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purplecoffee13 · 2 months

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‘Paranoid’* - Thin Lines Pt 5

“All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy…” - Paranoid by Black Sabbath

Summary: “You go on a date with someone new, but Harry doesn’t approve.”

Wc: 4K (more or less)

Tropes: rockstar!harry x opera singer!mc

Warnings: smut, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, harry being a dick, angst, fighting

A/N: hey, here is the new update for thin lines! Although you may think it from the way this part ends, it is NOT the end! We still have one part to go…🤭

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You observed yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath to try and stabilize the nerves you had been feeling all day. You were wearing a short black dress, paired with some Mary Jane's that you had walked on just enough for them not to kill your feet after five minutes anymore.

Jake had taken you to a beautiful fancy restaurant, and he had looked dashing in his suit. You were so incredibly nervous that before you even had the chance to order drinks you had excused yourself and fled to the bathroom.

This was your first official, proper date ever, and you had no idea how to act. Locking eyes with yourself one last time, you took a deep breath and mentally told yourself to get your fucking shit together before heading out there again.

By the time you came back, Jake had already ordered drinks for the two of you. An ice bucket containing a bottle of white wine stood next to the table, and you whispered a 'thank you' as he poured you some while you sat down across from him.

"Thanks." You said softly.

"No problem. The menu's are on their way." He responded, putting the wine bottle back in the bucket and taking a deep breath as he turned his full attention to you.

"So,"

"So..." You repeated your date, a soft chuckle falling from both of your lips. You were glad to not be the only one for whom this was quite intimidating.

"Start with the basic questions?" Jake proposed, an awkward golden retriever like smile on his face. You nodded in agreement, and waited as Jake thought of a question.

"Got any siblings?"

"Two step-brothers." You replied. Jake's brow quirks up. "But I hardly ever see them."

"Oh, does that not bother you?" He asked, genuine concern coating his words. You shrug.

"God no, if anything I'm thankful for it." You joked, but Jake didn't seem to find it funny.

"You wouldn't like a big family, then?"

Wow, wow, wow.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and unsure of what to say. How had this conversation steered towards planning a family so soon?

"I— I don't know. I've never had a very big family, it was always just me and my parents. When they divorced, and my mom re-married, it was a lot. I mean, going from being an only child to two step-brothers... it's a lot of noise. But I only lived with them for two years before moving to LA, so I don't know..." You tried to explain yourself, a bit weirded out about how invested Jake seemed to be in this. Harry would've found your joke funny; he doesn't take everything so seriously.

Wait, you shouldn't be thinking about Harry! You were on a date with Jake to forget about Harry, for God's sake. You needed to focus on your date.

And so you did, all throughout dinner you fixate your eyes on the man in front of you and tried to list all the reason why you could go on a second date with him. But unintentionally, you also compared him to Harry in every possible aspect.

Jake was sweet, but there was a lack of initiative. You found yourself disappointed at his replies, knowing Harry would've matched your wit, or understood what you were trying to say. By the time the main dish was being taken away, you were a bit tired. It felt like you have to put in a lot of effort into an attempt at a connection with this guy, especially when you knew how easy it was to have such a connection right off the bat.

You thought you must've been hallucinating when you saw a shadow that looked an awful lot like Harry pass by the window, and it made you realize how much he had been floating in your head. You weren't being fair to Jake, so you decided to round off this date as soon as possible.

"Want dessert?"

"No I'm okay, thank you." You smiled at him.

"Okay, then I'll get the check." He announced.

"We can split, if you want to." You offered, but Jake was quick to shake his head.

"Absolutely not, my treat." He assured you. Cheeks flushed, you nodded, and turned your head to look at the hallway where the restrooms are.

"D'you mind if I go to the restroom then, before we go? I see there's a bit of a line, so I could also go later if you prefer." You pointed to the hallway where about five women were waiting to enter the toilet, but Jake shrugged.

"Go, it's fine, I'll bring the car around. It's parked a bit further away so if I get it now you won't have to walk all the way there in those heels of yours." He suggested, to which you nodded. Grabbing your purse and jacket, you made your way over to the line of women. Surprisingly enough, you only had to wait a minute before it was your turn to go to the bathroom, and in two minutes you were on your way to the front door of the restaurant again.

That was until you were snatched away by someone's hand.

There was not even a possibility to shriek, as your mouth was covered in the first second that you were grabbed and pulled into a coat room. It was only when you got turned around, and spotted Harry's face in the vague light, that you weren't scared for your life anymore. You pulled his hand off your mouth, attempting to push him away from you.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Are you insane?!" You shout-whispered, heart still pounding. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, but your anxiety from the sudden capture was slowly fading.

"I think that is a better fit question for me to ask you." He growled, pushing you against the wall between the racks full of coat hangers. You looked around you, hearing the mingling people in the restaurant, and realized that there was probably someone working here only a few feet away. "What the fuck are you doing having dinner with some random fucking guy?"

"I'm on a date!" You answered, frustrated with the fact that he was being so uptight about this.

"Yeah, and why the fuck would you do that?!" He hissed, knitted brows displaying the irritation that simultaneously showed in his tight grip on your waist. His hot breath fanning against your ear caused a totally different tension to arise in your stomach.

"Because I'm single, Harry!"

That shut him up. His face softened, and it was hard not to allow your heart to break into pieces as you witnessed that realization dawn on him. You didn't say anything as his eyes averted from you, digesting your words for a couple of seconds. And while the sound of glasses and utensils clinking against each other felt like a meteoric sting in your ears, there didn't seem to be a more deafening silence than this one.

What you didn't expect him to do was lean forward and kiss you, nor did you expect to go along with it so easily. However, at this point you shouldn't have been surprised; Harry turned your body and mind into jelly. He could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and it was bad, but it excited the hell out of you.

The sole thought of Harry being so jealous that he found the restaurant where you were having a date, and pulled you into the coat room to kiss you, had surged an army of butterflies to fly around in your stomach. Something, which you were aware, was absolutely not a proper and healthy reaction to a situation like this. But somehow... Harry made it hot.

And while you didn't like to admit it, you knew that the reason for that was because a part of you hoped that he would do this. You had secretly prayed in the back of your mind that he would come and get you once he realized you were something he could lose. And the fact that he was here now, kissing you and taking his hands all over your body made your cunt ache.

As if he was reading your mind—which you were quite sure at this point he was seriously capable of to some extent—he pulled up your dress and signaled for you to wrap your legs around his waist. He unbuttoned his pants, and you obeyed his wishes immediately, not wanting to waste any time. The fact that he was so incredibly hard only made you more enthusiastic. It was so wrong to have sex with Harry in the coat room while your date was outside waiting for you. Everything involving Harry was wrong... and that's what made it feel so fucking good.

"So wet for me, as always." He whispered into your ear as he entered you in one go. Your mouth hung open and a gasp left your lips, but you managed to keep quiet. The loudest sound was that of his dick thrusting into your wet pussy, with the two of you managing to stay at a surprisingly low volume.

You grabbed a handful of Harry's hair and closed your eyes as you lost yourself in the pleasure of him driving into you. The sound of footsteps and a coat hanger moving on a rack a few meters away had you squeezing Harry's shoulder. Instead of slowing down like a normal person would do, he took it as the perfect moment to pick up the speed and attach one of his fingers to your clit.

If it wasn't for the quickness of your hand that slapped over your own mouth, you would've moaned so loud that the entire restaurant probably would've heard. There was no time to glare at him, seeing as the pleasure of this devious act was getting all of your attention at the moment. Harry just smirked at you, leaning forward so his lips were next to your ear.

"If it were up to me, I'd have you take that pretty little hand off your mouth and let the entire restaurant hear how good I'm fucking you." He uttered, and you bit your lip to stifle any more moans that were threatening to escape your mouth at any moment.

"Let everyone hear how fucking desperate you are for me, and only me. Because you're mine." The question fell from his lips so confidently, that you didn't think to answer. Harry, displeased with your lack of words, accompanied his words with a hard thrust that had the tiniest whine fall from you lips. Like the devil he was, Harry continued the deep thrusts, edging you guys closer to getting caught. "Aren't you?"

Not daring to open your mouth fueled by the fear of being too loud and getting caught, you showed that you agreed with him by nodding profusely. You squeezed y(our eyes shut, a tear rolling down your cheek as you tried not to pass out from Harry's dick impaling your soaking wet pussy.

"You can say you're single all you want, but this sweet cunt belongs to me. Never had anything like me, and you never will. Can try as much as you want, but you'll always circle back to me." Harry grunted lowly, nails digging further into your skin. His thrusts became more aggressive, bringing you far closer to the edge in a record time.

"You're mine, like it or not."

You must have been sick in the head for that sentence to be the last straw. Because before you knew it, you were entirely falling apart around him. Harry had to put his lips on yours to muffle the sounds that kept coming out of your mouth as you cried and came around his cock. Your hands clamped onto his frame, trying to hold on in the way your legs couldn't.

The consistent clenching of your core around his cock had Harry follow soon after. He refrained himself from making too much noise by burying his head into your neck and softly biting on your skin as he filled you up with his seed. He stayed still inside of you, holding your legs up as you both took a few seconds to come down from your orgasm.

After slowly pulling his cock out of you, Harry put on your underwear quickly. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Keep it inside of you." He ordered, causing you to frown at him.

"Harry, I'm on a d—" you tried to protest, but Harry quickly slapped his hand around your mouth again.

"I don't want to fucking hear it. It wasn't a question. Now, shut up, and do as I say."

Your widened eyes betrayed your underestimation of Harry. Of course, you wanted him to be jealous, but there was a part of you that still thought that he was only playing into the jealousy in a solely sexual sense. Nevertheless, you were too stunned to argue, so you nodded.

Adjusting your dress, you wiped your eyes to rid of the tear stains that had probably appeared in the last minutes. It was hard to stand, your head still misty from the spontaneous coat room sex.

"Go reject him." He demanded as he watched you put on your coat. You stopped in your tracks, your mouth falling open and your head shaking.

"I'm not going to reject him just because—"

"I don't think I posed that as a question either, love." His stern voice intercepted you once again. Your entire brain stopped and had to re-wire at the mention of that nickname, and you were sure it was the only reason you agreed.

With a heavy heart and a fluttering stomach you walked out of the restaurant, nearing Jake's car which was right in front of the door. It felt wrong to smile at him after what you had just done, and it dawned on you; you had become a horrible person. That self-made conclusion stirred you up so bad that you felt you could throw up, and it made you refuse to step into that car. Jake didn't deserve that.

He stepped out of the car, wanting to escort you to the passenger seat, but you stopped him. The grip on his arm made him turn back around, confusion written all over his face.

"I... Thank you so much for the lovely dinner, I really appreciate it. But—"

"But you're rejecting me." He filled in the blanks for you, leaving you speechless for a short second. You nodded slowly, and were grateful to see an empathic smile appearing on Jake's face. "Already? I haven't even given you a ride home yet."

You both chuckled at his joke, and as it died down, you tried to find his eyes. "I really did have a fun tonight, so thank you."

"You're welcome, I guess?" He stifled a laugh. "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay, really. I live very close anyway."

Jake nodded, and you said your goodbyes to him. You felt like a dickhead, and the fact that he had taken it so well had only made your guilt worse. It was horrible to watch him drive away, and Harry's approving voice from behind you didn't make you feel better either.

"Good girl, knew you'd listen."

You turned around, a look of pure thunder on your face as your eyes met Harry's. You stepped closer to him, pace picking up with every step.

"Get out of my face." You sneered, walking past him and down the street back towards your apartment. You heard Harry's footsteps start to follow you, and while that granted you a bit of satisfaction, it didn't fade the anger towards him or yourself in the slightest bit.

"Sweetheart—"

"Fuck you." You spat out, annoyed with the amount of impact of his nicknames for you had on you and your body.

"What the fuck happened? You were fine ten minutes ago." Harry called out, still walking a meter behind you. His words made you stop in your tracks, turning around to face him.

"What happened is that I realized what a horrible fucking person I've become, Harry! I just had sex with another guy while I was on a date with someone, that is so not okay!" You snapped. You took a deep breath, awaiting Harry's reaction, but he only stared at you. You couldn't quite make up anything specific from the manner in which he was observing you, but it for sure made you squirm.

“I’m not just some other guy.” He argued, distaste in the tone of his voice. He didn’t like the way it sounded so disposable.

“That doesn’t matter! It’s still a shitty thing to do… and I don’t think I can do this anymore.” You sighed, running your hands through your hair.

Silence took over the conversation. It was hard to look at Harry, you almost didn't dare to. There was a big part of you that never wanted this fling with him to end, but after tonight, you realized it was the only way to build up something new. You had gotten into this thing to distract yourself from the guy you were in love with, but now that you had finally seen the light and were far into the process of moving on, it seemed like it didn't serve much of a purpose anymore.

Besides, ever since that last hook-up, you weren't sure for how long it could stay casual before you'd start to develop feelings for this man. And that was something that absolutely couldn't happen.

“Harry, I am looking for something serious. You can’t give that to me, because you don’t want to, so I need to end this.” You explained, trying to search his gaze but he was making it impossible for you to look him in the eyes as he was furiously shaking his head.

“Why are you acting like you’re ending a relationship? We’re not in one.”

“Says the person who pushed me into a coat room because he was jealous.” You crossed your arms, seeing right through his bullshit and the dumb wall he’s putting up.

"Well… I don't like seeing you with other people." Was the only thing that fell from Harry's lips. His furrowed brows revealing the confusion that lingered in the delivery of the words as well. He wasn't sure of how to express what he was feeling, but the vagueness of the words he did communicate wasn't improving this situation at all.

“That’s very boyfriend material of you.” You tried to joke, a small smile forming on your lips. Harry’s mouth quirked up as well despite the frown on his face.

“I am not boyfriend material.” He chuckled.

"I know, it’s why I’m not even considering asking you to be something like that. I know you wouldn’t want to. " You smiled, and Harry nodded. His eyes were clearer now and it wasn’t as hard for him to look you in the eyes anymore.

“Alright.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. Like there was nothing left to do about it. That this was it, in the blink of an eye, and that it was all concluded with a simple shrug of the shoulders.

It made your heart sting, but upon feeling it you knew that you had made the right decision. If you hadn’t ended it now, that sting would’ve developed into full grown heart ache, and Harry was the wrong person to develop that for.

“Alright.” You repeated, looking for some sort of doubt in his eyes, but there seemed to be none. So you let it rest. Turning your attention to the street, you flagged down a cab.

“I’m going home, I’ll see you around?”

“I can take you home, you know, you don’t have to take a cab.” Harry offered, but you were quick to shake your head.

“No, that would be too boyfriend-like of you.” You grinned, and Harry sighed at your attempt at a joke. You opened the door of the cab.

“Fine. See you around.” He put his hands in his pockets, and walked towards the front of the cab. He tapped on the window where your taxi driver was sitting and handed him some money, too much for a single short cab ride. He told the taxi driver to keep it, as long as he’d bring you home safe. The driver, a kind man from what you’d gathered so far, thanked Harry and assured him that he would do his job.

Harry’s eyes flicked to the backseat, meeting yours one last time, and threw a wink at you. You felt inclined to roll your eyes, but you didn’t, the moment feeling a bit too sentimental to bash Harry for winking at you. It was the last time you were seeing him, being what you two were, and it made you kind of melancholic. Nevertheless, you reminded yourself it was for the better. Besides, you were sure you’d see him around…

Taglist: @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa @sassamanda77

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gardenofnoah · 1 year

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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it��s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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artyandink · 4 months

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𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

A/N 2 - Chapter’s kinda short, sorry guys 😬 I’ve been ill nonstop, and that sapped my creative juice

Warnings: Blood, gore, alcohol, chaotic group chat, angst, some fluff, Charlie being Charlie, mentions of abuse, Benny isn’t a vampire, Ruby and Meg aren’t demons, everyone got an out from hunting and the Apocalypse, Azazel doesn’t come after the Winchesters

SERIES MASTERLIST

three - french 75

You and Dean were working the bar the following Tuesday with Bela and Benny, a surprisingly chaotic duo while, as usual, the rest of the gang lived it up in a booth nearby.

After the Roadhouse closed up, all of you agreed on what you knew would be a chaotic night of strip poker, almost guaranteed highlights being Ruby’s victory gorilla grunt, Jo throwing her cards down when she lost and Bela’s painfully obvious ‘poker face’ which consisted of her smirk that was strained with poorly restrained giggles.

It was tradition, really.

“Is this place looking for vacancies?” There was a redhead at the bar, her locks cropped to her chin and she sported an eager expression. “If not, that’s ok. I need a way to make some extra cash.”

“And you are?” You asked with a broad smile, pouring a glass of whiskey for a patron.

“Charlie. Bradbury.” She replied with an equally as wide smile. You already took to her well; she seemed like another lost soul who needed a family, but someone you could easily warm up to.

“Ok, Charlie Bradbury. Behind the counter.” You let her in, starting to show her the way in, out, up, down and around the drinks lined behind the counter, showing her the baseball bat in case she needed to ever, y’know, start swinging.

Charlie seemed like a go-getter, already prepared to start flipping bottles and mixing the drinks like nobody’s business.

“This place is cool.” She grinned widely, and you gave her a warm smile and pat on the back as you handed her over to Benny, who took the reins while you and Dean dissolved back into giggles.

Dean nudged you, nodding to Ellen, who looked a lot happier than usual. “Y’know, I think we did Ellen and ol’ boy Bobby a solid. They both seem more like cheery old souls rather than just… old souls.”

“Jo said she actually saw Ellen blushing. Blushing.” You nudged him back. “We play good matchmakers, no?”

“Damn right. We just have to choose our next victims.”

You and Benny were clearing up the bar after closing, the low rumble of your chatter being the only available ambience. The door opened, and without looking up, you and Benny said the exact same thing.

“We’re closed.” You both chorused, but an exhilarated gasp came from whoever walked in, and as your heads looked up, both of your veins turned to straight ice. A woman with flowing, perfectly coiffed brown hair, creamy olive skin and doe eyes was standing there, dressed in white with a longing expression.

You and Benny shared a look, instantly standing closer to one another as you swallowed thickly on a dry throat, the feeling stinging and scratchy. “Andrea.” You whispered, setting the broom against a table while Benny’s eyes misted over with nostalgia and barely restrained heartbreak.

Andrea Kormos. Benny’s ex girlfriend.

“Dre.” Benny breathed, his hand gripping your forearm protectively, putting himself in front of you while your hand discreetly reached for underneath the counter for the concealed weapon, holding off a panic attack as the sight of Andrea brought back unwanted memories. “What are you doing here?”

“My love.” She took a step forward, making Benny fully shield you with his body. “I’ve searched for so long.”

“Why are you here?”

“To bring you back.” Andrea insisted, tilting her head and gazing at Benny as if she was obsessed. “Our family misses you. My father misses you.”

“Tell him to go to hell.” Benny growled, your hand closing around the weapon amid rasping breaths that got shorter each time, heart pounding in your parched throat. Your thoughts drifted to the scars on your neck, the ones that you desperately hid with a good coverage foundation.

Blood draining out of you, your limbs going limp as the thick fluid dropped onto the floor, hungry tongues licking up every inch…

That didn’t help in the slightest.

“I have to bring you in by force if necessary.” She announced, her head held high. “You knew what you got into once you came to our house.”

“I didn’t.” Benny shook his head determinedly. “You said you were just taking me to meet your father. And I find this poor thing in a side room!” His finger pointing at you, blind fury on his face. “I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into.”

“Force it is.” She muttered before teeth, sharp, hooked teeth emerged as she snarled and charged for Benny. Amid gasping breaths, a pounding head and constricted lungs, you yanked a machete out of its holster and swung your dominant arm.

Andrea’s head made a dull thud as it hit the floor, even more so when her body did the same, and before you could collapse against the counter and start sobbing until your voice went hoarse you were drawn into Benny’s arms as he patted your hair, chin on your head as he shushed you. “You’re safe, sweet.” He murmured in a strained voice, torn because who he once thought his love was now lying on the floor.

A piece of his heart might have gone with her.

“Listen to my heartbeat, angel.” He told you, and the thump of his heartbeat filled your ear as you desperately timed your rasping breath with the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Attagirl. Doing so well, sister. I promised you they’d never hurt you again. Didn’t I? And you handled yourself so well. So damn well.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

You repeated that pattern until your head cleared, and you gave Benny a thank you squeeze. He held you for a few more moments before wordlessly sitting you down, getting you a tall, cool glass of water.

Normally, you’d find pin drop silence uncomfortable.

Now you welcomed the change.

The icy liquid seemed to calm your nerves as you gulped it down, Benny’s calloused hand smoothing your hair back an anchor made of the strongest material your brain could think up when it wasn’t all muddled up.

Your lungs gradually releasing the grip it had on your oxygen supply.

“You sit there, sweet.” Benny murmured with a kiss to your crown. “I’ll clear all this up. Like it never happened.”

Your parents had a baby before they were turned into vampires. That baby was you, but they decided to do something else with you.

They made you a lure.

Raised you to coax people into being fed on, and when crop yield was low, you were their supply. That was until Benny got lured into the nest by Andrea, found you and fought like hell to get you both out.

You both stumbled into the Roadhouse, covered in dust, grime and blood, but found a home for life.

You owed your life to Benny, but he insisted that he did the bare minimum and refused any attempt where you tried to repay your internalised debt, and through that you both found an older brother and younger sister figure to rely on.

But only the gang sans Dean and Charlie knew. You’d rather Dean not know where you really came from. He was too innocent for that.

You thought of him, with his million dollar grin, billion dollar flashing eyes and trillion dollar words. If you had to put a tag for his worth on him, he’d be, well, priceless.

A gentleman towards you, a grade A flirt (which you didn’t mind as he lobbed compliment after compliment your way) and he looked at you like you were the only girl in the room. And he never failed to make your heart flutter when he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you were working and it obstructed your vision.

You didn’t know why he’d suddenly reach out to take whatever task you were doing and do it himself. All you knew was that it was only a matter of a few weeks and you were already down bad.

Down bad for Dean Goddamn Winchester.

No. No, you couldn’t be. He was too good for you. Even if all those thoughts flew out of your head the moment he called you ‘sweetheart’.

Sweetheart. You hated that name but loved it at the same time. You hated it because it dragged you deeper into the rabbit hole that was Dean and you knew there was no way out. You loved it because the feeling was like a gulp of whiskey after months of not touching it.

Intoxicating.

bDe: who’s managing shift this weekend

charlie weasley: I am!!!

ScarJo: I’m free to manage shift

Queen B: That’s good, cause me, Ruby, Meg are going on a girls trip

You: Where’s my invite hmmmmm

Ruby-gina George: Fine, you can come

You: YAY

Megolodon: There’s gonna be lots of booze

ScarJo: Kind of regret taking shift now

Ben Dover: Too late, darling, you’re stuck behind the counter

ScarJo: I hate you

You: LET’S GET DRUNK

Queen B: THAT’S THE SPIRIT

Casanova: I’m guessing that you’ll need someone to pick you up.

Megolodon: That’s right, Cassie baby

Casanova: I’ll wait for your call, then.

bDe: a gentleman at his finest, yall

Ruby wondered whether she was ill or something. On a grocery run, she found herself tempted to buy women’s swimsuit magazines because the ladies looked pretty. And another day, she found her heart practically somersaulting when she saw Meg’s lips close around a straw as she drank a vodka and soda.

Goddamn.

Now, Charlie was a newbie, but she’d been open about how she was, y’know, batting for the other team. She liked girls. And that meant that Ruby could ask her for advice. And Jo, because Jo was the classic glue of the group and somehow had advice for every damn thing under the sun.

“Jo.” Ruby sat down in front of Jo, who was in animated conversation with Charlie. They both turned to her in surprise and identical raised eyebrows. “And you, Charlie. I need advice.”

Maybe Charlie could help. After all, she was an expert in the field Ruby needed advice on. This was an extremely unfamiliar topic, even though she’d grown up in a family full of suspiciously close women.

Oh, god, this was nerve wracking.

Jo looked concerned, but nodded, and Charlie did the same. “Sure, go ahead.” Jo gestured for Ruby to continue, while Charlie sat eagerly forward in her seat, waiting for Ruby to speak.

“Ok.” She took a deep breath, her eyes briefly flicking to Meg. “What if… what if I…”

“Liked girls?” Charlie finished the sentence with a wide grin. “Don’t worry, takes one to know one. Clocked you the moment I saw you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ruby drawled, but Jo covered her hand reassuringly.

“We are really proud of you.” She grinned. “No joke there.”

In the meantime, Dean had ducked out to take a call. You saw him through the window, a frown on that gorgeous face. Then it morphed to a rather docile one as he mouthed ‘sorry, sir’, which got you thinking. Who the hell was he talking to?

“I don’t wanna come back, sir.” Dean muttered dejectedly, but heard John’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Ain’t your choice to make, son. You’re gonna come back and keep hunting. With your brother gone-’

“Sammy’s out. I should get one too.”

‘You’re a born hunter. You’ll stay that way.’ John’s voice half inclined Dean to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Hell, he itched to, with how messed up and crappy he was, he ached to.

Then he saw you come out of the bar, brow furrowed in the sudden sunlight. His new home. The one he felt tentative, but safe in. Not like everything was an urge he needed to fight. With you, he just gave in.

And so he gave an exhilarated smile, cut the call and acted as if everything was ok.

Because it was.

You were around.

Sam was nervous. He was at a restaurant with Jessica, wearing his best suit and adjusting his tie, while she looked stunning, in a blue, floor-length dress that brought out her eyes and her beautiful features. The warm lights flickered in the ambience while Sam ordered a round of champagne just as Jess came back from the bathroom, quickly slipping something to the waiter.

“This is a very rare date night.” Jess quipped, her manicured hands (she went for an emergency nail appointment) resting over one another as she gave Sam a knowing look.

He gave her a light scoff and a defensive look. “Hey, hey, I take you on dates all the time-”

“I’m kidding!” She giggled, waving him off before resting her head on her palm. “This is just fancier than usual. It’s a change from our coffee dates. Don’t get me wrong, I love those too, it just makes me think there’s a special occasion.”

That was his cue.

He signalled to the waiters, who brought out Jess’ favourite champagne. She delicately sipped as they talked, of Stanford, how Sam was doing and their chosen courses.

When a small metal thing hit her lips.

She gasped softly as she took it out, seeing a shiny diamond ring and then Sam on one knee, taking her hand and kissing the knuckle.

“Jessica Elizabeth Moore, will you marry me?”

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#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist #old fashioned

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notmyprey · 4 months

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Ope, another new character that's not actually new and has technically been a full fledged character in my brain for a while now.

Their name is Angel, and their basic premise is that they are a "Guardian" (creature made to look after a human, read specifics under cut) of a girl named Lilly.

Again, I go a bit more in-depth after the cut, but feel free to send me asks about them!!

(TW: SH and Attempted Suicide mentions under the cut. I will highlight the paragraph/s containing this in red, so you can skip over them if you would like)

Background Information:

Angel lives in a world where about 1 in every 3 people are granted a "Guardian" at birth. Most people only get one Guardian, and its rare (nearly unheard of) to have more than one. The purpose of a Guardian is to help their human with making decisions, though that's not to say Guardians dont have their own personalities. Guardians look and act like humans, but are much smaller (they are normally 9-12 cm tall once full grown). Guardians also mature at the same pace as humans, and do grow to get taller and or more mature as they age.

Guardians dont need food or water, but many choose to eat and drink because they like the taste.

Each Guardian has the ability to sprout wings. Their wings are part of the Guardian, and cannot be changed or altered, though the type of wings a Guardian is born with can be anything from bird like to bat like. Guardians also posses the ability to teleport to the human they Guard.

Guardians are near unkillable, the only way to kill one being that both of their wings need to be cut off.

Angel is a Guardian of Lilly, alongside Lilly's other Guardian, Ash. As depicted above, Angel does not look human at all, something they are mocked for constantly. They have paws, fluffy ears, and have white and black fur all over their body. They also have a tail (which is not shown in the picture).

Angel and Ash got their names from a common phrase which refers to the Guardians as "an Angel and a Devil". The phrase was originally something to degrade people who had 2 Guardians, since many thought that those born with 2 Guardians were cursed to be born with one angel and one devil. But since that theory has been debunked in modern times, its now used to say that someone has 2 Guardians.

Angels story:

Angel had a normal childhood, but things started getting rough when Lilly started school. Kids would point out Angels strange appearance, some being meaner about it than others. After the kids started to get meaner to both Lilly and Angel around 4th-5th grade, Lilly stopped claiming Angel and ignored them. This caused Lilly to start really bonding with Ash, while her and Angel did not get that same bond.

Angel is also ignored by Lilly's family, since most people in her family dont have Guardians and, as such, dont know how to interact with them. Both of these factors worsened once Lilly hit middle school, and she herself started bullying Angel as well. Her and Ash started mocking Angel and making backhanded comments about them to their face. They would also play pranks on Angel, directly putting them in harms way.

Often, when it came to holidays, Angel wouldn't get gifts, and if they did it was often something small or something Lilly or Ash discarded because they got a gift they didn't want.

Once in Highschool, Lilly and Ash started to get more elaborate with their pranks. Lilly read online a meme that was along the lines of "Technically, since Guardians are small enough and they cant die, you could eat them lol", which Lilly then took as a great prank to pull on Angel.

In short, Lilly ate Angel and kept them for about 5 days before spitting them back out.

While in Lilly's stomach, Angel started to reevaluate their worth to Lilly, and confidently decided that they were practically useless. Lilly was functioning just fine without Angel, and they didnt think they would be missed.

The night they were let back out, they waited till everyone was asleep and went to the kitchen. They tied a string to the hilt of a knife and anchored it to a drawer handle, acting like a makeshift guillotine. They placed the joint connecting their wing and torso under it and let go of the string. Their wing was severed from their body, the resulting pain making them scream for a moment. After calming down, they pulled the string to bring the knife in the air once more. Right as they positioned their second wing, Lilly's mom entered the kitchen. Upon seeing Angel, she quickly screamed for Lilly to wake up. She picked up Angel, wrapped their nub with a paper towel, and threw them into Lilly's hands. She tossed the wing into a bag with ice and ran to the car.

Once at the ER, the doctors tried to reattach Angels wing, but unfortunately it did not work.

After this incident, Lilly realized just how drastically mean she has been to Angel. Since it had just been the norm to her, and since Angel had never fought back, she hadn't thought to stop till then. She decides to try and be better towards Angel, working to build a bond with them.

What my drawing depicts is a moment a few days after the incident. Angel had by then convinced themself that they are only useful when they are "food", and in the drawing, Angel is trying to convince Lilly to eat them again.

So ya, my poor poor trauma ridden Angel......

Again, questions are the best!! ASK ME THINGS!!!!

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #mawshot

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seramilla · 29 days

Note

divorce au, imagine if the girls get to talking and decide to try to set up carmilla and sera, not realizing they are flirting with each other behind their backs

Odette and Clara are a little overwhelmed hanging out with Emily's friends. As daughters of such a stern, no-nonsense businesswoman like Carmilla Carmine, they spend a good amount of their free time learning about the family business from her. Sure, they have their social groups back home, but neither have been in such a large clique of friends before.

Emily seems right at home. The bouncy, spirited young woman becomes even more alive among Verosika and her band. Emily weaves many hilarious and entertaining tales of summers past at the resort, and all the hijinks they used to get up to in their younger days. Things that tested the limits of Sera's patience, but were relatively harmless, in the grand scheme of things.

Things like turning the water in the pool red with food coloring one Halloween, so that it resembled blood. Or holding a Rent-A-Puppy event at the resort to raise money for one of Verosika's first road tours (the fur was everywhere for weeks). Or prank calling Sera at the front desk from various rooms in the resort, making outrageously nonsensical requests, even though those rooms were supposed to be vacant, sending the older woman into a frenzy of confused agitation.

All of it sounds very sneaky and conniving to the Carmine girls; as near-perfect daughters, neither of them have really ever misbehaved that much in their lives. Clara has a mischievous streak, but Odette's always managed to keep her in line and out of any real trouble. But after listening to Emily's stories, Clara in particular starts to get... ideas.

There's a little whisper in the back of Clara's brain. A little bug, needling its way into her ear, giving her all sorts of thoughts and plans and delicious schemes.

This week was supposed to be all about fun, after all. What would it hurt...to get up to a little trouble?

Odette hones in on that devilish grin of Clara's like a heat-seaking missile, ready to snuff it out.

"No!" Odette shrieks, smacking her hand down on the table in front of her. "Absolutely not!" They are all crowded into the biggest booth at the back of the hotel restaurant. Emily, Verosika, and the rest of the entourage jump at Odette's sudden outburst.

"Whaaaaaat?" Clara asks, voice full of fake whimsy. "I didn't even do anything yet!"

"Yeah, but you were thinking it!" Odette snaps back, jabbing her finger into Clara's nose, poking her harshly. Clara rubs her face in annoyance. "I know what it looks like when your brain starts getting ideas, little sister. I said N-O. NO!"

"You're not even going to listen to what I have to say before telling me it's a bad idea?" Clara asks, clasping her hands together and batting her eyelashes at Odette coquettishly.

"Come oooon," Verosika joins in, and the sound of the singer's voice makes Odette blush about 12 different shades of red, before going silent. "Let the girl cook! I, for one, am eager to hear what she's got in mind."

"What if...?" Clara starts, eyes turning forward and forehead clenching tight, as if she's deep in thought. She turns to face Emily. "Mom and Sera have been flirting with each other non-stop. Mom tries to be casual about it, but your sister hasn't taken her eyes off of her once since we got here. She’s laying the sauce on thick, showing off her muscles and stuff whenever Sera's around. It's too obvious. I haven't seen her get that type of way in years. Not even with our dad."

"Yeah..." Odette agrees, still not quite picking up what her sister is putting down. "So what?"

"We need to get them together!" Clara’s eyes are sparkling, practically bursting out of her head with excitement. "If neither one of those idiots will make the first move, then we just need to...gently (or not-so-gently) coax an interaction between them. Make one of them make the first move."

"Oooohooo, juicy!" Kiki, one of Verosika's roadies, pipes up. "What are you thinking, girly?"

"I don't know," Clara admits, shrugging. "I haven't gotten that far.”

“Oh! Oh!” Emily waves her hand, fidgeting in her seat to try and get her words out. “Maybe we could leave each of them a note from the other? Fake their signatures somehow?”

“Or…” Clara continues, with a wicked grin, “Odette and I could lock Mom out of our room in her swimsuit, so Sera has to bring her an extra key?”

The entire group hoots and hollers at that last idea. Even Odette. It seems so...out of character for the older Carmine sibling. But Clara is right. The flirting between Carmilla and Sera has gotten quite ridiculous up to this point. It's obvious they like one another...and frankly, Odette and Clara are getting tired of waiting and hoping for one of them to make a move. The situation is so needlessly hopeless.

"I will say..." Emily says, giggling into her hand. "If you forced my sister to interact with your mom when she's in that bathing suit, she might faint right on the spot. It's a risk, for sure. But it might be worth it just to see the look on her face before she passes out!"

Now the cogs and gears in Odette's own playful brain are turning. They are old and creaky and covered in proverbial rust from disuse...but this particular level of mischief is awakening something in her. Something she hasn't even thought of touching since she was a little kid.

Odette looks at Clara. Then at Emily. Then the rest of the group. Clara and Emily are then looking at each other, eyes so wide, and bouncing in their seats, so violently that they almost fall over out of sheer excitement.

God, are they really doing this? Odette is supposed to be the golden child; the one who always follows the rules, and listens to her elders, and does what she is told, no matter what!

But she's also an adult now, and that little girl who was taught for years to be prim and proper in boarding school is just clawing and raging and tearing at the walls to break free of her self-imposed prison. She can see a mini version of herself snarling and foaming at the mouth, fighting to get out.

Odette sighs. Loudly...exaggeratedly...like she's trying to at least pretend like she's still the most mature person in the room.

"I can't believe you guys are making me do this," Odette says, faking a level of annoyance that she doesn't actually feel. Clara punches her shoulder playfully, not buying her act. Odette chuckles, wrapping one arm around Clara's neck and giving her sister a noogie with her other fist, like when they were kids.

"You're not fooling me!!" Clara chortles, brushing up against her sister’s shoulder affectionately when Odette finally lets her get free. "Just admit it. The sound of adventure is calling!"

"If that's what you want to call it, sure," Odette acquiesces, resigning herself to Clara and the group's shenanigans. "I guess I'm in."

"YEEESSSSS!" Clara shouts, standing up in her seat, and pumping her fist obnoxiously in the air. Several of the restaurant patrons turn their heads to look at her, but Clara is so caught up in her own scheming, she doesn't even notice. The young woman has zero shame at this point.

Emily soon follows suit, so Clara won't be the odd duck out, and both girls continue to psyche each other up until Odette discretely asks their waitress for the check. The waitress is just a teenager, and she's been putting up with them for the entire afternoon. Odette makes sure to leave her a hefty tip for her troubles.

And with that, Operation Swimsuit is under way, and the group spends the rest of their time together concocting the most evil, wicked plan imaginable.

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incorrectbatfam · 10 months

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What do the Goofy Gooners look like .. asking for a friend …

Rob is a tired dad with an inferiority complex. He doesn't put much effort into his appearance because basic hygiene already saps a lot of his energy. He has reddish-brown hair that he keeps short for convenience and doesn't shave as often as he should, so there's always a thin layer of stubble. I picture him to be around 33 but stress makes him look older. He usually wears the same basic t-shirts and cargo pants—a polo would be fancy for him. He's on the underweight side because he frequently skips meals so his kids and Milo have enough. He also has random tattoos scattered over his arms plus one on his leg and neck. They don't mean anything, just dumb stuff he got when he was younger, including a winking emoticon and the Pillsbury doughboy.

Blaise is 26 and you can tell he's a stoner from the get-go. He has dirty blonde hair that he grows out but hardly maintains, and the same level of effort goes for his clothes. He often wears things he finds in dumpsters or thrift stores and chooses comfort over style. His clothes have lots of hidden pockets for lighters, firecrackers, and weapons. He's tall and lanky, which makes living out of Milo's car in the parking lot awkward (Rob offered his apartment but he declined). Similar to Rob, Blaise also has a number of meaningless tattoos plus several piercings. He also plays the guitar and keeps his lucky pick on a necklace.

Kellin is a 20-year-old originally hailing from Thailand. Their assassin parents trained them in gymnastics, martial arts, and various weaponry from a young age in hopes that Kellin would follow in the family's footsteps and join the League of Assassins. That obviously didn't work out and they traveled around as an independent hitman (hitperson?) for a couple years before they landed in Gotham. They're always battle-ready—if they could shower in their assassin uniform they would. They changed their name and keep their hair just long enough to mask their face. They're fluent in English, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Arabic, but they prefer to let their actions speak for them instead.

Molly is a 25-year-old trans woman who incorporates her jobs as a drug dealer, team strategist, and nightclub DJ in a single look. She has long dark hair dyed with neon streaks but ties it up when fighting. She's not the most formidable combatant but she has basic fighting skills and is very calculative. Her primary weapon is a metal baseball bat, inspired by her favorite anti-hero, Harley Quinn. She also has a belt equipped with her experimental chemicals and smoke pellets. However, she's not allowed to pair up with Blaise on missions because it's an open secret that the two of them can't focus around each other.

Otto is a war veteran and car mechanic around the same age as Alfred, but that's where the similarities end. He's been wearing the same mechanic's uniform for the past four decades, the only differences between then and now being his hair thinning, a couple front teeth falling out, and acquiring a beer gut. His arms are covered in scabs and scars from the job and he's had trouble with his right knee ever since the army. On the surface he seems like a Boomer yelling at kids to get off his lawn, but he's more like a stern but well-intentioned grandpa who is disappointed to see nothing much has changed over the years.

Milo is your standard 15-year-old delinquent. He's slightly small for his age and doesn't pack that big of a punch on his own, but put him behind the wheel and he's a total menace. When he's not driving, he keeps himself stimulated with video games or his collection of keychains (his favorite is purple bat because of his puppy crush on Spoiler). His look is reminiscent of early 2000s skater punks, including a bright red mohawk and his trusty headphones. Everything he owns, minus his car, fits into a single backpack. His weapon, on the rare occasion Rob lets him on the front line, is a batarang he found on the street.

Gene is someone you would never expect to have so many issues because on the outside he looks like an average 40-year-old glasses-wearing office worker. He has short sandy hair and dark circles under his eyes from nightmares. His meds help a lot, but sometimes he's still seen pacing around and muttering to himself. He's not a danger anymore compared to the past, which is why Rob trusts him enough to share an apartment. Gene focuses his nervous energy into his research and tinkering instead, amassing a comedic collection of hyperspecific gadgets.

Mac is basically the guy in the chair. He's 30 and has thick glasses, thick curly brown hair, a thin goatee, and almost exclusively wears flannel. His nails are down to a nub because he bites them when concentrating. He's also often seen with chips or an energy drink in his hands and wears a jailbroken smart watch. Of the team, he has the least physical prowess but the most brain power. He doesn't see combat often but keeps a pistol in case. He turned an old ice cream truck into his home/mobile office so he can plug in anywhere. Like Kellin, he's also not from Gotham, but instead Fawcett City and has a distinct Minnesota accent.

Booker is a 19-year-old Gotham U student and the third member of the team's Glasses Trio. He's an intelligent guy slated to graduate a year early and thus needs his internship credits sooner. He's very polite (albeit a little socially awkward) and puts his best foot forward by coming into work with slacks and fun patterned suspenders even though he doesn't have to. His hair has a slightly uneven fade because his sister insisted on practicing on him for cosmetology school, so he covers it with a fedora. He carries his things in a laptop bag and has an enthusiastic bounce in his step that only newbies would have.

Jackie and Gunner are Rob's 6-year-old twins (Jackie being 8 minutes older) and are the babies of this hodgepodge family. Jackie takes after her late mother with frizzy black hair usually tied in pigtails. She loves wearing pink, reads way above her level, and is a horse girl in that she wants one to stomp on the people she doesn't like. Gunner looks more like his dad, though his hair is a little messier and overgrown. He hates school but loves dirt and monster trucks. Both of them have a troublesome streak but Jackie's a little better at hiding it. They quarrel like siblings do but at the end of the day, they always stick up for each other.

#see previous posts #original character #batman #batfamily #batfam #batman family #dc villains #gotham rogues #dc comics #character idea #character design #headcanon #long post #tw violence mention

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seiueina · 1 year

Text

I couldn’t help but think what it would be like for the significant other of Ego Jinpachi…and how married life and parenting life would change drastically while he took more of his responsibility to the Blue Lock Project.

unfinished, not proofread, i’ve had this in the drafts for so long so i am deciding to just post it now :3

“Where is the stupid pass?” You utter as you scramble through your backpack, the backpack that was filled with a lot of things..things that are needed for the kiddos and needed for you. You always noted that you have to clean the backpack out at some point but with raising two children at the age of 4 almost entirely by yourself…is exhausting and you always forget to clean the bag out.

“Mommy I need to pee!!!” Your daughter, shouts just as you found the pass in order to enter the Blue Lock building. “Give me one second! Let me scan this real quick!” You exclaim as you hurriedly put the pass against the scanner, the scanner stays a red LED color, you gasph. Repeatedly putting the pass against the scanner.

‘Entry Denied’

At this point in the day, you we’re already overwhelmed. Taking your son to his soccer game early in the morning and then running home quickly because you forgot to pack your daughters ballet shoes…rushing then over to the dance studio and now ended up here. Unable to get through the door and to a bathroom in which your daughter (for some reason) needed so urgently all of a sudden. You stood there, the tears lining your waterline.

You wanted to let everything out. Cry, scream, shout, curse your husband out the moment you saw him. Years before this…it wasn’t like this. You wouldn’t have imagined your life to become of this. He promised you that he will split his attention from this Blue Lock Project and his family. But he didn’t live up to the promise.

You would go days without hearing a single thing from Jinpachi. Any and everything that you were updated about your husband was given from Anri. The woman who is working with your husband on this “stupid” project. You didn’t feel any remorse for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to even though at this point she’d seen and been in his presence longer than you have in 3 months. And including now…even more so you couldn’t hate Anri, especially when you hear her calling your name.

“y/N-sama!!!” She screams and your ear perks up. “I can’t get in!” You shout back, and she runs up to the door and puts her pass onto the scanner, it quickly lights up green and the door opens. “Mommy I need to go!” Yumi, your four year old daughter utterd again and you swiftly grab her from the ground and rush towards the sign with the restroom sign. Your son, Yuri, quickly following behind you. Luckily, you were able to get to the restroom and Yumi was able to go to the bathroom just in time before an accident occurred.

“Let’s go see your father.” You huffed before leaving the restroom and finding his office. The moment you got there, his eyes were glued on the many of many screens plastered on the wall. He didn’t bat an eye at the supposedly three important things in his life. “What did I say about knocking. Anri- I am”

“Jinpachi.” You exhaled, he turned his head around to see you standing near the door. Your children running around his office as you couldn’t care less about what they were up to in this moment. “Oh. y/N.” He breaths out before returning his head back to the many of many screens, all displaying each individual clips of the players.

“That’s all? Is this really what we mean to you?” You grumbled, walking closer and closer to your husbands desk chair. “Look at me Jinpachi.” You say as you turn his desk chair around. He now faced you.

“Why are you even here? Can’t you see, I am busy reviewing match clips of my unpolished gems.” He replies with a growing urge of annoyance. “So your more interested in these “unpolished gems” then those gems?” You shout, pointing over to the two children the both of you created, he looks over in the same direction then back at you.

“Watch your attitude when you’re talking to me. You’re the one who came here unannounced.” He scoffs standing up from his seat. The two of you were almost the exact same height, Ego only being one inch taller than you, he just barely towered over you, but with just enough space for him to sinisterly smile down at you. “Let’s get a divorce then.” You say, leaving him in utter shock as you go and grab the kiddos from the couch. “I am sorry for yelling.” You apologize to your children as you saw them with hands over their ears. “-C’mon, papa is busy with work…maybe one day he’ll want to see you!” Staying as optimistic as you could.

You were over it to say the least. Ego Jinpachi wasn’t the same man you fell in love with 10 years ago. He’s changed drastically and you can’t help but blame the JFU and this whole Blue Lock Project. With each kid holding your respective hands, you walk past your soon to be ex husband.

“Bye daddy!” Both kids cheerfully smiled and waved at him as the door to his office opened. There you startled Anri who was holding a laundry basket. “Ah! y/N! Leaving already?” She awkwardly laughs before looking up at you. “-No she isn’t.” Your husband blurts out. “Errand girl. Take Yuri and Yumi somewhere…I have an important conversation with my wife.” Jinpachi continues as Anri raises an eyebrow. Looking at your face.

“I guess I can take them to meet the players!” Anri whispers, you wanted to hear your husband speak to you…you didn’t know why. He could have given you his time a day a few seconds ago, so why now does he want to give it? You hand your kids over to Anri. “Okay babies, go with Anri-chan, she’s gonna show you guys all over while daddy and I have a talk!” You say cheerfully before sending them off on their way.

Once the doors to his office closed he quickly started, “You’re not divorcing me.” He speaks and you walk closer to him. “What if I am?” You reply, arms crossed over your chest.

“y/N. I am still in love with you.” He says looking at your face, seeing any type of reaction that’ll perform. “Really? Well it sure don’t look like it!” You exhaled, shuddering your shoulders he steps back, exhales a breath.

He stays quiet, standing in the same position. You rub your temples, "Exactly what I was thinking...am' gonna pack me and the kids stuff and stay at my parents until further notice. I'll contact the lawyer and they'll give you call." You speak aloud, hesitating to turn around and walk to the door just in case, maybe, he'll say something. But he doesn't.

“That’s what I thought…” Whispers came from your mouth as your waterline brimmed with tears as you turn around to exit Jinpachis' office.

#ִ ࣪𖤐 satoberrie #ִ ࣪𖤐 sumijade's writing #ego jinpachi #blue lock #bllk manga #bllk x you #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock x y/n #bllk headcanons #bllk ego #jinpachi ego #ego jinpachi x reader #anime

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sattlersquarry · 1 year

Text

lavender (steve harrington x fem!reader)

part two of the bloom series. series masterlist

Summary: You invite a new friend along for a wedding cake tasting. (garden center!steve x wedding planner!reader)

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: language, mentions of divorced parents, the reader's mother is Jacqueline.

lavender: devotion, love, serenity

🪻🪻🪻

You’re spending your time in Hawkins living in a shed.

Okay, it’s not a shed. It’s a standalone garage that’s been repurposed into a small apartment. It’s on Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper’s new property, a beautiful cottage-like home on the edge of town.

Your mother, Jacqueline, lived in Hawkins many years ago, before she moved to the Indianapolis for college, and then the suburban town of Eagleton to settle down with your father and start a family. A family that was just the three of you, and then two after the divorce.

Once a scorned woman, your mother is now something of a powerhouse. She owns Eagleton Events, an event-planning firm that specializes in weddings, birthdays, bar/bat mitzvahs, and the occasional wake. Despite being in immense high demand this wedding season, she pawned the big-city weddings off on her employees to work Joyce’s wedding instead, dragging you along with her as her newest employee-slash-apprentice-slash-lackey.

As the great Jacqueline’s lackey, you’re currently threading twinkly lights through a trellis in the Hopper-Byers backyard. The wedding is coming up fast, because Joyce and Jim don’t want to wait a moment longer. Apparently, this has been a long time coming.

It has something to do with the fact that the groom-to-be was presumed dead for almost a year, only to return to Hawkins like nothing happened, spewing some story about amnesia after the mall fire and wandering aimlessly across state lines, until his memories returned, and he made his way back home.

The story seems fishy to you. Hell, a lot about Hawkins is fishy to you. In addition to Chief Jim Hopper’s miraculous return home, the town boasts a history of disappearances, deaths, chemical leaks, fires, serial killings, and deadly earthquakes.

That’s why you don’t mind working overtime to rush this backyard wedding out in a month. The faster you can get out of here, the better.

Except… you can’t stop thinking about Steve H. from the Garden Center. You feel pathetic, truly, fawning over a stranger like a schoolgirl with a crush. But every time your mother sends you on a wedding-related errand, you hope she’ll send you back for more flowers.

The lilies have been planted behind the trellis you’re currently decorating. Your mother is hopeful they’ll fully bloom closer to the wedding day. But if they don’t, and you’re forced to see Steve and buy some more, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Great work, sweetie!” your mother calls, speedwalking over with Joyce in tow. “That trellis is just divine!”

“Divine” is strong. It’s lights on plastic, but okay.

“Thanks,” you say. “What else do you need me to do today?”

Flowers, flowers, please ask me to get more flowers—

“Joyce, Jim, and I need to meet with the caterer,” your mother says. “You need to go to the bakery and do the cake tasting.”

“Don’t you want to be there for that?” you ask, turning to Joyce with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, no, we trust you,” Joyce says. “Hop just asked for no carrot cake.”

“Got it, get a carrot cake,” you joke. Joyce chuckles. Your mother does not.

“Be at the bakery in two hours,” your mother says. “Oh, and if you have time beforehand, swing by the Garden Center and pick up the water feature I put on reserve. It should be called ‘River Rock Bonanza.’”

You get to the Garden Center in record time. It’s almost embarrassing.

Steve is watering a rosebush when you walk over.

“Hey, Steve,” you say. Your voice cracks, and you cringe. You clear your throat and add, “How’s it going?”

Steve’s face splits into one of those dazzling grins, and you feel lightheaded.

“Hey, you! Here for more lilies? We have some new white ones if you need them.”

“Not right now. I’m actually here to pick up a fountain, or something, that my mom ordered.”

“Oh, sure. The River Rock Bonanza. I’ll get it for you. Follow me!”

You do. You’d follow Steve anywhere if he asked.

He leads you to the customer service kiosk and pulls a gigantic white box from underneath the countertop. Your eyes bug out of your head.

“Holy shit,” you say. “She didn’t tell me I was hauling the Tiber River for her.”

“I’ll get a cart for you,” Steve says, plopping the box on the counter and disappearing for a moment. When he returns, you pay for the much-too-large water feature. He loads it in the cart and helps you push it to your car.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than lug stuff around for me.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Steve says. He glances at his watch. “My shift ends in, like, two minutes. And Karen Wheeler walked in right after you, and I’d much rather help you than her.”

“Who’s Karen Wheeler?” you ask as the two of you put the fountain in the trunk.

“My ex-girlfriend’s mom,” Steve says, voice a little sheepish. You tamp down your excitement at ex.

You suddenly have the desire to do something courageous yet insane.

“Are you doing anything after your shift?” you blurt out, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite your nerves.

Steve’s eyes widen.

“Oh, just getting a bite to eat,” he says. His voice shakes a little when he runs a hand through his hair and asks, “What are you up to?”

“Getting a bite to eat too,” you say. “Well, sampling cakes for the wedding. Would you…would you want to join me?”

The apples of Steve’s cheeks flush red. You fear you’ve embarrassed or offended him, but he smiles and says, “That sounds fun. Let me clock out and I’ll meet you back here?”

You nod, and he beams before dashing back into the garden center.

On the drive over to the bakery, Steve asks, “So, have you done a lot of cake tastings?”

“A few,” you say, tapping your hands on the steering wheel. “I graduated from community college this past spring, and I’ve been working with my mom since then. I don’t really know what I want to do with my life, but this is better than working at Macy’s.”

Steve chuckles.

“I get that,” he says. “My job before this was Family Video. Those fluorescent lights drain all the life out of you.”

“How’d you get your current job? You a big outdoorsman?”

“Well…no. But Robin loves gardening, and she’s my best friend, and she never applies for a job unless I apply too.”

“That’s sweet,” you say. “A little codependent, but sweet.”

Steve laughs again. You love the sound. You want to bottle it up and listen to it all day long.

“That’s us, all right,” he says. You expect him to say more, maybe about how he and Robin met, but he stays quiet.

At a red light, you glance over at him. His eyes are glazed over and his brow his furrowed, like he’s lost in his own head.

“You okay?” you ask.

He snaps out of it, looking up at you and plastering on a smile.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Just got distracted for a second. What were you saying?”

“Uh, I just wanted to give you some pointers,” you say, diverting the conversation back to your destination. “At the cake tasting, take no more than two bites of each sample. If you eat too much, you’ll be too full to sample everything. Oh, and be sure to try both the cake and frosting.”

“Whoa,” Steve says. “This is serious business.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. You park in front of the bakery and turn to fully face him. “Think about it. You could go to the most beautiful wedding of all time, but if the cake is dry, it’s the one thing that you’ll remember.”

You half-expect Steve to make fun of you for being so particular about this. Truthfully, it’s not that big a deal to you, but it is to your mother, so you want to do your best.

Steve doesn’t laugh, however. He’s the picture of earnestness when he says, “That totally makes sense.”

You could get lost in his hazel eyes. But you force yourself to focus on the task at hand: cake tasting.

And you taste a lot. Michelle, the bakery owner, brings out a tray of too many delicious samples: vanilla, chocolate, marble, red velvet, lemon, confetti, rose water, blackberry and lavender, and more.

“Holy shit,” Steve says, ignoring your advice and going back to the blackberry and lavender cake for a second, third, and fourth bite. “This is fucking delicious.”

“It is really good,” you say, sampling a bit more yourself. “I think I want to make love to this buttercream frosting.”

“Make love to it,” Steve says. “Marry it. Have six children with it. The whole shebang.”

“Whoa,” you tease. “You’re moving pretty fast. You just met this buttercream today!”

“When you know, you know!” Steve says. He gestures with his fork and accidentally flicks blackberry jam into your lap when he adds, “True love doesn’t wait.”

You feel increasingly warm from head to toe.

Stop, you think. You’re reading too much into this. He’s just going along with the joke.

To avoid looking like a flustered mess, you shovel more cake into your mouth.

You and Steve both decide on the blackberry and lavender cake. You go up to the counter to place the order with Michelle and get a sample for Jim and Joyce.

Steve watches you chat with Michelle, feeling warm himself. He really, really likes you. He doesn’t know you all that well, but he wants to. He knows you’re only in town for the summer, but he’d drive five hundred miles to see you if you asked.

Is he pathetic? Maybe. Does he care? Not particularly, no.

“You two are just adorable.”

Steve startles a little at the sound of someone talking to him. An older woman holding a bright pink bakery box stands by his chair and beams.

“Oh!” Steve says. “Uh, you mean me and…”

He gestures at you, and the woman grins wider.

“The way you look at her warms my heart,” she says. She nods in the direction of the half-eaten cake samples still on your table. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

Steve’s eyes bug out of his head.

“Uh, wait, we’re not…”

The woman shuffles off before he can clarify that you two are most definitely not an engaged couple.

He hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel when you walk back over with a to-go box of your own.

“Ready to go?” you ask.

Steve nods and follows you out. He rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans and starts speaking at the same time as you.

“Do you want—”

“Hey, can you—”

“You go first!” you say with an awkward laugh.

“Right,” Steve says. “Um, so I left my car at the garden center, so can you drop me off there?”

Your face falls.

“Oh, of course.”

“But also!” Steve says, panicking a little that he’s hurt your feelings, “I had a great time. I know you’re busy with the wedding, but can I take you on a real date sometime?”

“You sure I can compete with the buttercream for your affections?” you say with a smirk, waving the to-go box in the air.

“I like your chances,” Steve says softly. And he does.

Your stomach flips at his sudden earnestness. “I’d love to go on a date with you,” you say shyly. And you would.

🪻🪻🪻

a/n TAGGING THE LOVELY PEOPLE WHO HELPED BRING GARDEN CENTER STEVE TO LIFE, along with others who enjoyed part one! :) thank you for your lovely comments, they mean the world to me!

@quinnkeerys @spicysix @keerysquinn @sunshinesteviee @inkluvs @stevebabey @0vix0 @lame0o @ghostlyfleur @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @lurkingprincess

#st fic: bloom #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic

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silly-thinkings · 6 months

Text

"Let me, go find Damian." (DCeased Story line)

Well well well reader. You've got another choice. Wait, you're totally following along right? Just in case here's (Scene 1)

“Go find Damian.” You traded the suitcase for the shot gun and turned Alfred away. The butler quickly made his way to the bat-jet

Bruce now turned ran towards Alfred but you grabbed his cape pulling him back. Your husband roared as he faced you.

Alfred made eye contact with you. You smile. A bright beautiful smile before running deeper into the cave.

You ran towards one of the confinement rooms and turn around “I love you. I love you so much Bruce.”

You hoped he Heard you. His arm reaching out as he ran towards you. You ducked as he swiped a hand and promptly flipped him into a bullet proof room. With the press of a button you seal the door. Bruce banged on the glass trying to get to you and you felt your tears bubble up again. “I’ll find a cure. Damian will live. He will carry your legacy.”

The space around you shook. Booms could be heard from the city. Maybe it’s being bombed. But you didn’t care. After one last look at your husband you left him trapped there. You ran back to the computer shutting everything down. “Need to find my little ones.” You make your way to one of the moter bikes “computer. Initiate lock down.”

“Yes miss Y/n”

You put your helmet on and you were off.

***

The city burned, but there were still survivors. With your katana you cut down some of the dead as you led a group of about three dozen into the forest.

You were about to head into the city to find more survivors but the Batmobile burst through a crowd of dead. The jokers body strapped to the front of the car. Your confusion quickly turned into joy as your two children, Jason and Cassandra hopped out the vehicle. Gordon was with them but you held onto your kids for dear life. “Your ok. Thank the gods you’re ok. I thought I lost…” you didn’t think you had any more tears to shed. And yet here you were, what’s left of the family hugging each other. You feel Cassandra press her forehead against your neck. Her hand holding onto your cloths tightly. While Jason rested his chin on top of your head. “You’re such a bad ass Ma.” Since you’re alone he realized what’s happened to the rest of the family. He’s no idiot.

You pull away to get a good look at them. You then looked to Gordon “has Barbara…”

Gordon closed his eyes with slight nod.

“Sheesh I thought I got rid of my ex. Look! He’s following me” Harley shouted from the crowd of survivors.

You turn to see Harley and ivy waiting for you to wrap things up.

“Ma? What’s with them.”

You smile “they’re friendly. Apparently the plants like me. Ivy said it was because of the way I treated my garden back at… home.”

Cassandra held your hand. You look to her to see a warm smile. “They’ve been helping me find survivors, we’re going to build a sanctuary. Come.”

You take Jason’s hand “let’s go James. I have no intention of loosing anymore family.”

//Left behind ending//

Congratz! you got 2/3 endings :3 Hope you enjoyed the story. Trying something different and I'm not thinking much of it. This story was a spur of the moment kind of thing XD. Plz leave a a comment and lmk if the links work XD. Appreciate you! and thank you for reading.

#batmom #batmom reader #dc fanfic #jason todd #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman angst

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waywardxrhea · 16 days

Text

Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 6

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader

installment list / previous chapter / next chapter

word count: 4,406

content: fluff! angst and anxiety! PROTECTIVE GEORGE (can we all tell that i love that side of George?)! more fluff!

dividers by: @firefly-graphics

December rolled around and one afternoon in the early goings of the month, George went to visit you. What he didn’t expect to see when he knocked on the door was you with your arms wrapped in sparkly Christmas tinsel. A confused look fell onto George’s face when he saw you, but he recovered quickly and said, “Oh hey, is your name tinsel? Because you add sparkle to my holiday season.”

A red blush lit up your cheeks at the line for a moment before you countered with, “Are you a snow globe? Because you make my world go round.”

“That was smooth,” he told you before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, he asked with a chuckle, “Really though, why’ve you got yourself wrapped in tinsel?”

“Well she’s supposed to be helping me with decorating the tree,” came your mum’s teasing voice as she emerged from the sitting room with a box cradled in her arms. She smiled warmly before telling him, “It’s good to see you, George. Come in, it’s too cold out there!”

“Thank you,” George said graciously as he ducked inside and out of the snowy weather.

As she turned the corner and disappeared into the other room, George whipped out his wand and waved it, causing his clothes to instantly become warm and dry. “George!” you whisper-shouted at him as your eyes darted to where your mother’s retreating back just was.

“Relax, she didn’t see,” George assured you before following you into the sitting room that was being warmed by a crackling fire. The room though was also filled with boxes that were bursting at the seams with red and green, silver and gold, glitter and ribbons, and so much more!

As George looked around at the jumble of boxes around him, watching the pair of cats batting around loose ornaments, your mum smiled and said, “Welcome to your first annual Christmas decorating session!” She began walking toward the entryway and called your name before saying, “I still have some boxes in the car I need to grab, but fill George in on what needs to get done to stay on schedule! If he doesn’t mind helping, of course!”

“I don’t mind at all,” George told her with a broad smile on his lips. As she ducked out into the cold though, you groaned, causing George to ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect her to rope you into helping decorate,” you told him quietly. “I know that’s not what you came over expecting and all and she’s always got so much to put up because she loves the holiday so much and-”

George cut your rambling off by kissing you, telling you afterwards, “I think you’re forgetting that we have a little thing called magic on our side now that I’m here.”

“Wait! Magic! Of course!” you whispered, excitement evident in your voice.

George chuckled before saying, “Wow, after what you said at the door I didn’t think you’d be so quick to jump on using it.”

“No, no! That’s just it! You and your family have used magic your whole lives to decorate, you’ve never had to do it without!” you exclaimed, a sparkle in your eye, and not from the various glittering decor pieces lying about.

“Okay,” George dragged out as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Where are you going with this?”

“You get to decorate the Muggle way!” you told him with a wide smile on your lips. “I get to show you all our traditions and Mum’s secrets when it comes to putting lights on the tree and we can make cookies and hot cocoa and watch holiday movies while we’re at it!”

Upon seeing the excitement in your eyes, George’s heart melted, so he tucked his wand back into his coat pocket and hung it up on the coat rack near the hallway, returning to you and bringing you into an embrace before asking, “Where do we start?”

“With the tree!” your mum called with a grunt of effort as she entered the doorway dragging a large box containing the plastic Christmas tree in question. George helped her get the large box into the sitting area and she let out a breath before she told him, “Every year we have to get bigger and bolder with the decor because ever since the neighbours across the street moved here from the States they’ve been trying to outdo us.”

“Mum’s got this competitive thing…” you informed George, your teasing tone directed at your mother’s flare for the extravagant.

Your mum pointed a finger at you before saying, “Well when we were the only ones on the block decorating for so many years, it only felt right to make it into a competition!”

“Well maybe I could help with the magic touches this year,” George told her, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he did.

“That’s the spirit!” she said as she turned her attention toward the box in front of her to begin taking the tree out.

And so it began. The three of you spent the afternoon putting up the tree and decorating it before starting the work on the rest of the house’s decor. While your mum took off for a voice lesson, you and George made sugar cookies together along with gingerbread for the four of you to make into houses later, a yearly competition your family held amongst yourselves that you were always tasked with baking the cookies for. Without you knowing it, in order to get some stress off of you from the day’s work, George slipped some laughing potion into your cocoa when you made it and you both spent the greater part of half an hour giggling at each other as you took turns sipping the drink.

Thankfully the effects wore off just in time for both of your parents to get home for the evening to see that the gingerbread and all the decorating materials were ready for the competition. So as the night wore on the four of you built gingerbread houses and listened to more Christmas movies in the background. George would occasionally get distracted by them though and have rapt attention on the ones featuring magic because of how silly some were, but also how accurate others were…

The next evening your family and George stood outside of the house admiring the day’s work of getting lights on the house and trees. As you all admired the hard work, the family across the street came over and the husband shook your dad’s hand before telling him with a laugh, “Thanks for giving us the goal marker so we know what to beat! Good luck this year!”

“We won’t be needing luck this year,” George said quietly where only you could hear as the other family as well as your parents began heading inside.

“What do you think you’re doing, mister?” you asked as he pulled out his wand once he made sure the coast was clear and there were no prying eyes to see what he was about to do. “What happened to no magic and doing things the Muggle way?”

“Well that was before I got competitive like your mum,” he told you as he cast a protective enchantment over the area to obscure prying eyes’ view before getting to work casting more spells to make the lights twinkle just a bit more and the glitter to be just a little more sparkly. It made all the difference though as the two stepped back to admire the house that looked absolutely enchanted now.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” you breathed as you both stood on the sidewalk, George’s arm around your waist as he held you close.

“Almost as beautiful as you are,” said as he pulled you further into his embrace while a furious blush creeped its way up your neck and onto your cheeks. Without you noticing, George waved his wand and transfigured some of the lights hanging from the door frame into mistletoe, so when you got underneath, he wiggled his eyebrows at you before saying, “Oh would you look at that…”

“You are such a flirt,” you told him with a giggle as he leaned down to meet your lips with his own.

“You love this flirt,” he countered as he briefly pulled away from the kiss, his lips still ghosting over yours.

“You’re right, I absolutely do,” you agreed before melting into his embrace once more, the heat of your bodies staving off the bitter cold surrounding you.

Before you knew it, Christmas day arrived and after spending the morning with your little family, you were getting ready for Christmas lunch at the Burrow, opting to tell your parents that the family was visiting London for the occasion so they could have room for everyone. How else were you supposed to excuse spending time with the Weasley family who lived nearly three hours away? You felt horrible lying on Christmas of all holidays, and that anxiety carried with you as you apparated alongside George to the Burrow, carrying an oversized bag of gifts for everyone George told you would be in attendance. Would they even like what you got them? Do wizards and witches even have any use for some of the Muggle gifts you bought? And the dreaded question that had filled your mind from the moment you saw George in a knitted blue sweater with a ‘G’ on the front: what if you didn’t get a sweater? You knew it was a trivial subject to be upset about, after all you were only a girlfriend, not a family member, but the thought had been plaguing your mind all morning.

“Hey, are you okay?” George asked when you stood rooted to your spot upon arrival to the Burrow.

“I just… I- what if everything I’ve done isn’t enough and I muck everything up and no one likes-” you started, rambling on as your thoughts raced out of your mouth quicker than you could stop them. “I dunno, I just… I don’t know if I can go in there, Georgie…” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion as your hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” George told you as he held your shaking form in his arms, rubbing your back. A few moments of silence passed before George pulled away and pulled out a small vial of blue liquid, telling you, “I brewed some calming draught in case you might have needed it. Would you like it?”

You graciously nodded, taking the small and now uncorked bottle from George and drinking it, feeling the effects instantly as your heart rate and thoughts slowed and your hands stopped trembling. In the time since George revealed that he was a wizard to you and he told you about all the types of potions he was capable of brewing, the calming draught had become your favourite, opting to use that for your anxiety and panic attacks over your prescribed medication because he always made little batches for you to use when you needed it.

“Better?” George asked after a few moments.

“Better,” you replied with a small smile on your face. “Thank you again…”

“Always,” he told you as he hooked his arm in yours as you both made your way up the garden path and to the Burrow which was crowded with friends and family alike. Upon arrival into the warm as ever house, you were greeted with a Christmas cracker by Ginny and you opened it together, sharing the contents after having a laugh at some of the silly trinkets inside.

“Remus!” George cheered as he greeted an older scarred fellow sitting by the fireplace with Mr. Weasley. “This is my beautiful girlfriend!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you told the man with a warm smile, pulling the bag off of your shoulder and fishing around for the gift intended for him. “Merry Christmas!” you told him before turning away as George gently tugged on your elbow so you could be introduced to the eldest Weasley brother Bill along with his fiancee Fleur.

After passing around gifts to everyone, you got to Harry and Ron who were chopping sprouts for the upcoming meal. You gave Ron his gift before turning to Harry and handing him a package containing a small music player and wireless headphones, telling him, “George tells me your family’s right old gits, I thought this should be easy enough to hide from them so you can at least get some form of entertainment when you’re over there.”

“Thank you!” Harry told you, a smile appearing on his face that hadn’t been there in the moments before you came up to the pair of boys who seemed to be in deep discussion about something.

After the short exchange, George came up behind the three of you with Fred on his heels, the latter saying in a teasing tone, “Oh would you look here George, these two are using knives and everything to cut the sprouts, bless them!”

“I’ll be seventeen in two months’ and a bit time,” Ron countered grumpily. “Then I’ll be able to do it with magic!”

“But until then you can demonstrate for us the proper use of that little knife there,” George told him with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes playfully and told him just to where the four of you could hear, “Ah yes, the plight of the poor Muggles having to use kitchen knives to chop their vegetables!” You raised an eyebrow at him before adding, “Unless I’m very much mistaken you quite enjoyed helping decorate my house the Muggle way, mister!”

“I- I didn’t mean-” George tried, his cheeks turning red as he realised what he said.

“Git,” Ron snickered as he resumed chopping the vegetables with Harry.

“I’m just teasing, love,” you told George as you leaned up to place a quick kiss on his burning cheek.

Soon enough the Christmas meal was ready and as you ate, the effects of the calming drought began to wear off. So as you dined in relative silence due to your once again building nerves, you looked around at the table and realised that yes, you were one of only two not wearing a sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley. The only other person being Bill’s fiancee who Mrs. Weasley showed an adamant dislike toward. Your thoughts of inadequacy in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes were disrupted though when across from you, Bill said your name to get your attention and asked, “So what was it you do?”

“Oh, uh, I’m a performer! I mostly sing in pubs,” you replied vaguely, a tight smile making its way onto your lips. Even though Bill was George’s brother, he was not in the loop about you being a Muggle and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had made it abundantly clear that only a select few people were allowed to know, lest that information get into the wrong hands. You cleared your throat and blindly felt around for George’s hand under the table before turning the subject back to Bill, asking, “And you’re a curse breaker at Gringotts, yeah? What’s that like?” you let out a sigh of relief as George grasped your slightly shaking hand while you listened to Bill talk about his job as a curse breaker and some of the adventures the job had taken him on.

More conversation passed about other people who were missing from the table and talk about changing patronuses occurred before Mrs. Weasley looked out the window and into the yard to see someone walking up to the house. She let out a gasp before she squeaked, “Arthur!” She stood and made her way to the window with her hand over her heart as she cried, “Arthur! It’s Percy!”

“What?” Mr. Weasley asked as all heads turned to the window to see the third eldest Weasley brother, but he wasn’t alone. He was walking up the garden path with an older gentleman who walked with a limp and a cane with his greying hair flapping about in the bitter winter wind.

“He’s…he’s with the Minister!” Mrs. Weasley gasped quietly.

Fear and panic flooded the forefront of your mind and you froze at the news. Surely someone as highly positioned as the Minister for magic would know that you weren’t magical! Before you could think of what to do, you were unceremoniously shoved under the table by Ginny who sat on your side not occupied by George. In response to the action, Bill shot his little sister a confused look, but couldn’t ask more before the door to the house opened and there stood Percy with the Minister.

All you could see were legs surrounding you under the table and you did your best to calm your breathing as panic settled in and a deafening roar flooded your ears. Surely they would know you were here, and if they did that would mean that George could be arrested right here right now. Maybe they brought Percy here to soften the blow - or to make it worse, who knew with George’s history with his brother…

You were brought back to reality as a pair of legs two seats over got up from the chair and left the dining area to go outside. When the roar in your ears finally settled down a bit, you heard Percy speaking. “Whose place setting?” you heard him ask stiffly, no doubt talking about your own.

“It’s an extra plate we made for the ghoul in the attic, but he didn’t come down for Christmas this year so Ginny and I’ve been eating it for him,” George lied.

“Right old git not coming to spend Christmas with everyone am I right?” Fred asked pointedly.

You could practically feel Percy roll his eyes at his brothers before saying, “I’m not stupid. George, I know you have a girlfriend and have been spending a suspicious amount of time out in the Muggle world. That can only mean that said girlfriend is a Muggle and if that place setting is hers then you’ll be in direct violation of Wizarding law and I’ll have to wipe her memory due to the fact that you revealed magic to her without marrying her into the Wizarding family first.”

Upon hearing the threat, you hugged your legs close to your chest and jumped when you heard a chair clatter to the ground. The clattering chair in question of course was George’s as he stood up and pointed his wand at his brother, saying in a low voice, “Listen here you great prat, if you so much as think about mentioning to the Minister that she’s a Muggle, I swear to Merlin you’ll never be able to open that big mouth of yours again.”

“George!” Mrs. Weasley scolded as she turned to the younger son with a horrified look on her face. There was a splat that filled the air as Fred flicked his wand and parsnip mash flew across the table and right onto Percy’s glasses in retaliation for the threat he made to you. “Fred!!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. More food was thrown courtesy of Ginny before Mrs. Weasley put a stop to things and ushered Percy to the sitting area so she could help get him cleaned up.

A few more tense minutes passed before the Minister and Percy left the Burrow, that fact only known to you when Ginny called, “They’re gone.”

As you emerged from underneath the table, you let out a shaky breath before saying, “I…I think that’s my queue to go…”

Before your falling tears could be seen by the rest of the group, George wrapped his arms around you in a protective hug, mumbling into your hair, “It’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle. You’re fine, darling…”

Upon seeing the scene in front of her, Mrs. Weasley’s face softened as she sighed quietly and said, “No dear, please stay. We haven’t even gotten to pudding.”

“Are…are you sure…?” you asked quietly as you gathered yourself and tried to steady your voice.

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley replied as she waved her wand and sat George’s chair back up.

“Thank you Mrs. Weasley,” you said quietly as George guided you back to your chair, his hand never leaving yours as everyone finished up the meal.

Later that evening after you and George disapparated back to the flat above the shop, you were quiet for a few minutes as you made the both of you tea. As you were making it, George wrapped his arms around you from behind and asked, “Is everything all right? You’re being awfully quiet…”

You swallowed the lump in your throat before whispering, “George, if…if my being a Muggle is going to keep being a problem, then-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” George told you as he held you closer to his body. He turned you around and gently kissed you for a few moments before getting more playful, nipping at your bottom lip and lifting you into his arms as he started making the way to his room.

Once the pair of you were situated comfortably on the bed with you straddling George’s lap, you giggled and asked, “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden? That was a serious question.”

“I just got to thinking is all,” he replied as he peppered more kisses all over your face and neck.

“Well that’s never a good sign,” you teased before placing a few kisses along his jaw in return.

George chuckled before crashing his lips onto yours once more, his thumbs rubbing small circles on your hips as he did. When he pulled away a few moments later, he asked breathlessly, “Marry me?”

Your eyes went wide at the question as you said, “I- What- George, I-” You huffed out an anxious laugh before asking, “You’re kidding right?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my whole life,” he told you before he kissed you once more.

“Okay wait, hold on, hold on,” you said as you got yourself off of George’s lap, sitting cross-legged beside him as you took one of his hands in yours. You sighed quietly before asking, “Is this because of what your brother said? About breaking the law? And…wiping my memory…? Or because of the war? I know your dad was saying things are getting worse…”

He looked at you like you hung the moon as he breathed out your full name before saying, “From the moment I saw you I knew I was gonna marry you someday.” A warm smile appeared on his face as he pulled his wand off of the nightstand and waved it, causing a small box to start floating his way from within the wardrobe. “And yes, with the war going on and tomorrow never being a guarantee, I may be rushing things, but all I know is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. This doesn’t have to be within the year or even the next, but I want you to have this ring so we both know that no matter what the future holds at least we’re together.” He opened the box to reveal a beautiful ring that sparkled in the light of the bedroom and asked, “So, what d’you say?”

“I…” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. “You’re for real? Like one hundred percent for real?” you asked as you squeezed his hand once more, afraid that if you let go you would wake up from a long and absolutely blissful dream.

“As real as the magical joke shop you’re sitting above,” he teased with a sparkle in his eye.

A wide smile broke out onto your face as you finally nodded in response, telling him, “Yes!”

“Smashing!” George said gleefully as he slipped the ring onto your left hand, pulling you back onto his lap before he kissed you deeply. When you finally parted, he rested his forehead on yours as he whispered, “Merry Christmas, darling.”

“Merry Christmas to you too. And to many more together,” you told him as you snuggled into his embrace affectionately.

a/n: okay, yes, i know that not many Brits go all out for Christmas, but this family does and not in the religious way. i like to call their (and my personal) style of celebration Capitalist Christmas in which decor is bought and gifts are given but religion is left out! i wrote this around Christmas last year and i just thought the whole decorating the Muggle way would be so cute!

also! when i was reding through this to edit again before publishing i read through the scene between George and Percy so many times because once again i. love. George Weasley's. protective side!

ps i love them so much, i think their little engagement is so cute and playful! i didn't want it to be anything too too serious because at the end of the day, it's George Weasley we're talking about here, so that's that!

the next part is only 842 words before editing, so it's definitely getting published by end of day i just didn't want to tack it onto the end of this one...

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss @v1ckycheesue @superduckmilkshake

#george weasley #george weasley romance #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #george weasley x reader #harry potter fanfiction

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scratchandplaster · 3 months

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Tales of Arcadia - Hitch in the road

CW: stalking, referenced past abuse, reluctant caretaker, suggestive language, Avery being the worst and best caretaker at the same time

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・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The stench of boiling garbage and exhaust fumes drenched the streets of Atlanta even in the early morning hours. Why his Lukas chose to prefer it over the quiet life at home was a mystery to Shepard; still, he limited himself to keeping 427 Parkway Drive in his line of sight. Whoever came and went was no longer a secret.

After two agonizing hours in the truck, the key to his problems rounded the street corner and hurried fretfully down the row of houses. In a heartbeat, Shepard slid out of the driver's side to join the walking heap of Walmart bags and jangling keys on her way, always keeping a fixed distance. Then, as they finally turned sharp onto the doorstep she had left approximately fifty-five minutes ago, Shepard decided to strike.

"Oh," he wondered, not approaching further, "may I help you?"

The old-established resident of 427 faltered, turned around and eyed the stranger thoroughly from his jeans up to his plaid shirt, a stare he never missed since leaving the city behind. The mistrusting eyes tripped over the gold-plated cross glistening around his neck. It worked its magic, like it always did.

"Thanks," she grumbled and pushed the bag full of groceries into his arms, fumbling around with the lock to the stairwell until it slid into position. Shepard hadn't even bothered to inspect the nameplates to the left further, his son was no idiot.

Without any protest, he took his first step inside the lion's den.

A flat viewing, he decided, sounded like the most believable ruse. While waiting for the landlord to show him around, a rendezvous that would never take place, they exchanged the usual pleasantries. With every returned niceness, his access key seemed to acclimate herself to him. If he was as lucky as it appeared at the moment, his new acquaintance had been living around these parts for quite an eternity - for every year he counted a hair on her chin.

"Bringing any children with ya?" she bothered to know, pleasantly curt, just like Shepard had read her as.

"No, just myself. I don't want to cause you that much trouble, ma'am. Well," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "do I have to worry about this kind of noise around here?"

"The last family with brats moved out months ago. I wish the problem left with 'em."

He let his head turn to the side. Care to share more? Hopefully so, even as he stood inside Lukas' retreat, Shepard had not the time nor nerve to check every door in the building. The clock had been ticking for too long by now.

Stay put. Please.

"Look at me talking the hind leg off a donkey," she huffed and snapped him out of his qualms, "I don't wanna drive you away before you even thought about moving in, but, y'know..."

"Undergraduates?" he suggested with a worried groan.

"Two floors above me." The innocent nod upstairs got him everything he needed her for. "But I still hear 'em trample around in the middle of the night."

Certainly not his Luke, Shepard knew, he always stuck to his early sleep schedule.

"Is that so? I'm afraid I need to address this problem right off the bat. If I'm going to meet with Mr. Wilson anyway, I'll gladly speak out for stricter house rules. With your permission, that goes without saying."

Dropping the bags at the apartment door, a clear signal of how far he was willing to let this farce escalate, earned him a nod and pat on the chest. That was all she had to offer him.

"Feel free to give him a piece of ya mind," Luke's soon-to-be ex-neighbor chuckled, "but don't cha go on spoiling things with him, I'd like to see you around these parts more often."

Shepard did not, though, hoping that today's outing stayed a one-time trip.

--------

Left alone between damp walls and barking from behind closed doors, stair by stair, the abandoned father crept up towards his mark. No need to hurry anymore, now caution was required as steps along the creaky wood brought him closer to his son. After two years, no words were able to express the bundle of feelings, joy and fear and desperation, coursing through Shepard that welled up with every passing door on his way. What had Lukas kept ready for him? Nothing that he was helpless against, that much he knew.

Davis/Markoff; the letters crumbling off the doorbell told him, exactly two levels above the old woman, and marked the end of his restless mission. As anticipated, a Cohen was sadly missing. Smart as he was, his Lukas knew to vanish properly; oh, Claire would've been bursting with pride.

Shepard had found their son at last.

A knock, he decided, felt more mundane as an initial hello - like a friendly neighbor announcing themselves. Through the thin veneer, rumbling steeped into the hallway. Somebody was home.

Gently and from a dead angle, the sound of knuckles on wood alerted the tenant to action. Someone shifted over the tile and dishes rattled bewilderedly.

He doesn't dare to take the window, right?

Despite the hectic bustle, clear footsteps towards the door let the floorboards whine in anticipation. Four, five, six stomps now and the door knob suddenly spun around to make his heart skip a beat. Before the door was fully pried open, Shepard had already shoved the tip of his boot in between the sides.

Full of expectation, he looked up to his opposite.

All the time apart must have surely changed his son, but unless he grew a handful of inches and ate anabolic steroids for breakfast, the person staring back in nothing but disinterest was a stranger. Not that Reuben's tongue hadn't slipped about the one or other roommate, yet Shepard felt the judging eyes gnaw on his every move.

Obviously. Obviously, fate refused to be easy on him. Once again, no hurdles Lukas placed along the way could stop his father. A friendly smile on the lips, Shepard proceeded to take the offense: "Good morning! Mister Davis, I assume? I apologize for interrupting your lunch, you see, I'm interested in-"

"Shut it." The roommate leaned against the door casing, one arm casually propped up: "You're not interested, you're Steven or whatever. Luke's father."

Oh.

Well, if anything, it flattered him to hear that the boy already introduced his old man, even when the same was not true for his blown cover. Meanwhile, the mountain of flesh with a physique like Michelangelo himself had carved it out of marble, raked along its mouth's inside with a fingernail, swallowing.

Eating all by yourself? Alright then, as you please.

"Well, I think you know why I'm careful not to peddle myself door to door. I've been told that I'm not very welcome around here."

Even his embarrassed chuckle didn't soothe the twitches in the impatient face, giving away how spot on Shepard's statement was. The silence broke thanks to his outstretched hand disguised as a proper greeting: "Let's start over: my name's Shepard."

"Of course it is," his hand was inspected thoroughly, not taken, though the stranger gifted him a bitter grin instead, "How's Ben doing?"

Through the thin slit in the doorway that hadn't been filled out, a kitchen area with a small table came into view. Only one bowl, sticky from instant mac and cheese, rested on it. Shepard pushed the striking evidence aside for now.

"Son, I'm very-"

"Nobody's son," rows of pearly teeth threatened him, "Try again."

Doubt drilled into his facade as the new hurdle continued to stand tall, visibly trying to keep this conversation a short one, unreadable and blunt in the most insulting way. Shepard recalled, finally, somebody his youngest had so joyfully spoken of: Aaron, Anthony, Ainsley...

"Ben is doing great," Shepard assured softly to calm the waves, "You have to be Avery, then, he shared many stories about your time together."

A cocktail of surprise and confusion flit over angled features: "Only the worst ones, I hope."

The father of two shuddered at the thought of what kind of pastimes his sons underwent here, considering their only aid. Avery struck him as more of a type for long nights and many broken hearts than quiet game nights. The perfect deflection, this he had to give Lukas credit for.

"Well, since I already took the trip, I wanted to personally thank you for giving my boys shelter. I'm glad they had someone like you to watch over them."

"That's all?" Avery wondered, sick of the thick tension that made the air crackle around them.

"Oh, well, is he home? I'll try not to disturb you guys for long, promise!"

"Who's home?"

"Lukas."

"Lukas? Sounds familiar…"

"Oh, so you're a funny one."

Irritating, to be specific, so very irritating. Shepard dared to play along, still, patience had always been his most reliable virtue.

"Doesn't hurt if you hear it," Avery suddenly claimed and shrugged, "I mean, he begged me to never talk to you, man, but I guess we're past that point. That's what he gets for ditching me without paying rent this month."

"He left?"

"Two days ago."

Any request remained stuck in Shepard's throat. Did he ever get to enjoy the end of this fruitless paper chase? The roommate, unbothered as usual, shifted inside the entrance: "Always said you were coming to get him. Told him he was crazy, to stay here and wait for Ben to come back. Thank God he didn't listen to me, huh?"

"Avery, be so kind and tell me where he went off to," he insisted in a mellow, but low tone.

"No idea." A bad liar, the worst by far. Lukas was close, Shepard could feel it.

"As I feared," he sighed, letting his voice crack on the last syllable, "he's a very anxious boy."

"Man. I know that much."

"Bordering on paranoia-"

"Seems like Luke," his roommate nodded along.

"Then why won't you help me help him?" slipped from his mouth, more candid than Shepard liked to admit, "You are my last hope."

"Eh," Avery whined, "I just don't feel like it, my bad. Why don't you come by on Monday again? I'm usually a lot more motivated after the weekend."

This one just refused to bite, not even out of courtesy.

Subconsciously, Shepard's finger had begun to drum against his jeans, the rough fabric struggling to keep his nerves in line: "Please try to understand how time-sensitive this issue is! Without support, Lukas' well-being is at risk."

"He can handle it," sharp lips curled up as Avery held back a laugh.

Laughing in my face. Despite a strained huff, he stayed persistent. Shepard did not expect friendliness, nor had any left to give. This was simply not the place for pleasantries.

"If that's the case, I'm scared to tell you that you are truly not familiar with my son."

"Oh, I am familiar with both of your sons. Intimately."

Taken aback, the oh-so desperate father caught himself slipping out of his homegrown act. Nothing, not a single common factor let him latch on to this eel incarnate.

"Let's speed this up, okay?" Avery sighed, spurred by a mysterious drive, and let both hands clap together with an obnoxious bang, "It's horrible to be abandoned. Just shoved away by everyone you ever trusted, this and that, very sad and all - I understand that."

The pointed stare stuck to the golden cross Shepard hadn't bothered tucking away didn't slip past him. There was no reverence in it. Luke's roommate finally chose to step closer, hair smelling of basil and nutmeg.

"I promised to stay out of your little family drama, but you look friendly enough. So, if I really think good, long and hard about it," slender yet callous fingers wandered along Shepard's collar, "I can call you daddy if you'd like me to."

As if lightning struck, any and all remnants of self-control ripped from Shepard in a wave of visceral disgust. His own hands finally shot up and pushed away the source of the dirty laugh that rang through the building.

His Lukas rather lived with this than his father. Seriously?

Avery's quick wink conveyed that he starred in an unfamiliar game, and his opponent just loved to play dirty. A line got overstepped, and so Shepard assessed how far he should go. Sure, it had been a few years, or decades, but he had enough brawn to put anyone in their place, hadn't he?

A vain scoff answered his question on the spot.

"You couldn't, minister." Avery stayed glued to the door frame like burning tar to skin. The time for sob stories was over. "But please do try, I'll send you back to Ben with a gift or two."

"I don't appreciate the threats, Avery."

"And I don't appreciate you, getting on my dick for what now? Five minutes?" the sack of flesh hummed, "He's gone and I don't blame him one bit. Only your god knows what kind of Cohen Family bullshit you're pushing on your property, though I heard the odd story here and there. Maybe it's just that; a story."

Running your mouth doesn't suit you, Lukas. For goodness’ sake, what happened to you?

"But when in doubt, I'll believe my friend, not some stranger knocking on my door. What exactly did you envision me to do the second you showed up here? I'm curious because, honestly, I live for this kind of audacity-"

"Listen," Shepard demanded.

"Hell no," he was promptly interrupted again as Avery's amusement turned sour, "you listen: I don't know you! And I don't want to change that. Your self-important act might mean shit up in the woods, but here, nobody cares for it-"

Louder and louder, the endless tirade pierced through every pore of the concrete walls; Shepard couldn't even get a desperate word in edgewise. Why Avery had bothered to keep this Oscar-worthy scene up for so long was a question for another day.

"Who doesn't like to listen to the chimeras of a slimy, controlling, fake-ass son of a-" the booming voice threatened with a hiss.

Above them, the dog started barking anew. Not long, and curious neighbors would step closer to their peepholes and get their share of entertainment. Shepard had preparing for a lot, but this…

Risking public humiliation for an already empty room was about to be his last mistake. Alarmed citizens letting him and Lukas walk out of here peacefully was off the table.

Shepard had realized too late that he stepped onto scorched earth.

"- and don't get me started about the minors. I mean, wow, you're practically begging for it. The good people deserve a bit of transparency, don't you think?"

Without losing another word, Shepard promptly turned around to leave. On hostile terrain, there was nothing to win. Behind him, Avery let the most filthy slander echo through the building, escalating into screams, but not stopping, not until that man was out of the building and gone for good.

Rushing down the stairs he fought to step onto, he gripped the railing so tightly it made the thin varnish crumble, and only as the front slammed shut behind him did Shepard snuff out the howl against his nape:

"If years in the Kingdom Hall couldn't win me over, your sorry ass will die trying!"

--------

Blood rushed like a waterfall inside Avery's ears. If one visit wasn't enough to get a man like that off their heels, preparing for another round felt justified. How annoying.

This little bickering would definitely gift them a complaint from the property manager. Avery slammed the door shut, not missing to snap all the locks into place, and embraced the gust of cool air that came with it.

Turning around the corner into the hallway that separated their respective bedrooms, the source of all this chaos hadn't moved an inch. Quiet as a mouse, Lukas leaned against the pantry, his by now cold bowl of pasta in hand.

The picture of misery took shaky breaths through pursed lips like it was him who just ruined his voice for the next few hours. Avery always imagined a clash with Papa Cohen to turn out way bloodier. Honestly, what kind of "cult leader", a term Lukas still rejected, was scared off with a bit of noise?

"Can't believe flirting really worked, men like him usually die to get a shot with this. But next time you better warn me that he's such a silver fox," Avery sighed excessively, "my defenses were crumbling by the second."

"Gross," Lukas whispered towards the floorboards, "Thank you."

"What are we going to do about it? That's just some guy, Luke, he can't do shit to you."

Not for a single second had Lukas sweated over his own welfare. But when it came to Avery or Ben...he couldn't risk being responsible for another tragedy involving the people around him.

"I need time to think."

"Call. The. Police.", Avery came closer with every word, "and I'm usually the last person to suggest that."

No. No way.

Shepard never gave up this easily, that they got him out of the house meant nothing when he continued to lurk in the dark. Avery's expectant look only coaxed a huff out of him. Luke rubbed his sweaty hands dry on his jeans, the rough fabric anchoring him to reality.

"Thank you, Avery, I'm glad you're here. I really am."

"Yeah, don't mention it," his roommate dismissed and trotted into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, "You better think quick."

The appetite left them for a while, time for Lukas to spiral into plans and worries about how his brother could find his way back to them, only if he was strong enough to try.

Whereas Avery, entrenched inside homelike walls, wondered how it felt to be missed.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

#is this too silly?#new character type unlocked: crackhead caretaker #Shepard pulling the classic Morris move of helping someone for his advantage #wouldn't it be funny if Chris just lived over in the next apartment and had his breakdown after PART 15 #whump neighbors #tales of arcadia #whump #creative writing #whump community #parental whumper #stalking #past abuse #suggestive language #attempted recapture #religious trauma

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