraptions plummeting to the earth, and-

“I would have you call Combeferre now, I believe,” he blurts out, when Grantaire has looked up from his phone to note him standing in the doorway of the parlor. “I- I believe that I- I cannot quite- I-” He forces himself to draw in a breath, but it catches in his lungs, freezes there- “I- that is, I-” He looks to Grantaire helplessly.

He had not been expecting for Grantaire’s face to drop, so. Or for him to curse, and scrub a hand over his face, and say, “Oh, Enj, I don’t-”

Enjolras does not understand what he has done wrong, but it- it is clearly something, but he does not-

Grantaire curses again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I should’ve- I should’ve told you earlier, but I can’t- Fuck. You can’t call somebody when they’re on an airplane, the call won’t go through. Everybody has to turn their phones off when they’re in the air, and Combeferre’s flight would have taken off an hour ago.”

He does not understand.

“So I… cannot call him,” he begins, for it is easier to start with something that he knows and work backwards, “That- Why?” It makes no sense. What is the use of such- such foolish devices, if one cannot even contact one’s friends when it is necessary?

Grantaire grimaces. “It’s something to do with the networks, I think? Like, the signal from the phone tower messes with the instruments and the navigation and shit. Or, like, maybe it’s too high up to get a signal, or something, but I don’t really know about…” He fades off.

Enjolras feels, oddly, as though he may cry.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, so softly that he does not know what to do with himself, and then Grantaire is on his feet in an instant, and Enjolras finds himself being pulled into an embrace that is warm and gut-wrenchingly close and better than anything he has ever deserved.

He draws in a deep, shuddering breath and lets Grantaire tug him in closer still, presses his nose to the curve of Grantaire’s neck and cannot even manage to think of the impropriety, not when Grantaire’s arms are so warm around his back, his shoulders.

He would apologize, but Grantaire always seems a little bit sadder, whenever he does so, so he figures that it would be rather counterintuitive, all things considered.

“He’s gonna be alright, you know,” Grantaire murmurs against his hair. “I know you don’t- I know I can’t really do anything to make you believe that, right now, but I promise he is. Planes are safer than cars.”

What a horrifying thought. Enjolras is quite glad that Grantaire cannot drive a car. He does not mention this; instead, he allows himself to wrap his arms around Grantaire in return, to clutch at the back of his shirt and be held closer still. “Okay,” he manages.

Grantaire hums; Enjolras can feel it, deep in his chest. “Wanna watch a documentary?”

“Okay,” says Enjolras, though he does not think that he can bear to do anything, aside from to stay here, like this, with Grantaire’s arm’s around him.

“Cool,” says Grantaire, but he does not move to let him go for a long, long time.

They watch a documentary.

Or. Well. Grantaire watches a documentary. Enjolras sits beside him and leans his head on his shoulder and does what he can to focus on the weight of his arm around his shoulders instead of the weight in his chest. It does very little to calm the way in which his heart races, but it serves, at the very least, as a distraction, as something by which he can mark the hours that slog by.

He would feel guilty for imposing, as such, were it not for the fact that Grantaire holds him so closely that it does not seem possible that it is for Enjolras’s benefit alone.

It helps, he thinks.

There is a crash outside, all metal and glass; there is the jolt of a carbine under his hand and the spray of gunshot against brick, against bone, and he is staring down the barrel of his rifle at a young man with soft features who is staring back at him down the barrel of a cannon, and he can feel the ticking of a pocket watch deep in his palm, and-

There is another sound, sharp and odd, and it takes Enjolras just an instant too long to realize that it has come from Grantaire’s phone. He startles; Grantaire, mystifyingly, takes the moment to run his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, as though gentling a particularly skittish horse, or perhaps a feral barn-cat. He would be rather insulted, he figures, were it not for the fact that it seems to still something frantic beneath his ribs.

“Combeferre’s flight just landed.” It is soft, blurred at the edges, as though Grantaire had been drifting off to sleep over the course of the moving. Perhaps he had--perhaps that would account for the way in which he had settled so comfortably against Enjolras. (Enjolras is not accustomed to people being comfortable around him; he finds he- he likes it. Particularly when it is Grantaire.)

He clears his throat. “Ah,” he says.

Grantaire hums.

“And- And all is well?” he hazards, and he- he does not even know how he would begin to ask more, what he would even say in a demand for more information, but he-

He-

“Huh?” Grantaire scrubs a hand over his face. (Enjolras becomes more convinced of the fact that he had been half-asleep, only moments before. His heart stutters, uneven, in his chest.) “Oh, yeah, dude, totally normal flight. Everything went fine.”

“Good.” He tries, then, to exhale, to relax, but cannot quite manage it. Damn this new constitution of his, damn that it never lets him fucking rest, damn that it does not ever leave him be. (Damn that he- that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way, any shred of the dignity which he used to be able to hold so easily, damn it, damn it. He shall have to work on it, somehow. He shall have to, if he is to keep living alongside Grantaire, and if his heart is to continue to beat such a frantic pace in his chest at his touch.)

Grantaire opens his mouth to speak; Enjolras knows what he will say, what he will offer, before he says anything at all, and- and yes, he wants it, all of it, for he is selfish, and he wishes for Grantaire to call Combeferre, and for Grantaire to embrace him again, and for Combeferre to go out of his way to visit he and Grantaire’s apartment instead of returning to his own, and absolutely none of it is his to ask. “Do you want-” begins Grantaire, and Enjolras pulls himself to his feet despite his every impulse resisting to do so.

“I believe that I shall go read for a time in my own chambers,” he blurts out, before Grantaire can protest, and then he goes to do so.

He wants for Grantaire to follow him, too, to persuade him back to the sitting room, to call Combeferre anyways, but does not, of course he does not.

Damn it.

And then-

Enjolras makes it three more hours of his heart hammering away in his chest, of gritting his teeth against the feel of a hand on his ankle, of hearing flashes of grapeshot in the rumble of the vehicles below his window. It is a very admirable length of time, in his opinion; his hands have been shaking so hard throughout it that his forearms have taken to aching.

He ought to wait. He ought simply call on Combeferre tomorrow. There is no need for him to visit unannounced, particularly when he has been traveling, and when Grantaire has assured him that Combeferre has arrived safely, and when there is no reason for concern but for the fact that he seems to have thoroughly lost all sense of rationality, somewhere between the window and the cobblestone, back in June, and-

He sets his book down on the side-table and reaches for his jacket--he was not truly reading it; it is not truly cold. But he- he is frightened, and he is not used to this fucking century, with its- its aired plains, and its bared arms, and he understands none of it at all and he--he tugs on his shoes, does not bother to undo and retie the laces--he is tired, and he would like to see his friend, and-

“Hey, were you reading with the lights off, again?” Grantaire asks, hopelessly concerned, when Enjolras leaves his chambers--and it is jarring, sudden, and he is frozen in place in the hall, for a moment, as he runs the words over in his mind- “Wait, where are you-”

There is a knock at the door.

That-

That is odd.

On the sofa, Grantaire frowns. “Were you expecting-”

Enjolras shakes his head.

“Weird,” says Grantaire.

It is weird. Enjolras goes to answer the door, unlocks it, and-

“Hi,” says Combeferre, who is beaming and who is there, in the doorway, and who is fine, and safe, and-

“Hello,” says Enjolras, and he finds himself unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice, nor a watery smile from rising to his cheeks, and then he is being pulled into an embrace that is so tight his ribs ache.

“I missed you,” Combeferre says, presses against his temple, and then he finds himself being lifted off of the ground, feet dangling, as Combeferre holds him tight. He-

He has never been held, as such, before.

Enjolras’s heart stutters; he swallows down something thick in his throat. “I-” He swallows again.

Combeferre, then, seems to realize that he has been holding Enjolras some distance from the ground. He sets him down somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t-”

“I have missed you as well,” he blurts out, somewhat too loud, somewhat too brusque. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, fingers twitching. “Very much so, I-” He looks to Combeferre, wills him to- to understand, to-

Combeferre pulls him into another embrace, and Enjolras presses his face to his shoulder and holds him in return.

“How fares your family?” He asks, after a long moment.

Combeferre musses his hair as he lets him go. “Good. Numerous. I’ll show you a picture of my sister’s kid, she just started walking, and it’s- Actually, have you eaten? My mom made me take some pastilla back with me on the plane and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I brought it over here with me.”

He… He has not eaten, he realizes, and he shakes his head. Grantaire must not have wished to disturb him. Which- “Did Grantaire request you visit?”

Combeferre herds him into the kitchen. “No? Should he have?” He pulls a container made of square glass from his satchel; Enjolras fetches three plates, though he does not know if Grantaire has eaten. (He has not, most likely--he has come to realize that Grantaire tends to wait, now, tends not to cook unless it is for the both of them. He does not know what to think of that.)

He shrugs. “I was… concerned,” he admits. “Because of the aired plain. I thought that perhaps Grantaire informed you.”

He frowns. “No, I-” His eyes dip to look Enjolras over, then- “You were totally on your way out the door when I arrived, weren’t you?” It is not a question.

“It is not of your affairs,” he tries, “Perhaps I was simply on my way to the convenience store. You do not know.”

“You were.” Combeferre is no longer frowning. Instead, a grin has risen to his face; Enjolras has only this as warning before he grabs for him, pulls him into a rough embrace before Enjolras can evade his grasp. “You were, you missed me. Admit it.”

Enjolras feigns struggle, hides his own smile against Combeferre’s arm. “Leave me. Release me at once.”

“Admit it, admit you missed me.” Combeferre holds him tighter, musses his hair further. “Admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras says. He struggles a bit more, though mostly only so that he is in a more comfortable position for Combeferre to continue to hold him close.

“You’ve done this to yourself,” says Combeferre. Enjolras simply rests his forehead against his shoulder and shuts his eyes. Only for a moment. They shall eat Combeferre’s mother’s pastilla in a moment. He can hear Grantaire watching television in the other room; Combeferre’s arms around him are warm and comforting. Just-

A moment.

#something telling #exr #les miserables #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #combeferre #les mis #exr fanfiction #enjoltaire fanfiction #writing #les miserables fanfiction #Anonymous

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bella-caecilia · 4 years ago

Note

Cobert prompt: home alone

Thank you for the prompt! I know it has been in my inbox for a while but here is my answer now. I enjoyed imagining different scenarios for this one. Hopefully, you like the one I chose to go with. I set this prompt pre-series. Hope you enjoy it!

Home alone

1891

Cora strolled the gardens on her own. Normally she would have a morning tea with Mama in between the large and luscious bushes of roses at this time. Her mother-in-law was a very demanding woman and Cora did have a hard time with her, there was no denying it. But Mama’s penchant for gardens and flowers led to some of the most beautiful moments Cora had experienced at Downton so far. Violet had made it their habit in summer to discuss the day’s tasks outside amidst her favourite part of the gardens instead of in her sitting room. Every morning, after Cora had joined Robert on his walk on the grounds, she sought the rose garden where her mother-in-law had advised the footmen to prepare a seating area.

Violet wasn’t there at the moment. She was in London for new frocks which were her usual excuse for seeing Rosamund. She spent the day looking at several fabrics and dresses and pestering her daughter with questions. Rosamund had told Cora that Violet hardly ever purchased anything and she suspected that her mother only wanted to have a closer look at her daughter’s new life as a married lady in far-away London. Today was one of the days the countess had chosen to grant her dear daughter a visit, and Cora was walking the paths in the rose garden alone. She enjoyed it though. The heavy scent floated around her and Cora relished the dream-like moment.

After her walk with Robert, he had returned to the house and she had decided to turn to the rose gardens nevertheless. Robert had to deal with some estate business because his father had left for London too. The earl was away for a few days, staying at the club and settling some business. He had advised Robert to manage a few minor tasks that would come up during his absence. Robert was eager to fulfil them responsibly and with care. He didn’t want to show a lack of interest or success right at the start of what would be a long career as ‘caretaker’ of Downton Abbey. Cora supported his ambition into the still rather small tasks he had to handle and she had urged him to tell her every detail of how it went afterwards. She used her time at hand trying to recall the different types of roses and their names Mama mentioned by the by with such great ease. Cora could relate to Mama’s interest in flowers but the older lady was a bit ahead in her knowledge and Cora always looked like a disinterested amateur next to her mother-in-law. She knew that by remembering the roses’ names she would hardly manage to impress Violet but she had to start somewhere. Humming, Cora wandered between the bushes, easily recalling the distinct types. There was only one type of intensive pink and Cora had gotten the hang of telling the different white roses apart immediately after her first visits to the garden. But the apricot roses still posed quite the challenge. The shades and forms seemed to differ more within one bush than between the different types, and Cora thought all of them as equally lovely. If she would want to make real progress on her gardening knowledge, she should consider consulting the gardener, she thought.

Being up to Mama’s mark proved to be more work than Cora had thought when she had married Robert a year and a half ago. Still, she hasn’t given up to find a way into Mama’s good graces, although she doubted, she would find a way into Mama’s heart.

Shrugging her shoulders and taking the last whiff of her favourite yellow bloom (she always imagined having a perfume of that particular rose, it would be lovely), Cora decided to return to the house and look how Robert was doing. In the hall, she already encountered her husband who was in discussion with a footman. It seemed he had received a telegram just now.

“Ah, Cora! Guess who is staying in London tonight?” Robert spoke when he spotted her.

“Uhm… Papa is, I guess,” Cora attempted an answer while trying to discreetly shift her hat whose pins began to prick unpleasantly into her scalp.

“Well, yes,” Robert replied with a shrug of shoulders. “But so is Mama. She just informed us that she would stay at Rosamund’s overnight. She isn’t feeling well and doesn’t want to travel today.” His tone was elated and he now accompanied her to the stairs, nodding his dismissal at the footmen silently.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Cora exclaimed.

“She will surely be alright by tomorrow morning,” he assured. “But she doesn’t have to bother us until she is back.” Cora chuckled at his statement.

“I will hurry to take off my hat. Might I find you in the library in a few minutes?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.” Robert smiled softly at her before she ascended the stairs.

When she met him on the red settees not much later, he already reclined casually on the seat next to the fireplace, the one his father usually occupied. He patted the cushion next to him and Cora sat down by his side.

“You know what we can do when we’re alone at home,” Robert said in a low voice, searching her eyes.

Cora furrowed her brow, trying to think of something he could possibly mean. “What?”

“Well, … everything,” Robert concluded. “It is our house for now, and there is no one to tell us what to do and what not to do.” He reached out his hand to caress her thigh.

“I see,” Cora murmured and a tentative smirk appeared on her features. Robert watched her reaction.

“What are thinking about?” he asked when she was silent for a while and her gaze had left his.

“I just thought that every single room is ours at the moment is all,” she gave back without meeting his eyes. His grip on her thigh grew firmer and eventually, she looked up at his face. She was met by a wide grin and relaxed a little at this sight, not really knowing where this former tinge of nervosity came from. This was her dear and familiar Robert after all.

“I like that thought,” he spoke softly and cupped her cheek with his other hand. He was rewarded with a content smile of hers. She leaned into his hand and her eyes swept adoringly over his features.

“What do want to do in this room for instance?” Robert inquired. Enveloped by her warm gaze he only focused on her vision in front of him.

“Well, I thought about using this comfortable settee in a manner your parents wouldn’t approve of if they knew about it.”

“Is that so?” he grinned and his voice held a teasing tone. Cora nodded and without breaking their warm eye contact she pulled up her legs and unbuckled her shoes.

“Yes, it’s a shame we’re having these cosy settees and no one ever gets really comfortable on them,” she explained while stretching her legs on the part of the sofa that faced away from Robert and leaning her upper body against his. He chuckled and she felt the rumbles that shook his body where her side pressed against his.

“You are really one of a kind, Cora,” Robert stated and began running his fingers through her pinned-up curls.

“Don’t! You’re messing up my hair,” she argued with little conviction.

“I am careful,” he assured. Cora turned until she faced him and her lips were mere inches from his. Without further words, she extended her definition of ‘getting really comfortable’ and covered his lips with hers, her arms looping around his chest. Robert moved his lips softly, relishing the opportunity to drag this unusually sensual kiss in the library. His eyes closed, the feeling of her warm lips was as present as the touch of her small palms on his back, and he enjoyed how her body moulded against his more and more. His hands splayed across the small of her back. Cora emitted low hums into their sealed lips before she tentatively tried to dip her tongue into his mouth. Robert gladly went along with her plans. After all, she was right, it was their room for now and the best way he could think of to use it was exactly what Cora initiated. But feeling growing arousal well up in him, he wasn’t sure how far they should really take it. Therefore, he was glad when Cora pulled back to catch her breath, leaning her forehead against his. Robert brushed his fingertips across her spine and Cora tucked her head underneath his chin.

“I like having the library to ourselves,” Robert pondered.

“Yes, me too,” Cora purred, letting her fingers graze the skin of his neck just where his collar ended.

“You know? One day it will be like that every day,” he said. Cora laughed without restraint.

“I don’t think so,” she chuckled.

“Why is that?”

“Well, I am sure your mother will never cease keeping an eye on us. Apart from that, we won’t be alone, Robert. Not only will there be our dear Mama but also a bunch of children,” she stated.

“Oh, right. I forgot about your big plans for the nursery,” he teased. He could never forget her dream of a nursery full of their children. It was only a few months ago that baby Mary brought life to the nursery.

“These are our plans, Robert. Or am I mistaken?” she inquired, still fiddling with his collar.

“No, of course not. It takes two after all,” he answered. His hands began pressing against her corseted waist more persistently. “Then we have to make the best of our peace in this house now.”

Cora turned again in his arms, lifting her face to his height by pressing her palms to his chest. Her close-up grinning face made Robert chuckle lowly. “I totally agree,” she purred.

#cobert drabble #cobert #pre-series #cora crawley #robert crawley #cora x robert #downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction

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ground-todo · 5 years ago

Note

Awesomee!! Ok, here it is: hcs for kaminari, shinsou, bakugou, and todoroki with a fem!s/o with low self esteem and is a bit chubby? Like, they're about to do the dirty, but she stops them because she hasn't ever shown her body before because she doesn't like her stomach (biggest insecurity). Sorry if this is so specific.

this is a great idea! since there are multiple characters, the headcanons for each of them might be shorter than usual, and this whole post might be too long!! I also forgot to mention that I don’t write smut so I wont go into detail with them doing the dirty, sorry!! but well, I hope I did this right!! ><

(some) bnha boys with a chubby fem!s/o that has low self-esteem — headcanons

PAIRINGS — kaminari denki x chubby fem!reader, hitoshi shinsou x chubby fem!reader, katsuki bakugou x chubby fem!reader, todoroki shouto x chubby fem!reader

GENRE — suggestive, fluff

MASTERLIST

kaminari denki

In my opinion, I don’t think Kaminari has much of a body preference

in his eyes, everyone is smexy no matter what body type 👀

he would honestly never stop flirting with you and showering you in love and affection!!

and although Kaminari may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, he would pick up on signs that would tell him how you weren’t looking at yourself the way he did

he would look at you like you were a goddess, and he doesn’t want you to think you aren’t that

Kaminari isn’t the best with talks so he want to confront you about it thinking he might say something stupid or something that would offend you

but he wouldn’t give up!! He would want to help you in any way he can, so instead, Kaminari would just do what he does and show you why he loves you

it would start with small compliments throughout the day

if anyone dared to look at you in any way, Kaminari would hold your hand or wrap his arm around your shoulders protectively while glaring at anyone who would look you way

then by the time you two were in private, he would love to leave kisses on your hands, shoulders, neck, face, then on your lips

he would look at you in the eyes and say;

“I might not say it enough but I want you to know I love you so much babe.”

it would get pretty heated quickly, by the time Kaminari’s hands go south and on your belly, you would break the kiss and hold his hand away from your stomach

“sorry, was I going too fast?” Kaminari would ask with a concerned look, thinking he might’ve done something wrong

“no, it’s not you! It’s just..” you trailed off, too embarrassed to say anything

but Kaminari was looking at you with puppy eyes and you know that you can’t deny him, it takes a while before you tell him about how you were insecure of your body, stomach especially

he would be surprised and confused when you told him that. Why didn’t you like your body? He loved it so why can’t you do the same?

and so, he would lean down and kiss your stomach, catching you off guard

you would want to push him away but before you could, he’s now eye-level with you, grinning cutely

“there wasn’t anything wrong with your stomach, babe! In fact, I love how cute it is, just like you!!”

and then, throughout your time with him, Kaminari would keep praising you and your body, showing you how he loves everything about you

hitoshi shinsou

like Kaminari, I don’t think Shinsou has much of a body preference

if you’re someone he can spend time with then he would love you so much

I think he’s someone who keeps your relationship low-key, he just doesn’t know what to do in relationships

so it would take some time before he warms up and comes out of his shell

but when he finally does, Shinsou would love to hold you close

he just wants to keep you close okay?? :((

but whenever he wraps his arms around you, he would notice how you would keep his arms around you shoulder rather than have them around your waist

he honestly didn’t think much about it because he thought you weren’t that comfortable with his touch yet

but as time went by, he started to speculate that there was more to it that just ‘not yet comfortable with him’

you would let him kiss you, whether it be on the cheek or on the lips, but when he gets touchy you seem to back away

one day, you and Shinsou were having a heated make-out session in his room

it was all going well until his hand subconsciously trailed down your body and before he could touch your stomach, you just stopped kissing him and covered your stomach saying that your body wasn’t like the others’

Shinsou looked lost with what you just told him, why were you comparing yourself to other people when to him, you’re just as perfect?

he placed his hand on your hands that were covering your stomach and said;

“I don’t care if you’re like the others. You’re more than perfect than them to me.”

he would then wrap his arms around you, holding you close and started telling you about the things he loves about you

the make-out session can continue some other time, but for now, all that Shinsou wants is to make you feel loved and to boost your self-esteem :))

bakugou katsuki

we all know that Bakugou cares even if he doesn’t show it 😔🤚

so when you two started dating, he would secretly learn about your habits and stuff

that includes finding out how you have low self-esteem

but, Bakugou isn’t the most humble boyfriend out there, so, he would try to boost your self esteem in his own Baku-ways

it would start with glaring at anyone who would look at you differently

then he would mumble out compliments to you

“you look good as always, dumbass”

“sorry, katsuki, I couldn’t hear that”

“I said nothing.”

in private when you two would be having study dates in his room, he would always compliment you and give you kisses when you answer correctly

and later on the supposedly study date became into a make-out session when you finished one of his short quizzes

Bakugou would pull you into his lap by grabbing you by the waist but you stopped him right before

boy was confused on why you stopped him, but he just tells you:

“If you’re insecure about yourself then stop it already. You’re fine just the way you are and I don’t want to hear and but’s, got it dumbass?”

you were surprised when you heard him say that, you were about to say something when he caught your lips with his in a rough kiss

“Didn’t you understand what I said? I don’t fucking want to hear you saying anything bad about yourself and if you do I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

and Bakugou did just that

todoroki shouto

uhhh this boy is dense i’m sorry

Todoroki isn’t the most knowledgeable in relationships

he doesn’t really know what it’s like, what to do, etc.

but for you he will try his best!!

he would compliment you everyday, hold your hand, kiss your cheek, buy you gifts once a week, help you with studying, text you good morning and good night texts

most importantly he brings you on soba dates

he doesn’t notice the signs that you have low self-esteem until one of your friends told him about it

Todoroki would talk to you about it when you two are finally somewhere private

like, him visiting your room and talk to you there

he would start with asking if there was anything wrong

when you deny the fact something was wrong, Todoroki decided to just hold you in his arms to make you feel safe since that was what his mother would do to him

“Do you want me to hold you?” he would ask with his arms open

you hesitantly nodded and rested your head on his chest, curled up against him on the bed while you had your arms on your stomach so he wouldn’t see the outline of it through your shirt

the two of you stayed like that for a while until Todoroki decided to give you a kiss saying that everything’s okay and he would protect you from anything

one kiss turned into two, turned into three and wow Todoroki was a good kisser he made you sit in his lap to kiss you properly

but then you thought that if you did that he would feel you stomach and maybe that would turn him off and—

Todoroki noticed how you froze in place with your hands on your stomach, his first thought was you might have a tummy ache

“does your stomach hurt, love? do you need to go to a doctor?”

you tell him that you’re fine and gave him a fake smile, but Todoroki knows better than that so he tried to place his hand on your stomach but failed when you swatted it away

he asks again, “is there something wrong with your stomach, love?”

when you didn’t answer and looked away, he stole your lips with a quick kiss

Todoroki would look at you intensely until you would tell him what was wrong

“I’m... it’s just.... I’m insecure about my...stomach” you managed to say

Todoroki would be surprised with what you just said and would pull you into a hug

“You don’t have to be insecure about it, love. I love you and everything about you.”

He would hold you close and try to talk it out with you until you would feel better :’))

A/N — I hope I did this right 😖 sorry it took so long for me to post it!! Requests are still open but I won’t be doing any smut, so feel free to spam my inbox hehe! see you next post!!

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weakzen · 4 years ago

Note

Left on the detective’s desk, a single red rose and a note written in precise handwriting:

Alex,

What happened to you - you didn’t deserve it. You can be loved, if you let yourself.

Happy Valentine’s Day

(yolo experimental style; alex/mason, early established relationship, angst and fluff; no direct mention of abuse, just oblique circling and fatalistic thoughts; rated m for mason; also on AO3~)

Even though I didn't finish reading it, even though I hid it from sight, imprisoned it in darkness, cast it to the depths of the bottom drawer until the end of shift, when it would be possible to smuggle the thing into the break room recycle bin without risking Tina's eyes or interrogation, that stupid fucking note has somehow still managed to reach up through all those heavy files and twist my stomach into knots.

For hours.

Plucking my nerves hard enough to make my hands fucking shake too. Typos in every report, backspace key pulling overtime without pay. Not helped by eyes that won't stop stinging. Armpits that haven't fully dried either, along with a weird chill, shivers that persist despite the sweater and the cranked-up thermostat.

At least the rose is gone. Snuck it into the arrangement on Tina's desk, the one I get her every year.

It looks better surrounded by friends.

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Can still smell it perfuming the air.)

And if I could get rid of my thoughts as easily, I would. Because after half a day of chasing them in circles, I still can't figure out who the fuck sent that goddamn note, who the fuck would write something like that—say shit like that, to me—who could possibly fucking think or know or say anything about that, or that I-I, that I—

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckingfuck.

That sickly feeling wrenches again, hard enough to jerk me forward over the desk, face buried in my hands while my breathing shudders into something unsteady and vaguely gasping.

Fuck.

It can't be Tina.

It can't.

It should be, but it can't.

The writing's not loopy enough to be hers, and it's not slanted enough to be Verda's, and the damn thing isn't covered in nearly enough heart stickers to be from Felix. We all should know. Nate's been sighing nonstop for the past week, scraping them off every available surface in the Warehouse—except for the lacy pink one Felix managed to sneak right between Adam's shoulders.

And the glittery red one I pressed covertly to Mason's ass.

(Maybe not so covertly. Found a few hearts stuck to my underwear later when I slipped outta my jeans, and the secrets of how the fuck he pulled that off are still locked behind his smirk.)

A smile tries to pull at my lips, but the tightness in my gut warps it crooked.

Another shuddery breath.

It can't be from Adam either. If he had something to say to me, he'd just say it, preferably after he finished laying me out on the mats, all sweaty and sucking down air from another session of his gentle ass-kicking. Nate, however, would write a note to me. Has written a note to me. Has written many notes to me and still not made a dent in that stack of expensive stationary, and although the card stock was silk cream, the pigment obsidian night, and the calligraphy swooping in almost a dead ringer, I know it can't be from Nate because he would never leave a rose with his words, not the ones meant for me.

But there isn't anyone else.

There's Mason

And it can't be from him.

It's not his handwriting, to start. I think. I'm pretty sure. I've never actually seen his writing, but I can't imagine it would be anything resembling neat or careful. It's gotta be complete chicken scratch. All cramped and illegible. He's left handed too, barely patient enough to sit through a stoplight, much less give ink the time to dry, so there'd be definitely be smears, and there weren't any smears. At all. Can't be him.

Not to mention he'd never do anything like this.

Don't know why he keeps coming to mind anyway. Just because we're…

Together

—for now.

Doesn't mean he'd ever say anything like that—

He already has

(He did. He said I deserved better and I believe him, but I don't, I can't.)

—only because he'd say differently if he knew.

If he really knew.

He'd say different and I'm not gonna fucking tell him and it doesn't fucking matter anyway, it doesn't. Shine's gonna wear off soon enough. Novelty, satisfied. Boredom, returning. And at least the conversation won't be awkward, just… blunt. To the point. A first for us both, in topic, if not style.

I've never been dumped before, at least not in a romantic sense.

Another breath. Another shuddery breath.

Wonder how it's gonna feel.

(It's gonna suck.)

No fucking shit.

If it can't last, why agree to it at all?

I rub hard at my eyes, grinding palms into sockets.

If it can't last, why not tell him anyway?

Because I already fucking know! Don't need to hear it from him, don't wanna hear it from—

If it can't last, why does it matter what he thinks?

“…Stupid fucking note.”

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Someone took the time, wrote it, left it in here. Someone cares.)

Someone's playing a sick fucking joke, more like.

What if it's genuine?

I scoff ragged, squeezing fingers around the back of my neck.

(Tina cares. So does Verda. The whole team, so many others, I know, and I believe them all but I don't. I can't.)

What if you didn't deserve it?

I did. I stayed and I did. My fault. Fucking stupid, like he always said.

(All Mason ever speaks is care. In a thousand different ways of touch, in silence, in lingering looks, he cares.)

What if you can be loved?

What if you can?

A brittle laugh wheezes past my lips and shoots toward something hysterical, boosted by acid burn and cloying petals and that churning, churning tightness. My shoulders hunch high around my ears while the sound pitches even higher, lungs immolated and screaming along, nails digging, cutting crescents as I shake and curl tighter, smaller, compacting into stiffness hard enough to rival diamonds, every muscle verging on a cramp and my throat is stinging and my eyes are on fire, hot, wet, and the door is closed, the blinds shut, and maybe I could just— this time— if I stayed quiet, I could—

I could—

But I don't.

I swallow once, twice, suck down, blink it away, then snap upright and get back to work. There's too much shit, not enough time.

Never enough time, not for that.

For you

(Remember to eat lunch.)

I don't.

I don't really remember talking to anyone either. Or finishing paperwork. Answering email. Clearing the inbox backlog, digital and otherwise, but the stack depletes, the numbers go down, Tina gives me shit from the doorway, and soon the peripheral lights tick off overhead in the foyer, a mop bucket rattles its rounds, darkness crept into my office at some point for a visit and now it's here to stay, just its quiet company along with the monitor blasting eye strain, clacking keys, tight shoulders, a headache, and then—

A familiar ass plops down on my desk and scares the shit out of me.

I jerk back in the chair, wheels rolling, hand over heart to keep it from pounding free and Mason looms above it all, bathed in harsh blues, deep shadows, a deeper frown, and eyes that refuse to obey the rules of any ambient illumination.

Right now? They're crinkled soft, even as they scrutinize.

He looks… worried.

When did he even open my door?

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“…Yeah,” I mutter. A lie, an obvious one, but I fight the urge to glance away and dare him to call me out anyway. “You need something, sunshine?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You're late.”

“For what?”

We didn't make plans.

“Getting home.”

Fuck.

I sigh, slumping in the seat, and now I'm looking away, now I'm backing down, running a hand through my hair, mussing and tangling, just like he always does when he's uncertain.

And when the hell did I start doing that?

“Yeah, I'm still behind on shit from my vacation. I was gonna stay late tonight, try and catch up…” I explain, because Tina and I also didn't make plans this year.

(Because she's been marinating in smugness ever since I sighed and told her about the relationship. Because she dropped that shit-eating smirk earlier—that I remember, at least—dripping suggestion all over my office as she waggled her brows and winked and made obnoxious kissy faces until I shoved her out the door, but not before she told me to 'have lots of fun tonight, Alexandra.')

Sure.

“Sorry I didn't text. I… forgot.”

That tightness in my stomach does another loop, and I huff a quiet breath.

Stupid fucking note.

Mason folds his arms. “…The fuck is going on with you?”

Concern blunts the teeth of his words, not that there's any real bite. There never is, not with him, but I tense up anyway, expecting it, expecting to be ripped open.

Blood and pain.

I'd tense up no matter how he asked.

It's okay

(He's not Bobby.)

“Nothing,” I reply, folding my arms, eyes down, “just…”

It's okay

(He's not looking to hurt.)

Probably will anyway, but fuck it. I already know his answer.

Let's just get it over with.

“You didn't leave me a valentine earlier, did you?” My gaze snaps to his. “On my desk?”

Mason scoffs. “Why the hell would I do that?”

This time, it stabs instead of twists, higher up, somewhere in my chest. Something sharp instead of dull.

Disappointment? …Relief? I'm not sure.

Just that it stings.

And it's nighttime, so maybe he feels it too, and maybe that's why he unfolds his arms and shifts toward me, boot heel dangling by the bottom drawer while his voice drops to a softness that matches his accent. “What it say?”

“Nothing,” I repeat, even quieter than him. “Just someone fucking with me. It doesn't matter.”

It does

(Shouldn't lie, not to him. Don't need to. Don't want to, don't like it.)

Mason doesn't like it either, but he doesn't push it. Neither do I.

We look away from each other.

The office swelters around us, too stuffy, too small. Too silent and uncomfortable now to stay. I roll forward to save my work, then turn the computer off and Mason's already waiting for me by the door, a dark silhouette framed by distant fluorescent, my coat and bag hanging off his arms. He pulls me in while I put it all on, yanking me by lapels before abandoning them for the sweater on my lower back, the loose hair at my nape. His lips brush against mine in slow movements, soft nibbling, and he's whispering something to me with it all, with the strokes of his fingers and the circle of our chins, but I can't quite hear.

So ask

(He'll answer—and he won't lie.)

I swallow, then I do.

“…What kind of kiss was that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs beneath my hands, breath tickling my face. “I want you to feel better.”

“Oh.”

A shadow flits behind his eyes.

“…And if he's still bothering you, I'm gonna break his fucking jaw again.”

I chuckle softly. “Pretty sure it wasn't him this time.”

“Good.” Mason nibbles another kiss, then smirks. “Might still do it anyway.”

That gets a laugh from both of us, one that sprawls into a pause, grey eyes locked to mine while our grins fade out and our breath catches on everything unspoken and nameless rushing in to take the space.

Honesty. It's what I try to speak. Trailing up from the emotional ooze, raw and sticky.

I hope he can fucking see it, hear it cry, but I wipe it off and whisper the words into shape anyway, cheeks flaming, just to be sure—

“I'm sorry, I just… I don't wanna talk about it now.”

—and he answers me with a brush of his mouth, with his tongue parting my lips, with the way he teases into me before licking deeper, the way he jerks our hips together then shoves, a knee between my thighs, my back into a wall, a door frame, a sharp corner, a low groan rumbling up his chest directly into mine and I hear it all this time, in his breathy panting at the edge of our kiss, the firmness in his fingers angling my face to his, the solid heat of his cock pressed hard against me, grinding slow while I cling tight and moan, I hear it all, but he sucks my lip in with a sharp inhale, rolls me around his mouth before releasing with a drag of teeth, and he murmurs it aloud anyway, just to be sure—

“I know, sweetheart. It's fine.”

—then he nips down hard, and it's hard not to smile, hard not to laugh, harder still not to nip that asshole right back, so I don't.

Hold back, that is.

Our lips are swollen and sore by the time the station door swings shut behind us.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc m #twc mason #mason x detective #mason #the detective #zfic #alex/mason #alexandra black

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baku-no-alt · 4 years ago

Text

sriracha sauce | 10

bakugou x reader; in which Bakugou and some other students from UA are doing a work -study abroad in NYC. also Bakugou is nice to you for once

a/n: i am SO sorry this took so long. it’s been..........a time lately lmao

cw: angst, slight mentions of gore

That night, it rains.

You’re curled up on your couch, knees tucked as close as you can get them to your chest, hands wrapped around your shins. You press your fingernails into your skin, leaving little red impressions on your lower legs.

The person in Katsuki’s bed was a villain from the group that kidnapped him. His quirk allowed him to copy the appearance of anyone he saw, but as his memory of their features faded over time, so did his ability to reproduce them accurately.

The villain is in police custody, and Kirishima and his friends, along with other Pro Heroes in the city, are out looking for Katsuki.

And you’re stuck here, in your apartment, time passing by agonizingly slowly. You try to distract yourself with food, books, TV, your studies, but nothing can stop your thoughts from returning to worrying about Katsuki.

You wait and wait and wait for an update from Kirishima, but nothing comes.

He’s a hero, you try to yourself. He’ll be okay.

But the what-if’s cloud your mind, pulling you into a haze of anxiety. You wonder if your kiss with Katsuki was the first and last time you’d ever kiss him. When you try to push the thoughts out, they take a stronger hold, digging into your brain and taking root.

It starts to thunder, and every crack and rumble makes you jump. You try to imagine what he would say if he were here.

“It’s just thunder, dumbass,” you whisper to yourself. You will yourself to hear it in his voice. You imagine him as close as he was the other night, lips on yours.

You crawl out of your blanket just enough to grab your laptop. You open it up and squint against the harsh light it shines on your face. You almost go through your social media, but decide against it, as news of Katsuki’s kidnapping was probably all over your feeds. Instead, you pull up your email and sift through the thirty or so new messages in your inbox.

It’s mostly spam, but a couple emails are job or study offers, and one is a response from a recruiter you’d been in contact with for a while. She’s asking you about your experience, which positions at her hero agency you think you’d best fit in. You peruse through them, weighing your options.

Then, something in her signature catches your eye. The name of the agency, then it’s major locations - New York, Los Angeles, London, São Paulo, and Tokyo.

You move your mouse to click on the link that would take you to their Tokyo website when the screen turns black.

Confused, you smack the side of your laptop a few times. You check the battery indicator, and the flashing lights indicate your laptop is still on.

Then, slowly, a message appears on your laptop screen. Green letters appear on a black background. Your heart races as words form themselves.

Write this down.

An address appears, and you hastily scribble it down on a receipt lying on the ground near you.

No cops. No heroes.

We’ll know.

Then the screen goes back to normal, and you’re staring at your email inbox again.

You wonder, for a moment, if you’re literally going insane. But you stare at the address you have written down and know that’s where you’ll find Katsuki.

It could be a trap.

You hold your hand over your phone, wondering if you should call Kirishima. If they - whoever they are - could hack into your laptop like that, surely they had enough surveillance on you to know if you were communicating with heroes?

In the end, you just plug the address into your phone and hope Kirishima and the other heroes have the sense and capabilities to check your search history. You pull on a sweatshirt, rain jacket, and some leggings, pack a small purse with your phone, wallet, and keys, and pause in your entryway before you open your door to leave.

This is insane, right? You were just going to leave to rescue Katsuki? By yourself? Sure, you’d had some combat training, but you couldn’t defend yourself against an entire group of villains.

But, if you could find Katsuki, he could defend you. If you could find Katsuki, everything would be okay.

You have to try.

You take a deep breath, pull open your front door, and run down the stairs.

---

Your phone tells you that the address is an hour’s walk away. Wind and rain whip around you as you run along the sidewalk, following the directions on your phone screen. Water soaks through your sneakers, and you feel it sloshing around in your shoes.

Buildings fly by you in blurs as you run as fast as you can through the city, not allowing yourself to think, only focusing on breathing and doing your best to keep yourself alive.

You make it to an apartment building in downtown New York in forty-five minutes, your adrenaline-fueled legs carrying you as fast as you can go. When you finally stop running and stand in front of the building, chest heaving, you notice the pain in your feet. Blisters have formed from running in your wet shoes.

You look at the address on your phone again. They hadn’t given an apartment number or any other instruction.

A man emerges from an alleyway on the side of the apartment building.

“So glad to see you’ve come.” His words are covered in malice. When he steps into the light of the streetlamps, you can see his skin is scaly, and his eyes resemble the slitted pupils of a snake.

“W-where’s Katsuki?” you whisper.

The man doesn’t say anything, just jerks his head in the direction of the alleyway. You follow him, cautiously, looking around for items you might be able to defend yourself with.

This was idiotic, you scold yourself.

But it’s too late now.

Once you’re in the alley, the man leads you through a side door into the building, and then up a service elevator. You stand in the elevator awkward with him. The scent of smoke wafts off of him. You manage a glance in his direction, and see that one of his arms is covered in burns.

You wonder if they’re from Katsuki.

When you reach the 37th floor, the man leads you off the elevator and into the hallway. The apartment building is nice - the hallways are beautifully decorated with mirrors and modern art. He stops at a room and unlocks it.

You don’t immediately step inside, and the man glares at you.

“You’d better go in and find your boyfriend,” he hisses, and when he smiles at you, you can see two large fangs protruding from his gums.

You shudder and step into the apartment.

The room is bare, with wooden floors and white walls. There are some tables and desks pushed up against the walls with computers and other equipment on them, but besides that, the only other object in the room was a large stone - taller than you - with markings and carvings on it.

Standing around the room, or sitting at the desks, is a group of people who look like they don’t belong together. They all looked so different - and like they were from different backgrounds.

One of them speaks to you, and you don’t recognize the language. You activate your quirk, and catch the last half of his sentence.

“...all about your talents.”

When you turn your head in the direction of the speaker, you see Katsuki sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He isn’t bound, or gagged, or in chains like you expected him to be. He’s just sitting there, slumped slightly forward.

Why isn’t he using his quirk? Why doesn’t he just get out of here?

Your eyes travel from his head, down his arms, and then land on his hands. When you see them, you slap your hand over your mouth and a gasp escapes you.

His fingers are bent at odd angles, some backward, some awkwardly to the side.

A wave of nausea hits you. They’re broken. Every single one of his fingers has been broken.

His head snaps up when he hears your gasp and his eyes lock on you.

“No…” he growls, “let her go.”

---

masterlist

@shareyourfandomfaves, @ha-tep, @reyna-avila-ramirez-alreanaldo, @ayeputita, @lookslikeleese, @alinakaisato, @loxbbg, @micheladakenzo, @bnhaismylife, @aurorahoneybuns, @anything-and-everything-here69, @overkill-is-underrated, @sizzlingbarbarianglitter, @squeaky-ducky, @hallothankmas, @thenezuko, @frenchspeakingfilipina,

if i forgot to tag u it is bc i am garbage PLEASE remind me

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou fanfiction #bakugo fanfiction

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brieflygorgeouss · 5 years ago

Text

for the prompts 41. i’ll keep you safe and 73. i missed you (the ask with those prompts miraculously disappeared from my inbox! i swear it was real lmao)

On Monday, Eliott comes home.

Lucas is there at the airport, waiting for him. He stands and waits and waits until people from the plane from New York start pouring in through the door. There are screaming kids and messy-haired women and guys in hoodies and sweatpants, all looking rough after such a long flight.

And then there’s Eliott.

Lucas’s field of vision narrows down to the sight of him the moment he as much as catches a glimpse. Eliott looks exactly the same Lucas remembers him, except maybe seems taller, which — that’s unfair. He’s looking around, searching, with a heavy-looking bag hanging from his shoulder and his hair mussed, and when he spots Lucas in the crowd, his face lights up with a smile brighter than any kind of constellation Lucas has ever seen.

Lucas doesn’t quite run to him, but it’s a near thing.

Hi, he wants to scream as he’s walking, as Eliott’s pushing past other people, too, hi, you asshole, welcome back to the country, hello, I can’t believe you’re here.

And then Eliott is right there, still smiling, and his eyes are so, so bright, and Lucas can’t really help the way he throws himself right into his arms, right there and then, amidst all of the noise and the commotion, amidst hundreds of other people. For him, there only matters one.

”Hi, Lu,” Eliott mutters right into Lucas’s hair, presses his face close, warm and real, and finally here, finally not hundreds of kilometres away, not only an image on Lucas’s computer screen or a notification on his phone. His embrace is strong and solid, and Lucas lets himself melt into it, imagines Eliott pressing them closer and closer until they merge together and just stay that way.

”Hi,” he says, not knowing if it’s happiness tightening his throat or something else, something bigger. ”I missed you.”

”Missed you, too,” Eliott says, presses a hand firmer to Lucas’s back. Lucas wonders, briefly, if he can feel just how quickly his heart is beating. Then, Eliott adds, in a slightly quieter voice, ”God, you have no idea.”

Lucas might, actually. If all the restless nights he spent rereading Eliott’s newest texts mean something, or FaceTime calls that are never enough, or staying up late despite the time difference, he actually might have an idea of what Eliott means. It’s the ache in his chest that never really goes away these days. The ache in his chest that slowly starts to dissipate now.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he lets himself lean a little bit heavier into Eliott for one, two, three more seconds, breathes him in and revels, just a little bit, in how reluctant Eliott seems to be to let him go when he, eventually, tries to moves away.

”Alright,” he says, only an inch away from Eliott’s chest because that’s everything Eliott allows him, and Lucas feels like that’s too much anyway. ”Let’s get you home.”

(The last time they were at the airport, Lucas kissed him.

Which wasn’t a mistake, but was not the right thing to do, either. It was stupid, is what it was. Eliott was going away for a long time, with his two giant suitcases and dreams waiting to be fulfilled somewhere else, and it was idiotic, to try and begin something, whatever this spark in Lucas’s heart was, here in the face of so many things coming to an end. But Lucas was teary-eyed and so, so sad, and his heart was breaking. So he kissed him.

It wasn’t, in hindsight, the best of choices, to show your best friend you’re in love with him mere minutes before said best friend gets on a plane and you don’t see each other for the next 6 months.)

On Tuesday, they catch up.

”So,” Lucas says as they’re sitting in the kitchen, Eliott properly at the table and Lucas at the kitchen counter with his legs dangling in the air, although it isn’t even, technically, his own house, ”how’s New York?”

Eliott rolls his eyes at him.

”You ask like you don’t know,” he says. He sounds fond. If Lucas were to describe it, that’s the word he would use. ”In case you forgot already, we call each other every other day.”

That’s true. Lucas’s messed up sleep schedule can attest to that, with how late he stays up sometimes, even when he has a test the next day or stares at the clock at 2 in the morning and already knows he won’t wake up in time to get to class but doesn’t go to sleep anyway. Eliott does things like that, too, and then texts Lucas stuff like, ”the professor yelled at me for falling asleep in class, but it was worth it for getting to talk to you yesterday,” and Lucas stares at the messages for longer than he should, every time. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but they try — both of them. It’s nice, knowing Eliott doesn’t forget about him, all the way over there at the other end of the world, when they’re both trying as hard as they are.

But he still says, just because he can, ”So what?” and then, raising his eyebrows at Eliott, hoping it comes off as it feels — like a challenge, ”I still don’t really know. I’ve never been there. And whose fault is that, I wonder.”

Eliott smiles at that, but it’s a little crooked where it shouldn’t be, all of a sudden. Lucas wants to reach and straighten it out, smooth it out like creases on a sheet of paper. ”You know I’d take you there with me if I could.”

Lucas knows. They’d talked about it, time and time again, and Lucas even cried once, hoping Eliott couldn’t hear it in his voice as he pressed the phone harder against the side of his face, as if that could make Eliott sound like he was really here.

Couldn’t you go to film school somewhere closer, he’d told him then, knowing what he was saying was unfair but doing it anyway. Lucas is, you see, selfish like that. You’re so unfair, you asshole.

And Eliott had said, then, I know, and, always, always knowing what it really was that Lucas meant even when he didn’t say it explicitly, I wish you were here, too.

But Lucas can’t really leave, and Eliott can’t really stay. So here’s what they have — a week together, and then they’ll be off to lead their separate lifestyles again, far away, Lucas in Paris, Eliott in New York. That’s how it is.

Lucas thinks he should be used to it by now. And yet.

”I can’t afford the tickets anyway,” is what he says in response, hopes it’s good enough to mask the sudden notes of sadness creeping into his voice. ”And before you say anything, no, I’m not letting you buy them for me. You can spend your scholarship money in a better way.”

Eliott huffs, but he’s smiling. The last time they argued about this, they stayed up on FaceTime until 3 AM.

”There isn’t a better way to spend it,” Eliott says, but it’s only a weak jab, a reminder of their previous, much more heated argument, and Lucas can see it in his eyes that he brings it up again only to drop it a second later. Lucas swings his legs, kicks at the kitchen cupboards, lets a small smile slip onto his face.

”When you become a famous director,” he says, frames it like it’s a compromise of sorts, ”then you can buy me tickets. How about that?”

Eliott hums and then smiles adorably. Lucas could look at his smile for hours on end. ”I’ll hold you to that.”

(They’ve been toeing the line for so long that Lucas wonders, sometimes, if they’ll ever stop at all.

Or maybe it’ll be like this forever — Lucas trying not to read too much into all the things that Eliott is saying, and Eliott saying them anyway. Looking at each other like they’re more than they really are. Staying up all night talking, but not about what matters the most, not about what seems to always echo in the back of Lucas’s head once he hears Eliott’s voice. Kissing at the airport and then not mentioning it once.)

On Wednesday, Eliott drags Lucas out of his house and demands that he show him ”what’s new”.

”Nothing’s new,” Lucas tells him, trying to sound upset because Eliott woke him up at 7 am and then proceeded to drag him out of bed without even feeling sorry for it, but he’s not really succeeding much. They’re on the subway. It’s too crowded for Lucas’s liking, but he uses that as an excuse to press a bit closer to Eliott, to lean on him and to grip his shoulder every time they halt to a stop. ”I don’t know what I’m supposed to show you. You know this city just as well as I do.”

Eliott levels him with a look, but can’t hide the sparks of amusement in his voice. ”Lucas, something had to change since I’ve last been here.” He shrugs. Lucas grips his shoulder tighter. ”I just wanna see what.”

So they go. At 8 am, when it’s still a bit chilly here outside, they walk the streets, and Lucas tries to figure it out. They get a coffee at a cafe Eliott used to go to all the time back in high school that has now changed the owner, and Lucas shows him a bookstore they used to pass on their way to the bus station every day that now is not a bookstore anymore but a vegan chain restaurant.

Eliott tells him, when he sees it, ”I’m devastated.”

Lucas only barks out a laugh.

It’s good to see Eliott back around familiar corners again. A bit surreal, too, but Lucas doesn’t want to think about it too much. Eliott seems to take the city in like it’s his first time here, keeps looking around and smiling at people passing them by as they walk, but at the same time, he just— fits so well in here. He looks like he belongs because he really does. They see a cat at a curb at one point, and Eliott is immediately enchanted, goes over to pet it, and Lucas can’t look away from the picture that it makes.

He’s missed him so much that it hurts a little, even when Eliott’s already here.

They go to an art gallery, too. That is, Lucas guesses, also a part of the city that’s changed, although it barely really counts because it’s just how exhibitions work. But then again, Eliott’s eyes light up like the stars when Lucas suggests it, so. The answer to the question is obvious.

They pay for the tickets, and then Eliott spends at least 10 minutes in front of every single painting, looking and talking to Lucas in a hushed voice, and Lucas complains weakly about how much time Eliott’s taking but doesn’t move a step away.

There is a weird feeling in his chest that takes him a while to identify as relief.

He was worried, in a strange way, about bringing Eliott here. He was worried about many things. So much has changed, during those 6 months — the city, the weather, the weird void in Lucas’s ribcage whenever he thought of Eliott, going from sharply painful to only unpleasantly familiar — that he was afraid Eliott has changed, too. Became someone else, someone who wouldn’t fit in this scene — the art gallery, the fluorescent lights, their casual banter, standing shoulder to shoulder — and Lucas was not there to see. Was not there to catch up with the changes.

”What do you think this one is called?” Eliott asks, pointing at another art piece, one of many.

”It’s ’The Summer',” Lucas reads off of a metal nameplate under it, but Eliott’s already shaking his head.

”No, not the title, I mean,” he says, bumps his shoulder into Lucas’s like when they were kids, and he was trying to rope Lucas into doing something he considered fun, ”what would you call it? What do you think?”

And, see — Eliott hasn’t changed much at all.

They will be, Lucas thinks, just fine.

(Please, he’s thought to himself in the dark hours of the night so many times, staring up at his ceiling, please let us be fine.

He fucked up, you see. Lucas is aware of that. They both are, really, because Eliott is the smartest guy he knows, and there’s no way in hell he just forgot about it all. And even if he is kind enough to not mention the kiss — just as he was kind enough to kiss Lucas back, briefly, there by the gates, before he turned around and stepped out of sight — they still both know it happened.

Lucas goes through periodical stages of either wanting to erase the kiss from his memory entirely or thinking about it non-stop for days on end.

He knows Eliott only kissed him back because he didn’t want to make a scene, or because he didn’t want to break Lucas’s heart further since it was falling apart already anyway. Lucas knows that. That’s the only explanation that makes sense, really, and he is okay with that. It’s what he eventually gave into, after hours and hours spent on thinking about it, replaying the act of it in his mind until it felt like just another thing he’s made up, until his lips throbbed with the memory.

He’d have to be stupid to hope for Eliott to love him back. He doesn’t. Eliott has never given him any real reason to believe in it, never promised him a thing.

Eliott doesn’t love him back. If he did, a small, more naive part of Lucas’s mind reminds him from time to time, when he gets a bit too hopeful, when he focuses on the what-if scenarios too much, he would have said something. He would have said, wait for me, maybe, or do it again, or something equally earth-shattering, and wouldn’t have left Lucas at this goddamn airport with only a weak smile and a promise of a phone call.

They’ve talked so, so many times, for hours and hours on end, and he never said a thing. Not once.

Lucas can recognise a dismissal when he sees one, is the thing. It’s clear enough.)

On Thursday, Eliott is stolen away.

”Sorry,” he says when Lucas calls him, asking for the plan for the day, ”my family’s coming over today. I tried to get out of it, but…you know how my parents are. We’re having a big dinner, and all.”

For what it’s worth, he doesn’t really sound pleased with it. It still does very little to dilute the heavy feeling suddenly there in Lucas’s gut.

”Oh,” Lucas says. ”Okay. I mean—”

It’s the kind of sentence that starts somewhere but ends nowhere. Lucas cuts himself off, and the awkwardness of it hangs in the air, stretches thin over the distance between Eliott and him.

He isn’t upset. He isn’t. But he was excited about the day, maybe, about another couple of hours they’d get to spend together, the prospect of having Eliott within reach where he’s sure to stay, sure to stick around. They didn’t make any plans, but Lucas was hoping something would just fall into their hands like it always did, and that they would take it and make the best of it, anyway.

But he’s forgotten, maybe, somewhere in the whirlwind of it all, about other people. Of course Eliott’s family wants to spend some time with him, too. Of course. It’s a given when Eliott is so easy to love, and by so, so many people, too.

Lucas has been selfish, he realises, for thinking he can have Eliott only to himself.

”Have fun, then,” he says. His voice is suddenly something stuck between strung-too-tight and forcefully nonchalant, but over the phone, it doesn’t carry. ”Say hi to your parents from me.”

Eliott huffs.

”Sure,” he says, and it sounds like he’s smiling. Lucas imagines it, and it makes him feel a little better. ”I’ll keep you posted on all the most exciting stuff that’s happening.”

”Like what kind of cake your mom made, you mean.”

”And what my grandma is wearing,” Eliott adds, and Lucas can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, then. On the other end of the line, Eliott chuckles, too, like he’s pleased. Like making Lucas laugh has been his plan all along, perhaps.

”You’re fucking impossible,” Lucas tells him, the stiffness gone from his voice just like that, and then, ”Okay.”

He spends the day in front of the TV, pretending to watch some talk show that Mika likes and in reality waiting for whatever message Eliott sends him next. It’s nice. His whole family seems to be there for him, grandparents and aunts and cousins, and god knows who else, and Eliott is grinning from ear to ear in every single photo he sends him.

That’s good, Lucas thinks. It’s what Eliott deserves — all this love, all the affection. So many people missing him when he’s away, being so happy when he’s finally home.

A lot of people love him. Lucas is, in the end, only one of many.

(He doesn’t know when it happened. It’s as if Lucas blinked, forgot to pay attention for just a second, and there it was already, this feeling.

Or maybe there was never a specific moment at all. Maybe it happened somewhere between when they were kids, then scrawny teenagers, and then more. Between taking Eliott’s hand for the first time and never wanting to let it go, later. Eliott was the one to talk Lucas into riding his bike down the hill and the one to wipe his tears away afterwards, laughing a little. He was the person who showed him the stars, lay on the grass during hot, enveloping summer nights, mapping constellations out in the sky, and didn’t make fun of how childishly fascinated Lucas was by it. He was the person who snuck into closed playgrounds in the middle of the night with him, just for the thrill of it, and who later got grounded for it alongside. Eliott was the person who told him that there was nothing wrong about girls kissing other girls and boys kissing other boys. He was the first person to openly call Lucas’s father a fucking asshole when he left them, and was there to wipe Lucas’s tears away this time around as well.

Maybe that’s what did it. All those things, all at once.

But a small part of Lucas still wishes someone had told him, impossibly, before it happened — watch out, be careful, in a second, you’re going to fall in love.)

On Friday, they end up celebrating.

It is, to say the truth, Idriss’s idea. He comes over in the afternoon, with Yann and Sofiane in tow, and instead of a hello says, ”Eliott, we need to get drunk together,” and it all goes downhill from there. Their group is chaotic democracy at its finest, and it shows — Lucas’s weak attempts of refusal go unnoticed, and instead, a bottle of cheap wine gets pushed into his hand, someone makes drinks, someone else puts on some music, and that’s how it goes.

Lucas, honestly, doesn’t drink much. It’s a Friday night, and all his friends are here, and he’s having a good time, but then, there’s also this — he wouldn’t want to miss the way Eliott’s eyes shine in the lights of the party, wouldn’t want to miss the way he pushes his hair away from his forehead or how he throws his head back when he laughs. It’s Friday. On Sunday, Eliott is leaving.

Lucas doesn’t want to miss a second of him still being here. He wants to remember it all.

It laces his thoughts with a weird sense of urgency, this sudden awareness of time. He finds a spot in the corner of the living room and just sits and looks, and his chest fills with something heavy, stinging. We have two days, he thinks as he swirls his overly sweet drink around in the plastic cup, amidst the heavy beat of music flooding the room, amidst the laughter and the clinking of glasses fitting right beside it, two days and then he leaves me again.

It’s not fair to think this way. Lucas knows. It’s not like he’s the only one who misses Eliott, or like Eliott doesn’t miss him in return just as much. But he lets himself give in to it, just for a second — missing Eliott already, even when he’s still here, right across the room talking to Arthur, his hair a mess, a bottle of beer in his hand. Lucas doesn’t know what he’ll do when he has to, inevitably, watch Eliott leave again. Stand there at another fucking airport, with their history coming full circle, with his heart breaking again, just like the first time around.

Their eyes lock, then, over the crowd. Eliott smiles at him, his grin wide and genuine and happy, and Lucas tries to smile back in the same manner, wipe away whatever stupid feelings have surfaced on his face, maybe, but he doesn’t think he’s quick enough. Eliott’s smile gets weaker. Something like worry creeps up into his features, etches itself in between his eyebrows.

Lucas gets up from his seat before Eliott can make his way over to him, pushes his way to the bathroom and locks the door, stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, presses his palms to his face when his eyes start to sting.

(He wants Eliott to stay.

He wants a miracle to happen. He wants Eliott to be here, to be close, wants to be able to see him every day, the lines of his smile when he’s happy and the downturn of his mouth then he’s sad, he wants him to be here tomorrow, and the week after that, and later, and later. Lucas wants it all.

He is a selfish person. He knows that. That’s why he kissed Eliott back then in the first place. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, when he’s sick with sadness and the hollow feeling in his chest, he thinks about asking Eliott to come back. Asking Eliott not to go. All the things he’s never going to say out loud because they would only make matters worse, would only make Eliott hurt. Lucas knows he is happy over there in New York. But it doesn’t stop him from thinking about clutching his hand and saying, please, please just stay. For me.

At least in his own imagination, he’s enough for Eliott to stay. It doesn’t exactly make anything better, but it’s all he has.)

On Saturday, something between them shifts.

Lucas misses the exact moment it happens, to tell the truth. He is busy with other things.

Eliott comes over around noon, with tiredness from last night still written into the lines of his face but with his eyes sparkling and with a small smile on his lips. The weather is kind of shitty, he tells Lucas, running a hand through his hair as he steps into the apartment, and Lucas notices then that his hair is a little wet like it’s raining outside, or just starting to. It sticks to his forehead a bit. Lucas fights the urge to reach out and brush the stands away, bites on his lip, and only turns his eyes away when Eliott, shrugging off his jacket and kicking down his shoes, raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

Lucas doesn’t want to answer it. Instead, he says the first thing that comes to his head. ”Wanna watch something, then?”

Eliott says yes because of course he does, and then it goes like this — they sprawl out on the couch and fight over the blanket just a little, and Lucas lets Eliott pick the movie. The rain is playing an uneven rhythm on the windows, one-two-three, irregular and barely there. He leans into Eliott a little more than he has to but not as much as he really wants to, and Eliott only hums quietly, doesn’t turn his eyes away from the screen. His arm winds around Lucas’s waist, firm, bring them close together where Eliott runs warm, from shoulder to hip.

Lucas keeps thinking, this is our last day.

It’s not a bad way to spend it. Somewhere in a small, quiet corner of his heart, Lucas is grateful for it. It’s nice, almost unfairly so, to be able to lean into Eliott and share his warmth, make sure he’s still right here, listen to his voice when he says, from time to time, ”Look at this scene, Lu,” or, ”Now, now, pay attention.”

Lucas is. Not to the movie, really, but to everything else — the way Eliott smells like the rain and fresh air and cheap cologne Lucas bought him last year for his birthday. The way he sounds like he always does. The way the fabric of his shirt folds over his collar bones and how shadows settle in the hollow of his throat.

There are very few things in the world that Lucas would want more than he wants this.

And when it gets dark — after they’ve watched another movie and stuffed their faces with pizza and after Mika and Lisa came home and joined them in the living room, after they argued over Eliott’s terrible music taste and laughed over how familiar it was, too, it’s time for Eliott to go home.

Lucas is scared of it, like a child. He is scared of opening the door and letting Eliott go and letting the world happen to him, a world Lucas is barely present in, a world somewhere far away. But then Eliott is already getting up from the couch and saying his goodbyes to Lisa, letting Mika hug him, and Lucas trails behind him and watches it, then watches him put on his shoes and jacket and get ready to walk out just like that.

”So,” he says, and if his throat suddenly feels too tight, nobody has to know, ”I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It’s all they have left. They both know that because it’s not like it’s a secret, really. The whole day today, they haven’t spoken a word about Eliott leaving tomorrow, but they both know what is going to happen — Lucas will go to the airport with him, say his goodbyes, try not to cry too much and probably fail, and Eliott will smile at him with his stupid, unbelievable, gorgeous smile and hug him like he never wants to let him go even though it is not true and then leave.

In the doorway, Eliott hesitates.

Maybe it’s because too many of Lucas’s thoughts are showing on his face. Maybe it’s easier to read him than it usually is, than it was yesterday in the lights of the party. Lucas waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come, and there’s a suddenly tension-heavy moment that passes between them. Eliott just keeps looking at him. Lucas doesn’t know what to do about it.

And then, Eliott says, ”Do you want to walk me home?”

Lucas hears Mika laugh from the living room where he and Lisa are still watching something on TV. The rain is still drumming on the windows, a staccato. Outside, it’s probably cold and windy, and if he goes with Eliott, he won’t be back for another two hours, probably. They both have to get up early tomorrow. It’s very late.

”Sure,” Lucas says, grabbing his own jacket from the hanger. ”Let’s go.”

They walk in relative silence for about 2 minutes, when Eliott suddenly grabs Lucas’s hand and pulls him in a different direction and onto a road that, Lucas is pretty sure, doesn’t lead to Eliott’s apartment.

”Hey,” Lucas says, almost stumbling over the cobblestones of the dark street, ”what are you doing?”

Eliott’s hand is warm in his, and firm, and his grip is strong. He laces their fingers together. Lucas tells himself that it is not the reason his heart does something weird in his chest, that it’s because of the dark, because of the late hour.

”I wanna show you something,” Eliott says, pulls him along, rounds a street corner. ”Come on, it’s not far.”

”Weren’t you going back home?”

”I don’t want to go back home.” The words have a weird quality to them. Lucas wants to ask, but then Eliott adds, a bit quieter, ”not yet.”

So they go. How could Lucas complain, really, if he gets to hang around Eliott for just a while longer, have him all to himself, selfishly and privately, hold his hand and let himself get involved in another one of Eliott’s strange ideas like it’s the old times, still? So Lucas lets Eliott drag him along, only grips his hand tighter and doesn’t say a word.

It’s Eliott’s last evening here, and somehow, he chose to spend it with Lucas, with Lucas alone. Whatever it means, Lucas will take it.

Eliott brings him, apparently, to a closed playground.

”Wait,” Lucas says as he stands in front of it, as Eliott finally lets go of his hand in favour of wrestling with the lock on the gate instead, fighting it until it gives up and the door squeaks open, ”Eliott, seriously?”

”What?” Eliott says and just steps inside. He sounds like he’s smiling. ”You scared? It’s just a playground, Lu.”

”This is illegal,” Lucas informs him but goes in anyway, closes the door with the smallest sound. Apart from that, and their whispers, everything is very quiet. ”Just so you know.”

Eliott chuckles, ”I’m aware,” and then, walking backwards, when the light of the streetlamp catches in his eyes and sets his gaze on fire, he says, ”Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

And whatever response Lucas could make, it dies on his tongue, just like that. Maybe it’s, he thinks with his heart hammering a bit too quickly against his ribcage, actually for the better.

They find a pair of swings that aren’t, miraculously, wet from the rain somehow, and sit down there. For a second, Lucas feels like he’s in a movie of sorts, the kind that Eliott likes to watch best. It doesn’t feel real, between one beat of his heart and the next, this whole scene — the rain, the fresh air, the stars in the sky. How the streetlamp casts a faint light that doesn’t reach quite to where they are. How he’s allowed, somehow, to sit here with Eliott, the same beautiful, unbelievable person he’s known his whole life.

He asks, ”Why are we here?”

”Do you remember,” Eliott says in response, and when Lucas looks over at him, he’s watching the starts, his fingers wrapped around the chain of the swing, ”when we came here when we were kids? When you were, like, twelve?”

Lucas remembers. It is the same place, he realises suddenly, now when he properly thinks about it and pays attention. The three big oaks to his right are still here, and the fence seems to still be painted the same jarring, chipping-off red, or at least that’s what it looks like in the light of the streetlamp. They used to come here sometimes, when they were younger. Once, Lucas took his dad’s pocket knife and carved an ”L+E” into the wood the fence was made of, not really understanding what the action meant, back then.

”Is this where you took me at midnight that one time and then we both got grounded for the next five years?” Lucas asks, and doesn’t expect it when Eliott laughs, doesn’t expect the way it rings in the night and falls into it, makes the stars seem a little brighter.

”Yeah,” Eliott tells him, ”yeah, that’s the place.”

He sounds happy. He sounds genuine. He sounds like everything is alright, like it’s just another night spent hanging around with a friend, like it’s one of so many nights they spent together ad not much more, and Lucas suddenly…can’t take it. It’s like a wave that sweeps him up and drags him under, and he can’t do it. Something blooms in his chest and makes it too tight to breathe properly. He looks away from Eliott’s profile, feels like he’ll break if he doesn’t.

A moment passes. Lucas feels like his lungs are filled with lead.

And then, quietly, Eliott says, ”I don’t want tomorrow to happen.”

Lucas snaps his head back up, surprised. For a second, he thinks he imagined it. With how quiet it was, and how stray, that wouldn’t be impossible, he thinks. But then Eliott turns his face away from the sky and looks at Lucas instead, and even if he did sound happy just minutes ago, he doesn’t look like it now.

”That’s why I didn’t want to go back home yet,” he tells Lucas, like a confession. There’s something muted in his eyes. ”I don’t want tomorrow to come.”

Lucas swallows.

”What,” he tries, forces a corner of his mouth to lift in a desperate attempt at covering up the tremor in his voice, ”aren’t you excited to go back to New York?”

It’s only half a joke and half a genuine question. Eliott answers it with a shrug that looks heavy.

”Not really. I mean,” he says, and Lucas expects him to backtrack, then, just maybe, for only a second. Start talking about how New York isn’t that bad after all. About how much he’s learning, about how it’s just difficult, is all. But then he says, ”it’s great, but. There’s someone at home I’m going to miss a lot.”

Something in Lucas’s chest quivers. He tries to smother it. ”Idriss, I bet.”

Eliott smiles at that, softly. His eyes crinkle at the corners.

”You,” he says. ”You.”

And, see — Lucas knew that. He’s known.

It doesn’t make anything easier.

He turns his eyes away. He wants to say, me too, me too, I’m going to miss you, too. He wants to say, then don’t go, please don’t go, please just stay. He wants to stand up and take the two steps that separate them and wrap Eliott in his arms and don’t let him go, stay with him right here until the rain stops and the sun rises. He wants to kiss him, like back then. Lucas wants so, so much.

It burns in his chest like embers of a fire that should have died long ago. Maybe that’s why he says, ”We’re not going to talk about it, then?”

A pause. ”About what?”

”Me and you,” Lucas replies, then swallows. He takes a breath, tries to steady himself, and then finally says, ”That I kissed you, back then. At the airport.” And when Eliott doesn’t say anything to that, Lucas adds, quieter, ”I think we should talk about it.”

His throat is tight. He’s clutching the chains of the swing so forcefully that they’re digging into his palm.

Me and you, he said, but there is no such thing, really. That’s what Eliott is going to tell him. No ”L+E” even though it’s carved somewhere into the playground fence, even though the hope of it is etched into Lucas’s stupid heart. He’s sick of hoping for things that will never be true, tired of making so many mistakes, but he can’t help it. He can’t help it.

Eliott is silent. Lucas is afraid of what he’d see if he looks at him, so he just keeps his eyes where they are. He keeps staring at his own shoes, barely visible against the dark background of the grass under his feet. They weren’t supposed to bring it up, he knows. They were supposed to brush it off as inconsequential, lock it somewhere in the corner of their minds and not revisit, pretend it never happened, forget entirely. Maybe that’s what Eliott did, after all. Perhaps the memory of it got pushed to the side, with so many other things going on in his life, with so many different people, new places, better things to pay attention to than Lucas and his stupidity.

For a second, shame burns in his veins like a flame.

Then, Eliott stands up.

He’s going to go, Lucas’s mind says, and suddenly his breathing needs two tries before it goes anywhere. He’s going to say, don’t come to the airport tomorrow, and he’s going to go. You used up your time. You should have stayed quiet.

It’s true. It’s all true.

Except Eliott doesn’t leave.

He takes two steps, instead, and then crouches in front of Lucas, and before Lucas can register what’s happening, through his loud mind and aching heart, Eliott is unwrapping Lucas’s fingers from around the swing chains and taking his hands in his own. His grip is tight. His hands are warm.

”Lucas,” he’s saying, ”tell me why you did it. Tell me why you kissed me.”

It doesn’t make sense, but in response, he says, ”You remember, then,” and it comes out weak.

Eliott’s hands tremble in his, minutely, but it’s so slight it might as well only be his imagination. That’s what Lucas writes it off as.

”Of course I remember,” Eliott says. ”Of course.” And then, brushing Lucas’s knuckles with his thumbs in a gesture that is probably meant to be consoling, he repeats, ”Why?”

For a moment, Lucas doesn’t say anything.

He’s thought about it so many times. So many times, it was right there on his tongue, and he always kept it in. All his I love you’s, all the things he couldn’t let Eliott hear because it was just Lucas and his stupid, naive heart talking, because it would ruin the best thing he’s ever had. Lucas is not ready to lose it now. He’s not.

But if Eliott’s tight grip is anything to go by, or the way he intertwines their fingers, or the way he doesn’t take his eyes off Lucas at all, then maybe he knows already. Maybe he knows. Lucas isn’t sure what to believe anymore, and it hardly matters anyway, right, hardly matters when Eliott’s going to leave tomorrow anyway, fuck off for another 6 months or so, and Lucas will have to pick his broken heart back up and piece it together nevertheless, just like last time.

It’s a heartbreak either way, no matter the reason.

”You know why,” he finally says. It feels like a confession, but of a different sort. ”You know why, Eliott.”

Eliott brushes his knuckles again. ”Tell me.”

And just like that — Lucas closes his eyes and says it.

”Because I’m in love with you,” he says. It feels so raw on his tongue that he feels weak with it. And then again, ”I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for ages. I loved you when we were kids, and I love you now, and I will love you tomorrow when you get on that fucking plane and leave, and that’s just what it is, Eliott, I’m really—” A breath. ”I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He keeps looking at his shoes, still, at the same patch of grass. His inhale, the exhale, then inhale again, are all shaky.

”I kissed you because you were leaving, and I didn’t know when I would see you again,” Lucas continues, a little despite himself, but once the words are out there, there’s nothing he can do. ”I kissed you because you were still here, and I missed you already. And because I love you.” He swallows. His throat feels tight. ”That was the main reason.”

They weren’t supposed to talk about it, but here it is. No take-backs; game over. Eliott knows, now. That’s okay. Lucas will get through it, somehow, like he got through many other things. It’s what he tells himself, biting down on his lip so that it stops quivering, listening to the rush of blood in his head and the too-quick beating of his heart. Eliott isn’t saying anything, but Lucas doesn’t expect him to. There’s not much left to say, really.

And then, a shift.

”Lucas,” Eliott is muttering in the next second, and he’s pulling Lucas’s hands closer to himself, closer to his face, and then Lucas watches, dazed, as he presses his lips to Lucas’s knuckles, once, twice, then, again and again, a kiss after a kiss. ”I thought you— I didn’t—”

It has stopped raining, Lucas notes with a tiny part of his mind. He has, suddenly, no idea what’s happening.

”I thought you didn’t say anything because—” Eliott tries and gets stuck, and in the meager light, he looks…unlike himself, a little. Wide-eyed, breathless, with a few damp strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. His gaze is suddenly so intense it is almost a physical thing. ”You never—” And then like he can’t help himself, Eliott asks, voice caving in, ”Please say it again.”

Lucas blinks at him. He feels like the world has stopped, somehow. Like the time is frozen. ”What?”

”Say it again,” Eliott repeats, and something in his voice changes, then. He’s looking straight at Lucas, with his eyes bright. They’re still holding hands. ”Why you kissed me.”

”I love you,” Lucas tells him, again, just as true as before. His heart is beating too fast.

And Eliott just closes his eyes and presses the back of Lucas’s hand to his lips again, warm and unexpected, and then, when he smiles, Lucas feels the curve of it right against his skin.

”God,” Eliott whispers, barely audible. ”Fuck.”

And then, before Lucas can say anything, Eliott is suddenly untangling their fingers and something passes in his eyes, a notion, and then he’s reaching over and he’s cupping Lucas’s face in his hands, right there at the playground, in the middle of the night and—

When Eliott kisses him, it feels like coming home.

It’s warm and sweet and the angle is a little off, and it’s nothing like the first time but it’s also exactly like the first time, and Lucas melts into it and he’s kissing Eliott. He’s kissing Eliott. Eliott is kissing him — slow and shy at first, then growing comfortable, and then Lucas is parting his lips and lets Eliott deepen the kiss, lets the thrill of it push all the air out of his lungs. He curls his fingers into the fabric of his jeans when Eliott angles his head. They’re kissing — slow and unhurried and like they have all the time they need, even when they don’t, really. But here, in the dark, with the warmth of Eliott’s lips and the burn of hope coiling in Lucas’s chest, it’s easier to believe.

And then, when they part, Eliott is smiling wider than Lucas ever remembers him to.

”I thought you didn’t say anything because— I thought it was an impulse, then,” he tells him, leans his forehead against Lucas’s, and his eyes are closed. His hands slide down to Lucas’s neck, and he traces the line of Lucas’s jaw with his thumb, gentle. ”That you did it because you didn’t want me to go. That you thought it would make me stay.”

There is a question hiding somewhere in the sentence. Lucas answers it, feeling dazed. Feeling breathless.

”I did want you to stay,” he says, and then, ”I do. But the kiss wasn’t meant to be a bargaining card.”

Eliott huffs out a laugh. His eyes are still closed. ”Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

”Why didn’t you?”

And then Eliott does open his eyes, and even after knowing him for practically his whole life and loving him for almost equally as long, Lucas is not ready for what he sees — all the blinding happiness. All the breathtaking storm of something he’s almost afraid to name.

”If I did, and you told me what you did just now,” he says, ”I would’ve come back here on the next plane.”

Eliott’s still tracing the line of his jaw. For a heartbeat, Lucas just looks at him. ”Why?”

”Because I love you,” Eliott says, smiles that blinding smile again, leans into Lucas like he can’t help it, like he can’t wait, kisses his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. ”Because I love you, too.”

(Later, they will go. Leave the playground and close the gate behind, unnoticed and unseen, like they were never there in the first place, like nothing ever happened. They will hold hands and pull each other along the empty streets, then kiss on the doorstep of Eliott’s apartment building where Eliott will push Lucas against the cold brick wall and angle his chin up and kiss him again, again until Lucas loses track of time. Later, they will say ”goodnight” and Eliott will complain, just a little, about how he still needs to pack, and Lucas will laugh at him quietly, laugh until Eliott kisses the smile off his face.

But now, it’s this —

”I would stay,” Eliott tells him, still clutching his hands like it’s a lifeline, ”if you asked me to.”

For a second, Lucas wants to. The possibility of it is blinding — how he could just say two words, and Eliott would stay for him, right there, easy as that. He can taste the words on his tongue. No heartbreak, he thinks, but the opposite of it, for once.

But in the end, he says, ”I won’t ask you to.” That’s all.

Because, you see — it wouldn’t be fair. Lucas is selfish, but he’s not cruel. He knows how much New York means to Eliott. He can’t ask Eliott to give it up, his future and his dreams and all the bright ideas he has, just because he’s going to miss him, because this is not how love works. And Lucas is no expert, really, but he is learning something new about love every day, it seems like, and tonight, dizzy with relief and throbbing with how thoroughly kissed he’s just been, he learns his — love is not selfish. Love is not painless. Sometimes, love means letting someone go and hoping they will come back.

”I won’t ask you,” he repeats when Eliott doesn’t say anything, only looks. ”But I will wait if you want me to.”

Something passes over Eliott’s face. Like understanding. His gaze softens, warms up.

”Thank you,” he says, and it’s enough of an answer.)

On Sunday, Eliott leaves.

Lucas goes to the airport with him, stands there amongst the crowd of people, and only has eyes for Eliott anyway. Eliott, with his heavy suitcases packed in a hurry, with his hair messy and his eyes a little tired and his smile a little crooked. They are, at least in this aspect, mirror reflections of each other — it’s the same, the way they look at each other, the way they hold hands, the way Eliott wraps him in a hug, bone-crushing, and Lucas melts into it and just holds Eliott for a second, wishes for the time to slow down for just a moment. Just a while.

”I’ll miss you,” Eliott says, presses the words into Lucas’s temple, ”so fucking much, you have no idea.”

And Lucas smiles so that he doesn’t cry. ”I do,” he says. ”I do, actually.”

Eliott kisses him goodbye, and the kisses are all like punctuation marks between him saying, I’ll call you when I get there, and I’ll see you soon, I promise, and I love you. His voice quivers a bit as he says it all. Lucas thinks, unreasonably, about ”L+E” carved somewhere into a wooden fence.

And then Eliott goes. It will be a while before they see each other again, but it’s okay.

Lucas can wait for him.

#skam france #elu #elu fic #skamfr #elu fanfic #my writing #here it is my dudes i hope you enjoy #have u noticed that i love parentheses

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