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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years ago

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The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’)

Prompt: Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go�� before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

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You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.

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monsteronfire · 4 years ago

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Fishing for a Star

type;; One-shot (6.4K words)

pairing(s);; fratboy!JK x older!Reader/OC

genre;; Slice of Life, Smut, College AU

warnings;; Drinking, oral (male receiving), shy!Koo, sub!Koo, slightly dom!Reader/OC, Yoongi being a dumbass voyeur, both parties pining for each other like idiots

a/n;; I feel like it’s been a motherfuckin’ year since I’ve written and posted anything. I honestly started this thing probably a year ago. I just really love the chill college parties trope. Might add more to this, but unlikely. Enjoy my pain as I cry over JK in leather.

edit;; Totally forgot to put a read more tag on here, sorry y’all. I even told myself to fucking do it right as I started the post. Also the pic isn’t mine, got it off Google.

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“Please tell me that’s not what you’re wearing.”

You step out of the way for your housemate, the hoodie you’d picked out momentarily blinding you while you pulled it over your head.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be putting it on.” You say, finally getting it over your head and shaking the hair out of your face. You blink at her half-way-to-getting-ready state, noting in the back of your head how good she looks even now. Her hair is done, wavy and a little disheveled. The shine of the dark strands makes you want to run your fingers through them, knowing they will be soft. Her makeup is half done and she’s dressed only in her underwear, but she’s beautiful all the same. You can tell she’s planning to doll herself up tonight and why shouldn’t she? It’s one of the biggest frat parties of the year and with it being her last year, she’s aiming to have a good time.

“This is a party, (Y/N). At least try and look a little slutty.”

You snort and grin a little, watching her pop her hip out while she eyes you.

“Why is that, baby?” You reply, reaching up to pull a couple of strands of her hair back into place fondly.

“I plan to get laid tonight. I expect you to too, babe.” She snaps, swatting your hand away.

“Sorry, sexy. I’m fishing for something special tonight and it doesn’t require the slutty look.”

“Oh god, not again.”

“What?” You question, turning back to the full length mirror and carding your fingers through your own hair to fix it.

“You’ve been after this boy for three years, (Y/N). He’s got you wrapped around his finger.” She states, walking away from you and back into the bathroom. You’re still smiling when you check one final time to make sure the jeans you’re wearing make your ass look great before leaning against the door frame.

“That was my plan from the beginning. Now I just need to wrap him around mine.”

She snorts, leaning over the sink and closer to the mirror.

“I said three years, didn’t I? If you haven’t bagged him yet, you won’t.”

You pout at her, but are undeterred. You know what kind of person he is and you’re well aware of how much work he had and will continue to take. You could tell he was not a one and done from the first moment you saw him. He would take time, a lot of it and you were willing to put it all in.

“You know how stubborn I can be.” You chuckle at her. She rolls her eyes, but smirks none the less. She knows she can’t say a word to change your mind.

“Whatever. If I catch you two together, I’m telling him to fuck you already.”

You laugh as you walk away, working on gathering what you’ll want to take to the party.

“You sure I’ll even be allowed at this thing?!”

“Are you kidding?! Everyone is invited to this party. The doors are left open so anyone can just fucking walk in off the street!”

You chuckle, grabbing your bag and stuffing your wallet in it. You’d graduated a couple years ago and while most of the seniors would know you, you sometimes felt weird hanging out at a party in the college you’d already graduated from. A girl has to do what she has to do when a baby boy is on the line, though.

And a baby boy he was.

“Jae!”

You smile as you and your friend enter the large, old house. The lighting is dim, the music is thumping and all you can smell is alcohol, sex and sweat. There’s noise all around you, but you and your friend weave through the crowd easily. Nearly everyone greets you as you two pass, guys high-fiving you and girls giggling and touching your arms. You bounce to the music as you follow her, the two of you making your way past the front stairs and down the hall. You make a pit stop in the kitchen- Jae grabbing the classic Solo cup and you pulling a bottle of beer from a cooler full of ice- before heading out onto the back deck.

The backyard is just as crowded as the house, people in the pool, people in the gazebo and people littering about the yard and deck. There’s a large bonfire near the back of the yard and a couple other smaller fire pits in random spots. One of them is up on the deck in a small metal pit, the warm flames surrounded by the very reason you and Jae came tonight.

“There’s our girls!” Namjoon shouts, lifting his can and drawing the attention of the seven other guys around him to you two. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jin all shout in unison as they spot you, Tae standing and pressing a sloppy kiss to your friend’s cheek. Yoongi and Namjoon lift their hands as you get closer and you reach out to slap each one. Jimin stands to press little pecks to first your cheek and then Jae’s. You all greet each other quietly before Jae slides herself into her target’s lap. She’s been after Jin all year and you haven’t been the only person sitting back to watch their game of cat and mouse. Jin is practically an expert at flirting just enough to keep her hooked without giving her what she really wants.

To be young and in lust.

Your eyes finally find the last member of the group, his silence keeping him out of spotlight unless he’s being searched for. He’s already looking at you when you spot him and his eyes dart down to his shoes while he shuffles behind Yoongi and Jimin. He can only keep his eyes off you for a moment before they find yours and he’s trapped. You smile softly at him, taking delight in how his eyes widen a fraction and his pupils grow. He’s holding a Solo cup, the rings on his fingers glinting in the firelight as he deftly squeezes them a bit tighter. He looks good tonight, his dark hair pushed back away from his forehead to show his strong brow. He’s dressed in all black, black t-shirt tucked into black jeans, black boots and to top it all off a leather jacket. He definitely pulled all the stops on you tonight and you have to make a conscious effort not to drool when you stare at him. He looks like a badass and you know every other girl in this joint sees him the same way, but you know the truth.

“Uh-oh,” Jae mumbles into Jin’s ear.

“She’s spotted her target and is locked on.”

You don’t bother listening to her, instead creeping closer to the object of your desire.

“Hey, Jungkookie,” You murmur quietly to him, leaning in a bit closer, but not too close. You had to be very meticulous with him.

“Hey, noona,” he responds shyly and the whole circle of friends is a sniggering mess for a moment. Pink begin’s to dust his cheeks, but you spare him a little and turn to flick Jimin in the back of the head.

“You lot are pretty curious tonight. Weren’t you all having a conversation before we came up?”

They all snigger some more, but quickly go back to bullshitting around the fire, leaving you and Jungkook in peace. You take another step closer to him, half expecting him to maintain the distance between you, but he remains still and lets you get closer. Threes years it’s taken you to get even this close to him, his overtly shy and sweet demeanor keeping him just out of reach of your darker, more corrupted hands.

“You look good tonight,” you comment and his blush darkens in the firelight. He thanks you almost too quietly, quickly bringing the cup of beer he’s holding to his lips to distract himself somehow and it has you chuckling lowly at him. He looks away from you, avoiding your eyes and you can’t stop the fiendish grin on your lips. You finally give him some respite, turning away from him to join in on the random conversation that the group is sharing around the small fire pit.

Finally…

He get’s his chance and takes it without a second thought. He spent years hesitating in such small matters and found himself either missing out or always caught if he didn’t take the chance when it was presented to him. So he learned. Now when you have those few precious moments where your focus is not on him- where you are off guard for just a beat- he gets to watch you instead. Watch the way your eyes glow in the firelight, or the way your hair just barely shifts as a warm breeze lazes by. He takes in your simple outfit, jeans and a sweatshirt. Nothing like the rest of the girls at every party he’s ever been to. Your smile moves your whole face, your cheeks rising, you lips splitting and even your eyes squinting shut as you tease Taehyung. His lips quirk a little on their own when he notices that your ears shift a little when you smile as well.

Your lashes are long even without makeup, so much so that the first time he’d ever met you he could have sworn they were fake. But then he caught you tugging on them one afternoon while you told old stories with Namjoon. You did it regularly and had told him you could feel the dead ones coming out, you wanted to get them before they fell into your eyes. A quirk he’d logged away to keep safe for the rest of eternity. The beer in your one hand shifts to the other, the rings on your fingers clinking just loud enough for him to hear over Hoseok’s shouting. A hobby of sorts you shared with Jimin. You two wore the same ring size and often went shopping for new ones together, even swapping every now and again. The free hand moves about in the air as you speak and Jungkook thinks it almost weird now to see someone talk without gesturing with their hands so much. How did one truly immerse another in their words if they didn’t show them how it felt as well? When you were angry- fuming for either your own hardships or for those of a friend- you pointed a lot, your head shaking and your hands slicing through the air to signal how done you were. When you told stories of your adventures with the oldest members of his brothers your hands where always in the air; swiping, rolling, falling and twisting. You painted such a picture with only the movement of your hands when you spoke. They weren’t really dainty, your palms wide and your fingers not very long, but they fit perfectly with his hands. A fact that amazes him, but that he’s grown rather fond of. When you laugh, it’s loud. Not soft, not like the twinkling of bells, but like a song. Loud, but still beautiful and it can range from joyous mirth to deep and rich fondness, the type of feeling that fills your chest with warmth and adoration. That’s the laugh he enjoys the most, that deep chuckle. The one you give to him quietly so just the two of you can hear it.

He wants you. He was confused at first, for a long time. Scared of your mature age compared to him and your strength. He always sees you as strong, even if you don’t think so yourself. You always make him nervous, unsure if he is really worthy of the sweet attention you give him. The quiet whispers just between the two of you, the soft touches, the adoring look in your eyes. He fears all your attention, but he can’t deny now that he wants it- needs it. He can’t go a day without it.

The party winds down and you are delighted at the sight of mattresses being brought down and strewn haphazardly across the floor in their living room. When Jungkook finally picks his spot you waste no time in shuffling closer to his mattress. Normally you would keep your distance, allowing him his comfort of solitude to sleep, but you’ve already allowed him plenty of his liberties tonight. You will get something out of this evening if not a simple kiss in the dark. He shocks you by saying nothing as you lay down, your eyes just catching a glimpse of Jae and Jin heading upstairs. Probably to his room to finally earn what she’s worked so hard for. She quickly casts you a thumbs up, a large grin on her face as she tries to keep it unnoticed by anyone else in the room. You return the gesture and chuckle, groaning a bit when you body finally hits the not so comfortable springs. You take a moment to sigh before opening your eyes again and focusing them on the object of your desires.

He’s staring right back at you and your breath catches in your throat, lost in the sea of stars in his eyes. They’re wide and shining, staring so intently at you that you almost don’t take notice to the shine of his lips. Like he’s just licked them a few times. Even in the dim light of the moon that filters in through the windows and the very few lights in the house on you can see them glisten, and your eyes are torn between them and his shining eyes. He looks like a lost puppy staring at you, but there’s more in his eyes. He looks in awe, almost afraid and- dare you say it- a little eager. Like he wants something to happen, but it scares him and that thought alone drives straight to your core. A fire alights inside you and suddenly you’re staring back at him with equally wide eyes, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. The action immediately draws his large eyes to your mouth and fuck if you don’t almost groan when his tongue pokes out to lick nervously over his lips again.

His mouth parts ever so slightly and you swear you can hear him panting a little over the din of people ambling to where they plan to sleep. Someone plops down directly behind you, their back hitting yours as they shift to get comfortable. You’re right on the edge of the mattress, so this person has to be hanging off the one they’re laying on to be this close to you. And by the feel of how broad their shoulders are it’s definitely a man. Your eyes narrow and you almost growl when Jungkook stiffens in front of you and the man knocks against you again. Your head turns just enough to spot the thin, white shirt he’s wearing stretch over one shoulder before you’re shoving back with your elbow. He grunts when you dig into his back, but says nothing else, only leaning away from the discomfort. He’s clearly wasted. Still, he’s too close to you and taking the great opportunity presented before you, you scoot closer to the apple of your eye. He doesn’t shy away and it takes all your effort not to reach out to him when you finally focus back on him.

“Sorry,” you whisper, scooting just a tiny bit closer than you really need to. He shakes his head quietly, mumbling out an ‘it’s okay’ while his body leans closer to yours. God you want to ravage this sweet boy. It’s practically making your heart explode with how cute he’s being right now. He’d looked away in his response, but when he looks back to you he’s dragging his lip through his teeth and you really can’t take it. Again you two are lost in your own little world as you stare at each other.

“Jungkookie… you’re not being very nice to me right now.”

His eyes widen even further- if that’s even possible- and he looks almost stricken at the comment.

“What?” He manages to almost whimper out and you just can’t stop yourself from scooting even closer to him.

“You’re looking at me so sweetly, baby. How am I supposed to play nice with you tonight if you keep staring at me like that?”

You don’t know where all this confidence is coming from. Granted you’ve always been a bit more confident than the young man in front of you, but even still, you never thought you’d get to a degree where you were saying such flirtatious things in such a dominant tone to him.

“Play… nice?”

The glint changes in your eyes and Jungkook visibly shutters at the sight. Your eyes had been so deep and full of adoration just a moment ago, now all he sees is greed and lust. It makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants. Gods he’s been hard from the moment you called him that nickname- Jungkookie. He generally doesn’t like anyone, but the guys saying it. But every time you say it…

He’s almost scared to feel how excited he’s getting every time you scoot a little bit closer. He doesn’t want you to stop. Not until your body is finally pressed to his and he can hold you so tight, and never let go. He’d hoped something would have happened between you two before tonight, but he was always so scared and you were always so cautious with him. He just wants you to ravage him already. He’s dreamed about it practically every night, it might as well happen already.

“Stop,” you suddenly say and he can feel your fingers on his chin, pulling his lip from between his teeth.

“If you lick or bite your lips one more time,” you have to take a moment to calm yourself before continuing, “… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.”

He throbs in his jeans and when he locks eyes with you he’s lost. He doesn’t want you to stop, he realizes that now after feeling your fingers touch his skin. Fire ignites where they trace from his chin and along his jaw. He trembles beneath your touch and you can feel it. Oh you can feel it. You do the opposite of what you just told him, biting your lip to draw his eyes to them again as you two gravitate ever closer.

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

He doesn’t speak, he feels like he doesn’t know how to in that moment. He doesn’t trust himself to anyway, so he does the next best thing. He licks his lips again and is rewarded. Your fingers that had been running along his jaw suddenly snake into the hair at the nape of his neck and you pull him close. He is just as needy as you are, his hands which had been fiddling with his shirt the whole time are suddenly flying up to tug your bodies even closer. Your lips crash against his and he whimpers into your mouth when you both open them simultaneously, your tongue dragging along his. It takes all your conscious effort not to moan, your body melding itself against his. His arms wrap around you and squeeze you to him, his whimpers turning into a little moan when you gain dominance in the kiss.

You pull away, one of your hands coming back to his jaw to to place a thumb over his open lips. You turn to look back at the bodies laying around the room, most of the members of the fraternity still down here, all of them passed entirely the fuck out. The guy just behind you is snoring up a storm and you can’t help smirking a little when you turn back to face Jungkook. He looks so fucked out already, his eyes glazed and his pupils blown wide as he pants lightly against your thumb. Your smile is both devious and full of fondness as you stare at him.

“You look so good baby, but you have to be quiet for me,” you whisper to him and he does nothing more than open his mouth wider. His tongue snakes out and licks against your thumb, pulling it in and sealing his lips around the appendage. He suckles on it hungrily and gods be damned if your panties aren’t soaked at this point.

“Fuck,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You want him so bad it almost hurts. He pulls away far enough that your thumb pops from his lips and he whimpers once again, pulling you as close as he can.

“Noona, please,” he says, his breath shuddering.

“Please what, baby?”

He grabs one your hands and pulls it down between your bodies, pressing your palm to the bulge in his jeans. Your breathing deepens when you palm the hardness through the thick fabric, wondering how you didn’t notice it before.

“Oh baby,” you coo quietly and rub your hand heavily over his bulge. He bites his lip to hold back the moan threatening to break free and you feel his hips start to rock into your hand. He’s so fucking hot, how have you been able to resist him for so long?

“How long have to been this hard?”

He takes a moment to respond, trying to take deep breaths. Your hand stalls to help him regain some semblance of sanity, but he seems against the idea. His hand returns to gripping yours, pressing your palm back against his hard-on.

“Long time,” he finally gets out in a clipped tone, probably unable to speak properly at this point.

“Poor thing.”

You pull closer to him, pressing your forehead to his and lowering your voice so that you’re barely audible.

“Take your cock out for me, baby. Please.”

He keeps you close and groans into your neck, only taking a moment to collect himself before he’s pushing away, and his hands are flying to undo his pants. He struggles with the button for a moment, but you don’t help him, only leaning back to watch with excitement. When he finally gets them undone he’s tugging them down just enough so he can freely pull is cock out and gods is it beautiful. Your mouth waters as soon as he has it out, its pink color and red head making you want to feel the weight of it on your tongue. It’s not particularly long, but it’s thicker than you thought it would be and the precum that glistens on his tip calls out to you. You let out a heavy breath when his hands hover just shy of his shaft, trembling and aching to give the poor weeping thing some relief. Still he hesitates to touch himself.

Such a good boy.

“You’re so gorgeous,” you practically wheeze out, finding it hard to breathe when your twitching hand finally reaches out for him. He’s whimpering before you even touch him and you have to remind him to be quiet when the tip of your finger goes to touch the head.

“Remember, baby, keep it down.”

He nods a little shakily and just as you press into the precum on his tip with your finger, his hands are flying up to cover his mouth. He’s so sensitive and you love it.

“Well, you’re certainly aching there aren’t you? Does it feel good to have me touch you?”

Again he nods and you pout, swirling your finger in the sticky fluid at his tip. His eyes clench shut at the sensation and he deftly thrusts his hips up to meet more of your hand.

“Use your words or I’ll have to stop.”

“Yes,” he whispers out harshly, his hands clenching into fists at his stomach, “… yes, yes, yes, yes!”

You smirk, the high you’re getting from all of this driving you to carry on.

“Good boy.”

You continue to swirl your finger over his tip a few more times, widening your circle until you’re sliding your finger down the top of his length, all the way to the base. He pants a little too heavily, his eyes glued to your hand and what you’re doing to him. You circle around his base to the bottom of his cock before dragging your finger back up and rubbing it deftly over the slit a few times.

“Fuck noona-“

“Language, Jungkookie.” You say with a smirk, your hand finally flattening over the underside of his length so you can palm him a few times. His hips rock against his will and meet you half way every time you press down on him. He looks so pretty like this, his eyes nearly black and so focused on how your palm drags over his length. He’s sweating a little, panting a lot and his gorgeous cock is ready to explode at any second. And you’ve barely even done anything to him yet.

“What made you so hard and needy like this?”

He stays silent for a long moment, only answering when the pressure of your hand lightens and you begin to pull away.

“You… you made me like this. You always… make me like this.”

Always?

“Fuck, Kookie, if you had told me sooner we might’ve actually got it in tonight.”

His eyes are glistening at this point as they shoot up to glance at you before scrunching shut when your fingers finally wrap around his shaft. You pump him slowly, but his hips make up for that and keep the sliding of his cock in and out of your hand at a steady pace.

“I wanted to. Fuck I wanted to, but…”

“But?”

He pants a few times, focused more on chasing his high. Your grip on his cock tightens to the point that he’s forced to stop thrusting, only allowing him to continue when he answers.

“I-I was scared. And you were being so cautious with me-“

“Of course I was! I didn’t want to scare you away. I worked too hard for you, I wasn’t going to mess that up by being too greedy.”

His hips stutter and then pause, his eyes opening to look at you. His face is flush, you can tell even in the dark, and his hair is starting to stick to his face. Still he looks like the sexiest, most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Why?”

“What?” You ask, not prepared to be questioned back like this.

“Why did you put so much effort into me. You could’ve easily slept with one of the other guys. Yoongi’s always had the hots for you. So has Tae. Why me?”

You take a long moment to mull over your answer, your other hand coming up to push some of his sweaty hair out of his face. When you get some clear, you lean in to kiss him a little more gently this time. Though it isn’t any less heated, it’s more of a deep sensual kiss than one of hunger and lust. When you pull away, you look him in the eyes when you answer.

“The same reason anyone chooses anyone else. You’re the one I wanted, Kookie. I would’ve put in a hundred years of work if I had to.”

His eyes are wide with adoration and awe, but the moment can’t last forever. His cock twitching in your hand reminds you of what is happening and you squeeze it gently before going back to pumping him. He gasps quietly at the sensation, his eyes falling closed and his body slowly starting to roll backwards. You move with him, pressing your body into his side when he’s finally laying flat on his back. His hands are clenching and unclenching against his stomach, desperate for some kind of anchor. A thought pings into your mind while you watch him grasp sporadically at his shirt, releasing his cock and pushing both his hands and the shirt up his abdomen. He whines at the loss of contact, lifting his head to see why you’d stopped stroking him only for his eyes to go wide. He looks a bit panicked, his gaze darting around to the half dead bodies around you two. You could so easily be caught, but most of the occupants of the house were completely wasted and would likely never remember this even if they did see it.

You slide down his body quietly, stealthily, like a cat taunting its prey into the shadows. Your eyes catch his and they hold him, their mischief so palpable that it makes Jungkook’s mouth go dry and his cock pulsate so fiercely it taps against his stomach. Your one hand trails down his side lightly, nails tickling his hip and thigh so that he’s shuddering beneath you. He reaches for you, one hand cupping your cheek- wants to tell you to stop, but his throat is so dry he can’t even whisper. Or perhaps he’s lying to himself and doesn’t want you to stop at all. When you quirk an eyebrow in question and you feel the object of your desire tap against your throat with another needy pulse, you know the answer is no, he doesn’t want you to stop.

A trembling whisper of your name leaves his lips and you can only smirk, tilting your head down to kiss just above his navel and then to one side of it. Down, down, further you trail, your kisses getting sloppier as you descend closer to your target. Your tongue and teeth leave wet, rosy patches as you go and you can feel his muscles quivering every time you touch him until finally the desperately red tip of his cock is right in front of you. He whimpers beneath you and you shush him gently, unable to tear your eyes away from the way it pulses and twitches up towards you.

“Please,” he finally lets out, sounding much like he’s on the verge of tears. You smirk again and glance up at him through your lashes.

“Please what, baby?”

He huffs cutely, his other hand cupping the other side of your face and his thumbs smoothing along your cheekbones like he’s so desperate to just pull you into his cock, but doesn’t want to be too demanding. You smile a bit more when his look gets more and more frantic, one of your arms reaching up to rub his chest under his shirt soothingly.

“Relax, my sweet star. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“P-please…”

“Go on, baby. I know you want it, just tell me.”

“Please, I want your mouth,” he finally shutters out, but you can’t help yourself and push just a bit more.

“What do you want from my mouth?”

He huffs again and looks away, searching the room to make sure everyone there is truly oblivious.

“I-I want…”

“Want?”

“Please, noona, ravage me with your mouth.”

He looks you directly in the eyes as he finishes and the glee that soars through you practically makes you light headed. You grin broadly at him and bite your lip.

“I’ll give you anything you want, bunny. You just have to ask.”

Before he can really bask in your words you focus back on his cock, the hand that had been trying to soothe him shooting down to wrap gently round his base and lead his head to your waiting tongue. His breath shudders out and his mouth opens to let out a rush of air. The precum leaking from his tip covers your tongue in salt, but you don’t mind, all too desperate to feel the full weight of him at the back of your throat. Still you take your time, only licking at his slit to tease him, another droplet of precum oozing out every time to you do.

He’s panting while he watches you, his hands trembling on your face until one shakily weaves into your hair at the crown of your head. He doesn’t grip or pull, doesn’t try to shove more of his cock into your mouth which is what you’re used to. No, he’s too gentle and sweet to force anything. He only wants and lets you lead the way. When you finally wrap you lips around his tip he can’t hold back the noise, his head falling back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and what he hopes is a quiet moan leaving him. And you can only smirk at the sound, the subtle shudder in his voice making you even more wet and your stomach clench with desire.

You take the time to generously wet the head of his cock, delighting in its twitches while you swirl your tongue around him. When you pop him from your lips the poor thing looks pathetic, practically weeping in your fingers and you feel all too obliged to take him back in. Only this time you take him all in, or at least as much as you can. You suck him all the way to the back of your throat, moaning quietly around his shaft so he can feel the vibrations. And oh does it make him make the most wonderful of sounds. A surprised cry and the slapping of a hand over his mouth (the one that was lightly stroking his fingers along your cheek) has you trying to smile around him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-…”

He lets the mantra trail off quietly, his body arched so you can’t see his face anymore. And as much as you adore the sight of him losing control, you’d much rather see the pleasure on said face. You suck harshly and pull off him, letting him once again pop from your lips. You take care to pump him slowly while you speak, you spit slicking his cock enough that there’s little friction.

“Look at me baby.”

It takes him a few moments, but you wait patiently until he realizes you gave him an order and he follows through. He looks a little lost when he finally locks eyes with you, his gaze a little wild like he can’t really see you at first.

“Noona?”

“Are you with me, sweetheart?”

He looks confused, but nods all the same, probably ready to agree to anything at this point.

“Listen carefully, baby. I want you to look at me the whole time. Don’t you dare look away or I’ll stop, okay? Eyes on me.”

He nods deftly, afraid he won’t be able to fulfill your request, but eagerly wanting to please you.

“Good boy.”

You don’t give him any time to prepare himself and suck him back in as far as he’ll go. He wheezes and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, quickly remembering your order and opening them back up to focus on you again. You smirk around his cock to let him know you approve and focus back on your task. When you can’t push him any further down your throat you opt to bob your head, one hand stroking what you can’t swallow and the other massaging his balls. You look up every few seconds to make sure he’s still watching and only have to stop once to make him look at your again. The sloppier his cock and your mouth gets the more he shakes and shudders beneath you, the hand in your hair trembling like a leaf in the wind. He keeps his other hand up by his face, ready to cover his mouth every time he can’t hold back a whimper or moan.

It doesn’t take long, only a few minutes and he’s desperately pleading to you, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I-“

You push him in as far as you can take and swallow around him just once before he’s shooting his load down your throat. Tears form in his eyes when he squeezes them shut and you can’t fault him when his head falls back onto the mattress. He did such a good job of watching you, you’ll let him have this one. When the last of his cum is swallowed down, you take care to gently clean what you can off his cock with your tongue. He shakes and gasps beneath you as you do, his head shaking back and forth as if to say he can’t take anymore. You pop off him one last time and kiss his tip softly, grinning when he finally cracks his eyes open to look at you.

He looks madly in love while he stares at you and it makes you somewhat nervous to see such intense emotion in his eyes. You lift yourself and crawl back up his body, pausing to help him pull his pants back up and his shirt back down. You hush him when he tries to button and zip everything back up, pushing his weak and tired hands away.

“No one will notice, just rest baby.”

“Well that was hot.”

You freeze over him, Jungkook’s body going rigid and his eyes widening with fear. You both look over your shoulder and spot Yoongi a small ways away from the foot of your mattress, laying on his side with his head propped up in one hand. He’s smirking at the two of you and while Jungkook looks mortified, you only feel proud. Now someone has witness that Jungkook is yours and no one else can have him.

“Hyung,” he whispers harshly, both his hands coming up to cover his face. You smile fondly at your boy before looking back to Yoongi.

“Well if you’re good and keep this to yourself, maybe next time you can join us.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow and grins excitedly, Jungkook letting out a panicked noise when you settle in beside him. He whispers to you quietly as if he doesn’t want Yoongi to hear and you only shush him gently to calm him.

“Lay down and rest, bunny. Don’t worry about him, he’ll keep quiet.”

“But-“

“Shh, sleep.”

You run your fingers through his hair until he finally settles down, turning so that he can wrap himself around you and tuck his head under your chin. You chuckle lovingly and continue to pet him, using your free hand to flip Yoongi off when he makes lewd gestures at you in the dark.

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forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Note

hey, you're incredible and amazing and I hope you're taking care of yourself 🥺💖 if you are still taking request, can you write something for Frankie o Marcus Pike? from promt list 1, number 1 "a wedding?" and number 65 "hold my hand dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!"

love you 💖

I went with Frankie and I hope you enjoy 💕🥺

Frankie x Fem!Reader ; warnings: slight language

Frankie Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You almost bowled Frankie over as you threw open the door and welcomed yourself into his house. You had knocked and at the loud pounding he had almost dropped what he was doing in order to come and answer. Instead of waiting, you'd used your spare key to his house and let yourself in.

"Oh, hello there," he said as he closed the door behind you with an amused grin on his face. As soon as he saw the distressed look on your face, his own faltered, "what's wrong, Bee?"

"Everything, Francisco!" you groaned as you opened the fridge to grab out a beer. You made quick work of opening it and taking a large swig before sitting down at the counter, "I have once again single handedly fucked myself over!"

"You want to elaborate a little more on that?" he asked as he helped himself to a drink and joined you. He'd been busy preparing everything for your weekly movie night, hadn't been expecting you for a little while - not that he ever minded you being around. Sighing heavily, you rested your head on his shoulder, "what could possibly be so bad?"

"You remember my ex - Brad?" Frankie immediately groaned - for reasons both the same and different to yours. You nodded in acknowledgment.

"Ew, Brad."

"Yup," you laid your head on the table before letting out a long sigh, "well Brad is getting married. And guess who is invited? Me - and my boyfriend."

"You don't...have a boyfriend," he reminded you as you just threw up your hands in exasperation, “so…”

“I know, I know, I know,” you groaned as you took another drink, “it just came out - here he is all fancy and getting married and I’m just...not. I didn’t want to look like a total idiot and be all oh yes, of course I’m still single but would love to come to your wedding alone. So...apparently I have a boyfriend. I need to find a fake boyfriend or find a damn good excuse for why my boyfriend couldn’t make it at the last minute.”

“Shit,” Frankie couldn’t help but laugh at your little dilemma as you groaned at yourself. You just couldn’t keep your big mouth shut it appeared. When had it ever done you any good? Never. You should have learned by now. A few beats of silence fell over the two of you before he suddenly made a small sound, “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” you raised your eyebrows as your heart started to beat wildly in your chest. Sure, you might have been in love with your best friend and have been for some time, but you’d never ask him to do such a thing. You’d purposely pushed that thought to the back of your mind as quickly as it had bubbled up. It would make things infinitely more complicated - and what if something happened and you slipped up and confessed your love for him? That was a situation you’d rather avoid all together if possible.

“Come with you,” he grinned, clearly proud of his brilliant idea. He wondered if you could hear the loud pounding of his own heart; as soon as you’d mentioned the idea of a fake boyfriend he’d grown excited. Was this his opportunity to finally come clean and tell all the ways in which he loved you? Maybe, maybe not. But if he didn’t try, he’d never know, “I’ll be your boyfriend - fake boyfriend.”

“Oh Frankie,” you couldn’t help but smile at the sweet look on his face. Gods, how could anyone not fall in love with him? But reason quickly took over you and you weakly shook your head, “no, it’s okay. I couldn’t ask you to do something like that.”

“I want to,” he insisted with a soft ruffle to your hair before he could stop himself, “come on - what are best friends for, Bee? Besides its just a wedding...”

“I don’t know...I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to..”

“I want to,” he promised softly, “come on, it’ll be fine - you might even have fun! Besides - I want to see you break out some more of those amazing dance moves!”

“Frankie…”

“What could go wrong, Honey Bee? It’s the perfect solution!

I could fall harder in love with you. I could confess my love to you. I could make a huge fool out of myself. I might never get over you.

“Okay,” you agreed before you could stop yourself. The excited look on his face was enough to make you melt as he just grinned from ear to ear, “let’s do it.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Wow,” Frankie’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw you, his megawatt grin enough to make you melt. He held his hand out to you, ever the gentleman, which you took as he pulled you in for a hug. You’d agreed to meet at the venue, and go from there; it probably would have looked more convincing if you’d arrived together, but you weren’t sure if you could handle anything more than what was needed. As soon as you spotted him, your heart started doing flips in your stomach, “you look absolutely beautiful.”

“What about you, handsome?” you ran a hand through his dark locks, unsure if you were doing it out of your own volition or you were playing the part of doting girlfriend, “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

“Thanks,” he whispered softly as a tinge of pink flushed up into his cheeks. He politely greeted a few passersby. You repeated the action, remembering a few faces from when you had dated Brad a few years earlier, “hold my hand Bee - we have to make this look convincing!”

Something came over you and you were quite sure what possessed you, but you took his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together, before leaning over and offering him a kiss. He hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, unsure of how to respond, but then offered a simple, saccharine little kiss.

And it was electric - sending shivers down your spine as your whole body warmed up. People always spoke about seeing those proverbial sparks when they kissed the one. And this...this had to be it.

Opening your eyes, you found Frankie looking back at you in awe and momentarily wondered if he had felt the same thing. A gentle expression softened his features as he looked at you in wonder. Maybe...maybe you’d both felt it...but no. Surely not. You wouldn’t flatter yourself with the idea that Francisco Morales fancied you like you did him.

“Gotta act the part, right?” you teased nervously as you started pulling himself in the venue, “come on, boyfriend!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The rest of the ceremony was spent in comfortable silence as the two of you sat close to each other, but still leaving a small distance between your bodies. It was almost like the two of you could feel that something had shifted, even with the smallest of kisses. You were hyper-aware of his closeness to you the entire time, feeling his body heat radiate onto you, your entire being humming with excited, yet nervous energy. Little did you know that Frankie was feeling the exact same thing, all the while trying to figure out how to finally (finally!) tell you about his true feelings.

His hand was resting on the wood of the aging bench, next to yours, but not touching. Both of you consciously, or subconsciously, kept inching your hands closer and closer until eventually they were touching. Frankie seemed to overcome his nerves and put his hand on top of yours before gently squeezing it as a sign of ressaurance, before lacing your fingers together. The smell gesture was enough to kickstart your heart and you were unable, or unwilling, to keep the smile off of your face.

What was suddenly happening?

»»————-　♡　————-««

After the ceremony, a beautiful affair - even you had to admit - the two of you went to the reception, still buzzing happily, but unable to quite form the right words. Whatever was happening, it was coming fast, and honestly...it had been a long time coming for the both of you. Neither of you tried to fight it anymore, deciding to let whatever happened, happen.

“Listen, Bee,” after you’d gotten to the reception and the bride and groom had cut the cake and had their first dance, Frankie finally gathered up the courage to speak. He reached for your hand and held it tightly, “there’s something I need to tell you -"

“Hey! You made it!” Brad wore a beaming grin he came over and still managed to steal Frankie's thunder; he tried not to let his expression falter too much, "you look great!"

"Wouldn't miss it," you said - only a small lie - before reaching down and grabbing Frankie's hand. Despite your initial hesitations, you were glad you came, and honestly happy for him, "and two make a lovely couple. I'm so happy for you both - really. You deserve it."

"As do the two of you," he grinned, grabbing Frankie's shoulder and giving it a squeeze, "the two of you! Can't say I'm surprised though...always thought the two of you had a little something going on. How long has it been official?"

"Oh umm…" you gave Frankie a look of surprise as you tried to think on your feet. He looked just as thrown off as you did, "a-a couple of years. We've been together for a...bit."

"Time to make an honest woman out of her, Morales!" Frankie's expression paled as your eyes widened in surprise. But he was quick on his feet and chuckled lightly, "I'm happy for you guys too. Who would have thought? I guess most of us did...anyway! Thank you both for coming and have fun - open bar!"

"Thanks," you both managed to weakly say as the groom bounced away to greet other guests. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you turned to Frankie and offered him a meager smile.

"Yeah...so I guess the whole fake boyfriend thing worked!" you cheered lightly, trying to keep the situation from turning any more awkward than it was, "we could...probably just leave honestly. Maybe grab a pizza and drinks and watch a movie?"

"Do you want to dance?" he completely changed course with his question, his voice nervous and almost cracking in anticipation. You paused for a moment before deciding that yes...you really, really wanted to slow dance with Frankie.

"I'd love you to," you whispered gently as he took your hand and led you to the lightly illuminated dance floor.

And it was so easy - so effortless. His arms wrapped around you and yours around him as you melted into his body. He was so soft and warm and smelled heavenly; why hadn't you ever done this before? It felt so...right. As you swayed to the music, everything seemed frozen in time and nothing mattered but this moment - him. This was where you were supposed to be the entire time. Home was in his arms, home was Frankie.

After what seemed like a small eternity, you pulled back and looked at him, his eyes searching yours as well. He stopped and his hands found your face as he gently traced over your features, a smile gracing his own. You put your hands on his wrists, trying to control your breathing as you stared at each other, lost in your little world.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned up and kissed him. And this time it wasn't some quick or rushed brush of lips - no this was slow and meaningful, every feeling and emotion poured it. It just felt so perfect, so right, like the two of you had been doing this for ages and ages, not the first time. You wished it would never end, that you could spend an eternity wrapped up in his arms.

"I am so in love with you," he whispered against your lips when you finally pulled apart for a breath of air, "and I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for years."

"I...I love you, Frankie," you grinned at him, "its always been you...I just never knew how to say it. I was scared...nervous."

"Sweet Honey Bee," he stole another kiss, this one sweet and saccharine, "how could it be anyone but you?"

"Frankie…" his name was a soft, reverent whisper as you melted into his touch, "I don't even know what to say…"

"I'm hoping you'll say yes to getting out of here and getting a pizza and some beers and relaxing back at mine? Just like usual," he suggested as you nodded eagerly, "there's one more thing."

"Anything."

"I want to kiss you," he grinned, "like a lot more. I feel like an idiot for not doing that sooner.

"That's a guarantee, love," you promised him, "kisses and a lot more than that."

"God, you're amazing," he grinned as you started to pull him away and to the exit, "I wish I would have told you years ago."

"We were both fools," you admitted, "but think of all the time we have to make up for! And besides - you're always worth waiting for, Francisco!"

He was awestruck as he just stared at you before running after you and scooping you up in his arms and carrying you bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you grinned at him like a lovestruck fool - which, you supposed, you were.

"I love you, Honey Bee."

"I love you, Francisco."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#Frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #forever-rogue's follower celebration #triple frontier #will my Frankie ever not call his love honey bee? no 😌

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abovethesmokestacks · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss Me

Title: Kiss Me

Pairing: Captain Syverson x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Very intense kissing? Some grinding?

I am back on my Henry bullshit, this time with the lovely Captain Syverson. As with my last Henry fic, this came about from a discussion with Brooke, which led to a personalized fic, and she graciously okayed me posting it as a reader insert for the rest of you to enjoy. Partly inspired by the video of strangers kissing for the first time. And if this guy were the one I’d get to kiss? Hold on while I go full koala on him.

The early afternoon sun had seemed blistering when she left her apartment, and the sundress had been the obvious option; light, breezy material, a pretty pattern that combined comfort and style. The sun had nothing on the man sitting down opposite her now, radiating a kind of warmth and confidence that had heat creeping up her chest and neck, her fingers fiddling in her lap.

It had been a spur of the moment decision, an audition call shared by a recent acquaintance on Instagram. Film majors at the nearby college needed volunteers for a course project, weekend appointments, no experience needed, come as you are. Sounded fun, her weekends were mostly open anyway. What could possibly go wrong. She had messaged the contact person, gotten an address and a time to show up.

The first shock, admittedly, had come as she was signed in, given a form to fill out, detailing the project. She. Was going to kiss. A stranger. In front of cameras. For a film project.

“Miss? Are you alright?” The bubbly brunette who had signed her in, Abigail, according to the name tag tacked to her t-shirt, had looked at her, and she realized she must have made a sound.

“No! No, I'm fine, I- I just didn’t realize I’d- That this was-”

“Oh! Oh, you’ll be fine, there will be people in the room, you'll be safe as houses, darling, we won't say your names, that'll be up to you to share if you want.” The twang of her accent had was oddly comforting, but her heart was still racing, and suddenly, the handful of people lined up sitting in the corridor seemed all the more dangerous. She was going to kiss one of them. Fuck. Hastily, she'd filled out the rest of the form, handing it back and taking the number given, finding the nearest chair and trying to rifle through her purse as discreetly as she could for a chewing gum or a breath mint.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She had nearly launched out of her seat when her number was called, probably doing a credible impression of a deer caught in headlights. Abigail had smiled at her, motioning for her to follow.

“I promise, you will be fine. Our project manager wanted to explore the intimacy of the first kiss, what happens in those seconds before.”

“Why strangers?”

“It’s more… honest,” Abigail had said. “Couples know each other, know what to expect. They are comfortable. And it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing sweeter. I still remember my grandpa kissing my grandma goodnight when my brother and I would stay over when we were kids, the absolute comfort and love between them. But strangers, they don’t know what to expect. There’s a level of trust between them, courage to take the leap.”

That’s… She couldn’t decide if that eased her mind or set it racing even more. She’d simply nodded, letting Abigail lead her to a door a little way ahead, unlocking it for her.

“You can leave your purse on the table on the right when you enter. Then go sit in one of the chairs. I’ll bring the guy in shortly. The camera will start rolling as soon as he sits down, you can introduce yourself if you want, just your name, doesn't even have to be your real one if you don't want to, and you can share whatever else you feel comfortable sharing and then…”

“Then we kiss.”

It had seemed so simple, so straightforward in all its terrifying simplicity.

At first, there is only the outline of him, stark against the light outside the room and showing a muscular frame with tensed shoulders and a wary gait. Folding her hands in her lap, she picks at the fabric of her dress, folding the skirt into tight pleats between her fingers, following the man as he inches closer. Dark jeans that reveal long legs and thick thighs, a worn t-shirt tucked into them that stretches over a chest that is… impressive. His face, though… His face is what sets her heart fluttering all anew. A strong jaw, hidden under a neatly trimmed beard, a slightly pouty lower lip and a perfect cupid’s bow. His nose looks like it may have been broken once, but it’s been set pretty well, lends character to his face, enhanced by the clear blue of his eyes that focus in on her. His hair is short, curling a little at the ends, but kept as neat as his beard, almost like a military man, but she can spot no chain around his neck that would hold his dog tags.

And then, he’d walked in.

She barely hears the murmur to her left when the cameras start rolling.

He doesn’t speak until he’s sitting down, gaze on her, softening a little as he holds out a hand.

“Ca- Shit, sorry. No names, right?” He looks at her, almost a little scared that he’s messed up, and it is far too endearing for such a rugged man.

Without hesitation, she gives her first name, her real first name, a little surprised at herself for offering it along with her hand. His hand is calloused, warm and big, her own palm almost drowning in his clasp when he takes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The man laughs, releasing her hand and relaxing in his seat. “Sy. Nice to meet you, too. Pardon me if I'm being rude, but you don't sound like you're from around here.”

“Here for work for the next couple of months. Gotta say, you've got a pretty good ear.”

His eyes sparkle, a smile tugging at his lips, and god, the heat rises in her again, different from the apprehension that had her worked up just moments ago. He is the kind of man that draws you in, that can make you melt with a look, and she is fading fast. She is going to kiss him. He is going to kiss her.

“I won't hold it against you," Sy quips, hands resting on his thighs, and god, she wants to feel them on her.

"Me not being from around here? Or are we talking about something else?"

"Well, I was thinking the first..."

His words trail off, the suggestion hanging heavy in the silence. It feels like it stretches an eternity between them, but it's probably no more than five seconds. She's about to ask if they should start, if she should move, but Sy is looking at her, gaze wandering, assessing. The way he takes her in,i's not objectifying or greedy, not judgmental. It's… curiosity. Assessing her, planning his move, appreciating her, and she can feel it, feel his gaze move up and down her face, when it dips down for a fraction to her chest.

Everything fades with his first move. There are no cameras, no people, no one but them. Sy moves slowly, deliberately, scooting to sit on the edge of the chair, knee knocking against hers. It's electric, making her flinch and gasp, and that seems to please him. His hand comes up to rest on her knee, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, locking eyes with her, willing her to relax.

"There we go…" Sy croons when she lets out a small sigh, his voice low and velvety. "Just relax. 'S just you an' me here. Don’t need to think about the rest of ‘em.. I'll be good, darlin', you can trust me. Isn't that right?"

She can only nod, inching towards the edge of her own chair, drawn into his warmth, the gentle timbre of his voice, the smolder behind the blue of his eyes.

"Yeah, that’s right, sugar. C’mon, come closer.”

His voice is hypnotic, not quite a purr, not quite a rumble, but it begs to be obeyed. She leans in closer, the two of them mirroring each other, and the tension is no longer in his shoulder, but sparking between them. His measured breaths fan lightly against her skin, and though everything in her should, by all logic, tell her to run, she finds herself relaxing. Sy’s thumb keeps working tight little circles, and he moves slowly, giving her plenty of time to see his intentions, and God, she welcomes it, tilts her head to welcome him.

It’s no explosion of stars or fireworks. His lips are a little chapped, but he knows how to kiss, working against her in soft pressure and the tease of his tongue along the seam of her lips. It’s not forcing the kiss, just giving her the option, showing that he is offering. When his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, she can’t help the needy whine that escapes her, and Sy smiles into the kiss, deepens it a little, swipes his tongue along her lips again.

She opens, happily surrendering, feeling him push back, soothing his thumb along her cheekbone. He kisses like she is the one thing he has been longing for, his happily ever after at the end of a long adventure. She kisses like he is the single point of stability in a storm, the one safe harbour in the entire world. Their spaces intertwine, slowly phasing and his one hand on her cheek is nowhere near enough. She pushes, Sy gives, and in one fluid moment and a happy sigh, she has straddled his lap, slinging her arms around his neck. She’s not letting go, not leaving this moment, and it’s almost like triumph when he embraces her, palms splaying on her back and she can feel the warmth through the thin material of her dress.

It’s a kiss for the ages, and they’re both hungry, both taking what the other gives freely. Sy’s hands wander, his fingertips teasing at the neckline to brush against heated skin, and she digs short, manicured nails into the skin of his neck, revelling in the groan he lets out. He pulls her closer, and oh. Her stomach does a somersault, a surprised giggle punctuating their kiss. Under her, Sy is hard, and the brief contact makes her all too aware of just how damp her panties have gotten.

There’s a less than discreet cough, and it pops their bubble, their gazes both snapping to the sound.

Right.

The film crew are standing behind their gear, some squirming, clearly a little uncomfortable. Sy gives a laugh, and it’s hard not to follow. She still feels winded from the kiss, head swimming, and she touches her forehead to his, biting her lower lip.

“I think we… might have overdone it,” she whispers, lips brushing against his cheek.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Sy agrees, his shoulders shuddering with poorly disguised mirth. He looks up at the film crew, “So, are we good?”

“Yup, great! We’re really- we’re good, you guys can, uh… Yeah. Good. Thanks. Um. Yeah. Great.”

They both laugh again at the awkward crew member, and she slowly eases off Sy’s lap. It’s too much of a temptation not to glance down, to raise an eyebrow at the visible bulge pressing against his jeans. He gives her a mock-chiding look before getting up himself, taking care to not face the crew as he falls into step next to her.

“Look,” he says as soon as they are out of the building, wringing his hands as he walks, “I know we just met, and that… that back there was for a project. But, god, sugar, you got my head spinning all kinds of ways, and I… it would be rude to ask to continue right away where we left off, much as I… god, I would really, really like to kiss you again, and… other things… But maybe you would be okay with a date? Anywhere you want. You can get to know me better. I’ll answer any questions you have, I’ll bring character references, I’ll pay for dinner and dessert, whatever you want.”

Halting, she tilts her head and looks up at him. The steely look that had assessed her when he’d entered the room is gone, as is most of the smoldering passion when their kiss had broken. It still lingers in his eyes, simmering behind the hope that made them glitter.

“You’ll answer any question?” she asks, smiling at the way he eagerly nods. “Is your name really Sy?”

“Yes. Well, technically. Syverson’s my last name, so Sy’s just a nickname.”

“And your first name? You started saying something else when you came in.”

“No, that was… I was in the army for a couple of years,” he explained, pulling up one of the sleeves of his shirt to show an army insignia tattooed on his bulging bicep. She bites her tongue, wondering if he had any other tattoos on his body, almost missing when Sy continues speaking, “-made it to captain before I got my honourable discharge. Just became a force of habit to introduce myself as Captain Syverson.”

“So, you’d bring one of your army buddies as your character reference?” She slows down to a stop, clasping her hands in front of herself. “I suppose now that you’re out of the army they wouldn’t feel as compelled to make you look good.”

Sy mirrors her, feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped in front of him, and yeah, now she can see it, the posture. Definitely army guy. “No, no, god no! The guys in my unit would sooner throw me under the bus if I asked them to vouch for me in front of a pretty lady.”

“Oh, then who’d get the honour?” she asks, blushing at his compliment.

“When you signed in, there was a girl, right? Brown hair?”

“Abigail.”

“Abby,” Sy says, glancing back towards the building. “She’s my sister. Talked me into coming today, said they needed more people.”

“She must have something major hanging over you if she got you to agree to this.” Her voice is light, joking a she inches closer to him.

“Well…” Sy drawls, taking a step forward and gently grasping her hand, “I was promised a really good kiss.”

“A really good kiss, huh?”

Just like before, he makes the first move, hooking his finger under her chin and holding her still while he closes the space, capturing her lips in another kiss. It’s searing, slowly setting her afire, and she wants it, wants him, wants everything he’s giving and everything he’s offering. He keeps it short, and she can feel herself get up on her tippy toes to get more, and damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She bites her lower lip.

“So how about that date, huh, darlin’?” Sy husks out, and fuck, she can hear the smile in his voice.

“I can pick the place?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And I can pick the time?”

“Any time you want.”

She reaches out, puts a hand on his neck, drags her fingers along warm skin and pulls him down to whisper in his ear.

“Your place. Right now. And dinner… is on me.”

#Kiss Me #Captain Syverson x reader #Syverson x reader #Sand Castle fanfiction

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guro-giri-letters · 4 years ago

Note

imagine... the dabi hair dye scenario but one of the league finds/sees him and decides to help? my heart

(SO, I totally meant this to be shorter but I got a little in my feels. Plus the lowkey Dabi and Mr Compress friendship is so underrated, I adore it. Anyway, here it is, a little comfort fic.)

The Boy Can't Cry - By Guro. ♡

/Dabi gets overwhelmed dying his hair to cover up his past and Mr Compress comes to his aid. Any fics like this where it’s just the league interacting together I’m going to lovingly tag ‘League of Family’. Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; Dabi being emotionally unstable, some cursing, Mr Compress being fatherly, friendship, league of family. ♡/

“How can a man head a group of villains…” Sako murmurs aloud to himself, pulling another card from the messy pile upon the small table between his knees. Sighing, he flicks it into one of several other smaller piles he’s made around the main one, tsk-ing to himself quietly. “...but he can’t keep a pack of cards together. Really.”

Pure boredom, and an inability to get himself over to sleep, is what inspired one Mr Compress to take up and look through Shigaraki’s deck. It’s late in the night now, maybe early morning, and he’s sorting each of the cards into their respective groups by lamplight. It’s a comfortable, mindless task, the showman dressed down to his shirtsleeves and balaclava. In the rare quiet he lets his mind wander, and wonders where Shigaraki had gotten the cards from.

Had he stolen them? Or were they given to him? Gifts from his master, maybe. Either way dearly cherished, he decides, running his thumb over the faded face of an ace of hearts. He’s pondering still when the quick tip-tap of feet on metal steps reaches his ears.

“Mr Compress!”

Blinking, he lays down his hand and turns to find Toga halfway down the rickety staircase, hand cupped around her mouth dramatically as she whisper-yells. Her eyes are big and wide in the dim light, uncharacteristically appearing almost… frightened? What? Right away Sako is on edge, cards forgotten. “What is it dear?” He asks, lowering his own voice in response to her whispers. His worry only grows as Toga’s lips seem to tremble, looking over her shoulder before back to her elder.

“It’s Dabi…” She replies quietly, hugging her arms around her nightdress-clad self. “Somethings wrong with Dabi.”

Sako isn’t sure what he’s seeing at first as he nudges in the bathroom door. Toga is at his back, gripping his sleeve and peering around his side as the door falls slowly open. The old tiled room is lit by dim, yellowed light, and he can just make out Dabi’s shape hunched over the tub at the far end. “He keeps talking to himself-” She murmurs, only to jump at the sound of an open growl, Dabi’s form twisting to glare over his shoulder in their direction from the shadows.

“Get out, Toga.” The burnt man snarls, sending the girl flying away without hesitation. Sako watches her go, a little shocked at her fear in the face of her own comrade. Dabi doesn’t even seem to be looking right at the doorway, stark blue eyes wide and lost. Vacant. Thick, inky black lines run down his face and throat, dripping off of his chin. What the hell is he doing?

“What’s going on, man?” Sako demands, crossing the threshold and approaching Dabi where he kneels. “What’s gotten into you? You’re scaring Toga.”

“Fuck you.” Dabi snaps back, fingers digging into his hair. The same black sits in smudges over the back of his neck, staining his pale fingers. In the dark it almost seems like the villain has been infected, taken over by some dark, miasmic mess. Squinting up, Sako reaches and with a gloved hand, twists the hanging bulb around in it’s socket. Suddenly the room is filled with brighter light, everything coming into focus, and he looks down at Dabi.

His eyes widen a fraction.

Dabi’s coat lies discarded on the dingy floor at his side, the villain kneeling, almost unnaturally bent over the shallow bathtub. His body is shaking, chest expanding and falling rapidly as he scrapes at his own scalp. His hands are trembling, veins visibly risen up on their backs. It seems like he’s working the blackness into his hair almost desperately, hushed words falling barely audible from his lips. “-away. Get away.”

“Dabi?” Sako tries again. And this time he gets a reaction; Dabi’s head twisting to glare in a manner almost animalistic. The black has run in streams down his face and into his eyes, scleras bloodshot deep red and burning. He can’t even see right now, Sako realises, without the ability to produce tears to get rid of the chemicals. Being so close for the first time, he takes note of the sparse, white hairs appearing in his league-mates' thin brows. Oh.

“Get out, Compress. Get out-”

“Do you need help?” He ignores Dabi’s demands easily. The young man isn’t himself right now, and his voice is hoarse, even more gravelly than usual. In response to his question Dabi’s hands clench in his hair, tight, tendons bulging as his knuckles turn white. Sako can hear the strands tearing and grabs for Dabi’s quivering hands. “Good God, man. Stop it!”

“Get off of me!” Dabi practically howls, twisting out of the older man’s grip and slipping, slumping shoulder-first against the side of the tub. He seems to deflate all at once, his head hanging low. Sako can only stare at him, his heart pounding with adrenaline and hands still outstretched, Dabi’s breath comes quick and loud, his own hands coming up to cover his face. He’s an utter mess, what Sako has now deduced to be black dye staining his hands, shirt. Everything. A stretch of silence passes between them, and then Dabi makes the last noise his companion expected to hear.

For a moment he thinks Dabi is laughing, finding some kind of twisted amusement in all of this. But then it starts coming louder, his shoulders shaking, chest and throat convulsing uncontrollably. A dry, hacking cough leaves his throat before he presses his palms harder against his face, knees pulling in close to his body. A noise like barely concealed sobbing reaches Sako’s ears.

He’s crying.

Well… no, the boy can’t cry. He knows this; Dabi’s tear ducts have been damaged beyond repair for years now. But his body still betrays him, shuddering through bouts of broken weeping, dredged up from somewhere deep inside of him. It feels almost wrong, Sako thinks, to see him so vulnerable. It’s clear he’s witnessing something deeply personal. A moment of distress so jarring that Dabi holds fast onto his own arms and curls in on himself, almost like he’s trying to comfort himself.

Almost like he’s done this a hundred times before.

The feeling of Sako’s arm wrapping around his shoulders makes Dabi jerk, looking up with bleary eyes as he stoops down to his level. “What are you doing?” He snaps weakly, but there’s no real conviction in it. His nose is running, his voice broken up. Whatever kind of mental breakdown Dabi is currently having, the older man simply can’t bring himself to leave him. Doesn’t want to leave him to fall apart on his own.

“Quiet.” He admonishes, crouching before Dabi and pulling him closer bodily, so that his head comes to rest on Sako’s shoulder. Still breathing raggedly, Dabi stares at a space somewhere on the wall beyond Sako’s shoulder for a while before his eyes close, a worn out sigh leaving his lungs in pieces. No attempt is made to shove him away this time. He gives in.

At one point in his life, another entertainer had told Sako that when a child hugged them, they should never be the first to let go. ‘Because you never know how badly they might need it’, they had said. Keeping his arms around Dabi and remembering that message, he tightens his grip a touch, resigning himself to remaining in a crouch and getting sore knees. Not that Dabi is willing to be held for very long. He pulls away with a sniff, hand on Sako’s shoulder to keep himself steady. “Fuck- my eyes.”

He’s not wrong. His eyelids are irritated and swollen, both his regular skin and the grafts beneath. Sighing, Sako loosens his grip and lets Dabi lean back, against the side of the tub. “Put your head over.” He advises, straightening to his feet and pulling off his ruined gloves.

“Why?” Dabi rasps.

“To wash the chemicals out of your eyes, Dabi.”

Dabi considers this with a glance at the dirty tiles then nods his head once. He looks, to put it in a word, drained, straightening himself up and turning to rest his elbows on the tub's edge. Sako watches him as he finishes rolling up his sleeves, shaking his head slightly.

“Where on earth do you young people find the energy to get so worked up?” He chides, not cruelly, turning the faucet and cupping his hand beneath the sluggish flow of water. With his free hand he brings Dabi’s head over the lip of the tub with a nudge, and brings his cupped hand to the fire-user's face. Dabi hisses but doesn’t recoil as Sako rinses the remnants of dye from his face and eyes, pausing only to say; “I’ll do your hair.” and washing the remainder from his unruly mane. His skin will stain for a while, but it’ll wash away in time. He’ll be alright.

To his credit, Dabi has stopped shuddering and seems to be slowly coming down. Slumped against the lip of the tub he lets out a long, slow breath, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hold it, I’m almost done.”

With the sting in his eyes finally dulling, Dabi cracks them open halfway to watch the blue-black water flow down the drain. His throat feels suddenly raw, aching. His face hurts.

“Compress.” It hurts to talk. Jesus.

Sako shuts the water off when Dabi’s hair is running mostly clear, a brow arching beneath his balaclava. “Yes?”

“...don’t- Don’t go telling them.” He manages, fingers twitching where he holds the edge of the tub. “I don’t-”

“I understand.” Offering the cleanest looking towel in the room, Sako gives Dabi a faint smile, nodding when he pulls it from his grip. “It’s not for us to know… Are you alright?”

Dabi rises slowly, using the ledge to pull himself up before rubbing at his freshly dyed hair. There’s a moment of hesitation, then; “Yeah… thanks, Compress.”

Sako smiles fully now, spreading his arms and giving a short bow. “I do what I can.”

Dabi snorts, pulls the towel down around his shoulders. “I owe you, I guess.”

“Well… how do you fancy aiding my endeavours to organize Shigaraki’s card collection?”

“No thanks.”

“Understandable.”

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graceverse · 4 years ago

Text

Here Be That EniKao Fic I Told You All About

Please note that this is post "The Final" movie. This happened around 2 months after Kenshin and Enishi's fight. AND OH MY GOD, this is my first RK fic since what? 2017?! It has happened and I would like to thank Mackenyu for making this possible. LOL.

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An Unexpected Invitation

Winter and spring had passed quietly without much excitement. Which was exactly what the occupants of the Kamiya Dojo, and indeed the residents of Tokyo, needed. After much turmoil from the previous year, the quiet restful months have allowed everyone to heal from their wounds.

Physical injuries were all but gone now. No one was wearing any bandages, no one was limping around, clutching a broken shoulder or needing a change of bloody bindings.

Megumi has finally been able to get a decent enough stock of bandages and ointment for the actual patients of the Ouguni Clinic. A feat she didn't think was possible especially since everyone seemed to have been incapacitated in the aftermath of Yukishiro's Jinchuu.

"You're all a troublesome bunch." She told them when she'd given everyone a clean bill of health. She haughtily tossed her hair, looking imperiously down at them. "Next time, you're replacing everything that you'll use up in the clinic."

"Just let Sano take you out for dinner as payment." Yahiko suggested. Boldy too, since he had never really tried teasing Megumi before.

Megumi didn't seem to mind as she actually winked at him before turning to give Sano a look. "Dinner, eh? Sagara Sanosuke can afford dinner?" If she had any eyebrows, it would have disappeared up into her bangs. But the curl of her lips was enough to let Sano know that she was merely teasing him.

"Jou-chan would lend me money, right Jou-chan?" He sidled up to her, elbowing her and making faces that Kaoru supposed was meant to make him look like an adorable puppy, but failing miserably with the still darkened bruises on his face. His spiked-up hair did nothing to help his cause.

"I will most certainly not!" Kaoru indignantly crossed her arms, sending both Sano and Megumi a glare.

"I'd rather that Kenshin take me to dinner, ne Ken-san?" Cool hands snaked around his arms and Kenshin was quick to jump away from Megumi's clutches.

"Why you-"

"Maa, maa -" Kenshin said, raising his hands, trying to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.

As usual, they all ignored him; insults and intimidations of violence were quickly tossed around which ended when Kaoru actually promised Sanosuke that she will give him the money he needed just to shut Megumi up and make her stop acting so inappropriately towards Kenshin.

To which Megumi had answered with a laugh, sultry enough to make both Kaoru and Sano blush. Chaos ensued and Kenshin reveled in the happiness that stirred inside of him as he watched his friends chase each other, threatening murder and all sorts of physical pain.

It was good to be back.

-----------

All traces of the violence and destruction from last winter was gone. It was as if it that night of chaos and fire, explosions and screams piercing through the night, the ghostly air balloons silently stalking the sky had become more like a nightmare that had faded away.

It was now the height of summer, the humidity so unbearable that even when Kaoru had changed the schedule of her classes to the hour of the hare, ("too damn early, busu!" Yahiko had complained), by the mid-morning everyone was drenched with sweat, limp and tired.

Classes were dismissed by noon which gave her ample time to take a long, cooling bath and sit at the engawa eating watermelons while watching Kenshin do the laundry or the gardening or whatever household chore he fancied for the day.

Today however had been hotter than usual and Kaoru briefly wished that she was alone at the dojo so she could changed into something more lightweight, like a yukata.

A slightly opened yukata.

She missed those days when she could just lie down, arms and legs thrown around and not have a care in the world about propriety. It was a constant learning process and test of patience living with two grown men and a young boy on the verge of manhood.

She could not understand how her father had dealt with so many hotheaded, pigheaded, sweaty, untidy – well, except for Kenshin – scoundrels.

Ugh!

Sighing heavily, she closed her eyes, leaning her head against one of the columns of the engawa, her socked feet listlessly swinging at the edge. If only there was tiny little breeze to alleviate this heat. She wanted very much to loosen the summer kimono that she was wearing.

She'd been planning on going to The Akabeko later. It was the only reason why she had dressed up today. Tae-san had promised her that she'd prepare anmitsu and Kaoru could already taste the sweet red bean paste inside her mouth, but as the day progressed it had become too hot that she could barely move from her spot.

Even Kenshin had decided not to do any outdoor activity, quietly sitting beside her instead. Apparently feeling the same kind of stupor that had descended upon them.

It was the kind of heat that robbed you of thought and speech and Kaoru had been imagining dipping into a tub filled with ice cold water when the sound of bells and sirens blasted through the tepid air.

Another fire.

There have been small conflagrations around the city, what with the heat and people being addled by it, someone was always bound to fall asleep with a lit cigarette or mothers too distracted by the heatwave would leave matches lying around for bored children to play with. Easily put out without much fuss but when she'd look up, startled by the sound, she could see dark plumes in the sky, getting bigger by the second.

"It looks like that's from the docks." Kaoru murmured, sitting up straight.

"That it does, Kaoru-dono." There's an almost sleepy quality in Kenshin's voice, low and raw from not having spoken for a quite a while, but she sensed his alertness as he stood up, grimly looking at the cloud of smoke that had impossibly become larger at such a short amount of time. Before Kaoru could say anything, Kenshin had stepped off the engawa, already sliding his zori on.

"Kenshin-" she had started to stand up as well, but Kenshin had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, stilling her.

"Please stay here, Kaoru-dono. It is too hot, that it is. Yahiko and I will go check if we could be of any help." His eyes are narrowed, an unpleasant thought obviously occurring to him but Kaoru didn't think that a fire, a safe distance from their home, should be of any concern.

"Don't over exert yourself Kenshin." She told him, the warning tone in her voice softened his eyes, the corners crinkling as he very visibly tried not to smile.

"I mean it, Kenshin." She added a little more firmly, fighting the urge to grab on to the ends of Kenshin's hair and pull on it just to show him how serious she was. "Absolutely no running inside burning buildings. None of that foolishness. I forbid it, Kenshin."

Kenshin's eyes gleamed at her. "Aa, Kaoru-dono, this one promise to stay behind the police line, that I do."

A blatant lie. The insufferable jerk. But Kaoru was too tired to argue and she only gave him her mightiest glare, one that was enough to make Sano squirm.

It apparently does not work on Kenshin as he merely reached out to briefly pat the top of her hand, his fingers lingering for just a few second more and Kaoru suddenly felt all hot inside. Like she had swallowed a whole taiyaki fresh from the oven and now it was idly swimming inside her stomach. She felt her whole face heating up and was rewarded with a genuinely amused smile from Kenshin who had leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch, head bowed down that she couldn't even see his eyes.

She felt herself freeze, her heart stuttering inside her chest. Kenshin seemed to have sensed this as he slowly, almost languidly, pulled back, the same amused smile still on his face before murmuring a quick goodbye.

She reluctantly let him go, trying not to worry so much as she watched as Kenshin waiting for Yahiko by the gate, ready to provide some much-needed assistance to the Tokyo Police.

Once they have closed the gate behind them, Kaoru sent a quick prayer to Kami-sama that no one was hurt from the fire and that her boys would come back unharmed.

She let her lids drop, trying to recapture that emotion she had felt when Kenshin had nearly invaded her private space. He'd never done that before…she wondered if it was brought upon the heatwave or something that he had seen in her face – when she had been imagining tugging at his hair…

Kaoru took a deep breath her eyes suddenly snapping open as she realized that she was finally alone. She let out a lazy smile as she pulled on the collar of her kimono, loosening it a bit. She let herself lay down, sprawled on the engawa, enjoying the little comfort it gave her.

--------

A shadow loomed over her.

It took her a second to realize that she had fallen asleep and the presence of someone looking down made her sit up, grabbing the nearest object she could reach to use as weapon: it was an emptied tea cup, utterly useless but she threw it with all of her might, hoping that in her still half-asleep state, her aim would be good enough.

It wasn't.

A hand caught it with ease and then a glint of light caught her eyes as she stared up into the face of Yukishiro Enishi, casually staring down at her as he pushed the bridge of his eyeglasses up to his nose, his other hand crushing the tea cup in his fist.

Kaoru let out a small gasp, realizing that that was her favorite and most expensive cup. Kenshin always took great care when handling it and now it has been turned into dust.

The indignant scream of rage that had wanted to escape her throat was swallowed down as Enishi wordlessly tossed something at her feet, it made a soft sound as it hit the wooden floor. Scrambling to sit up she glared at the object only to find out that it was Tomoe-san's diary.

She frowned and then slowly turned to look up at Kenshin's possibly deranged brother-in-law, now apparently escaped from prison, fugitive brother-in-law.

This could not be happening to her.

"I'm dreaming." She muttered darkly, more to herself, ignoring the man standing before her. She reached out to touch the diary, but pulled her hand at the last minute, her fingers curling in mid air before digging into the plump flesh of her palms. "I just need to wake up and everything will be fine." She closed her eyes, wondering rather inanely, if closing one's eyes would work when trying to wake up, wasn't she supposed to be doing the opposite? But -

Enishi was not cooperating. "I've read it." He told her, breaking the silence and forcing her to once again open her eyes, back to the dream. He was looking at her as though they were having some conversation that she had missed entirely because, what?!

"What?" She asked, equal parts perplexed and irritated at her inability to wake herself up.

"Nee-san's diary. I read it like you told me to." Enishi's voice held the same quality as Kenshin's earlier. A low rumble that sounded too unused and raw. Like those were the first words he had uttered since the last time she had seen him at his ruined garden, clutching at his stomach, sobbing Tomoe's name. He looked strangely normal all things considered. He was wearing an unusually bright orange Chinese robe that made Kaoru squint.

Kami-sama. She brought her hand to the side of her head, pressing hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

And then completely out of nowhere, in an almost toneless, disinterested voice, Yukishiro Enishi asked her: "Are you married now?"

Again, "What?!"

Enishi frowned at her. "Am I not making myself clear, Kamiya-san?" Now he was impatient, the tone of his voice changing into something that sounded suspiciously patronizing.

Kaoru absolutely hated being treated like she was a child. "Shut-up." She hissed at him. "What are you doing here?"

Enishi made a displeased sound at the back of his throat, "Why is your kimono open, Kamiya-san?"

Why is my -?

Kaoru felt her left eye violently twitching before letting out a shrieked loud enough to disturb their neighbors, it was a wonder no one came rushing in to check if she was alright. Kaoru had the presence of mind to clutch at her kimono, closing the tiniest of gaps that Enishi deemed improper. The stupid jerk. He couldn't have seen anything.

She took a deep breath, both hands clenching into tight fists as she gathered all of the swearwords Sanosuke had taught her and was about to let Enishi have them when something inside her head clicked.

She blinked up at her former captor who looked almost friendly, if it weren't for the stoic expression on his face that might actually surpass the permanently emotionless face of Shinamori-san. "The fire, that was you?!"

Enishi merely shrugged, untroubled by her accusation. "It was an old, hideous building. Abandoned." He added when Kaoru opened her mouth to protest, "I did Tokyo a favor."

A favor?! Kaoru wondered how exactly Enishi's head worked. How was deliberately burning a building –

"It was the green one with the stupid yellow door." He explained further, seeing the balled-up fists that Kaoru was shaking at him.

Kaoru saw the building inside her head and winced. It was incredibly ugly and she had complained about it to Tae-san about how much of an eye sore it was and she wished someone would just burn it to the ground but hadn't meant it literally!

She suddenly jumped up when she noticed Enishi stepping into the engawa.

Going into her Chūdan-no-kamae stance, her left foot just a few inches behind her right foot, her left heel elevated, hip thrust forward. Her shoulder was too tense though and she had to concentrate, trying to relax her shoulders.

She took deep breaths, readying herself for any attack. She didn't have her bokken with her, dammit, but she wasn't going to be taken without a fight. Not again. Never again. If she had to claw out Enishi's eyes or shove his glasses to his eyeballs, she'd do it.

"Stay back." Kaoru hissed at Enishi as he took another step towards her. "I will not let you take me again."

Enishi frowned at her. "Take you? Why would you think I'd want to take you?" He asked in a tone that suggested something entirely different to Kaoru, she just didn't know what, which further annoyed her. This was too weird to be a dream.

Yukishiro Enishi was really here. Again. In her dojo. And he made damn certain that no one was with her but he didn't want to take her.

Why couldn't Kenshin's brother-in-law be Yahiko's age?! She'd have a better way of dealing with that instead of this brown eyed, six feet, bulging muscles of insanity - Kaoru shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "What do you want then, you creep?"

Enishi merely raised his eyebrows, a dark severe line, in complete contrast to his disheveled white hair. "Is this how you normally react when asked if you're already married?"

Kaoru's jaw dropped. A hummingbird can probably fly inside and make a nest inside her mouth. She quickly clamped it shut before, letting out a battle cry: "You jerk! That's not of your business!" She lunged at Enishi, who smoothly slid out of her way and she tried another attack, swiping her feet from underneath him, which he also dodged by jumping away from her. He backed into the dojo and Kaoru followed, grabbing a bokken. Finally, a weapon she could use. She grinned in triumph and prepared to attack once again.

The bastard didn't even break a sweat as he effortless avoided her blows – and if he hadn't, she would've cracked his head. The whistling sound her bokken made every time she swung it towards Enishi filled the air.

Still, he sidestepped, graceful and damn it, oh so elegantly. It was almost as if he was dancing, his feet light and silent.

"Kuso, stay still!" Kaoru ordered, completely losing her patience, panting like a wild boar.

And the stupid fucking Yukishiro smirked at her.

Smirked! She was going to wipe that off of his beautiful face.

Wait.

WHAT?!

"I take it you aren't married yet." Enishi finally said, stepping into the line of her attack.

Gotcha!

But of course, like before, his hands clamped around her bokken, snatching it from her with restrained viciousness and throwing it somewhere against the wall where it noisily clattered.

Completely unperturbed by the events, Enishi then very casually asked her, "Do you want to go to Shanghai with me, Kamiya-san?"

And Kaoru thought, not for the first time in her life, that she was cursed to deal with incorrigible men that she would very much like to whack with her bokken.

Mou!

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

Author's Note:

And that is what I have so far. I don't know what to do with it. Anyway, tell me what you think. This fic is borne out of the sheer frustration of The Final and how Jinchuu Arc, which I am now calling the Cursed Arc for obvious reasons– had been - watered down seems too kind, ne?

But I'll rant some more if I can manage to have a second chapter up. Maybe.

Lastly, I typed this all up really fast while pretending to work so, if there are any typos, annoying grammatical errors, I promise I'll come back and try to fix them. I hope.

Translations and notes:

The hour of the hare: 6:00 a.m.

Anmitsu is a traditional Japanese dessert, traced back to the Meiji era (1868 to 1912). It consists of cubes of agar jelly, which are made using water and/or different fruit juices. Typically served in a bowl, with toppings like slices of fruit and sweet red bean paste. The dessert is also served with a sweet black syrup, kuromitsu,(the -mitsu in anmitsu) that's poured over the treat just before you enjoy it.

Taiyaki - Fish shaped cakes filled with anko (red bean paste)

Chūdan-no-kamae is the middle posture used in kenjutsu. The most basic stance, it allows for a balance between attacking and defense. When performed correctly, the practitioner's trunk and right wrist are protected

#enikao #enishi x kaoru #kenkao #kenshin x kaoru x enishi love triangle of death #kidding #sort of #take this The Final #hahaha #no really #rurouni kenshin fanfic #rurouni kenshin #i'm done

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hopelesshawks · 4 years ago

Text

Physical Fatality Part 11- Pettiness

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Masterlist

Ever since your removal from the task force both All Might and Endeavor have decided to be more involved in it on a managerial level. Which is really just a nice way of saying that the two are micromanaging and Hawks has never wished so hard for two people to just fucking retire already. Let Midoriya and Shoto take over and let the agencies finally enter a new fucking era without the ridiculous pettiness. “Hey bird boy,” a voice singsongs.

Speaking of petty...

“Has the fact you’re almost single-handedly ruining her career affected you and (y/n)‘s relationship yet?” Monoma asks Hawks cheerily.

He, Hawks, and Bakugo are standing on a rooftop staking out a nearby building not far from the downtown area that’s suspected as being a new base of operations for the group responsible for the attempted terrorist attack. Midoriya, Todoroki, and Tokoyami are at a different building on the other side of town. This is a perfect example of why Endeavor and All Might’s micromanaging is only making the task force’s job more difficult. The two of them had insisted on choosing the teams and somehow neither of them had considered how bad an idea it was to put your ex fiancé on the same team as your current boyfriend. Brilliant. Truly fucking brilliant. Monoma has made petty jab after petty jab since the moment they left the office and it is starting to really grind away at Hawks’ nerves.

Hawks has been trying to be the bigger person, he really has. Things are finally in a good place with you again and he really doesn’t want to fuck that up, regardless of how much of an ass Monoma is being. He should really be given an award for the immense amount of patience and restraint he’s been showing. But that particular jeer? That particular jeers rings a little too close to home. Because yes things are finally good with you, but the fact your career hinges so much on your relationship now is an undeniable dark shadow being cast upon it. Another reason, Hawks might add, that he couldn’t wait for Midoriya to take over for All Might. “Feeling tongue tied?” Monoma needles again. “Say something worthwhile and I just might fucking respond,” Hawks fires back. “Ah so he does speak! Just admit things aren’t all rosy and perfect in ArteHawks land.” “ArteHawks?” “Your perfectly perfect couple name for everyone’s favorite perfectly perfect star-crossed lovers.” “Don’t call us that.” “Call you what?” “Star-crossed lovers.” “Aww why not? Are the fates themselves not telling you your relationship is doomed?” “Our relationship isn’t doomed.” “Sure it isn’t,” Monoma scoffs and something snaps in Hawks.

It only takes a moment for him to grab Monoma and slam him down against the rooftop, pinning him there. “Watch what the fuck you say,” Hawks threatens. “Hey ease up. I’m not enjoying his bullshit any more than you are but just ignore him,” Bakugo warns. “Yea Hawks, ease up,” Monoma smirks up at him. “Listen here you little-“ “Hawks! I said ease up. If you fuck up and get a bad headline it reflects on (y/n) too remember?” Bakugo cuts Hawks off before he can finish his sentence. Hawks looks over at Bakugo and then back down at a smirking Monoma. God he wants to punch that stupid, smug look off his face. But Bakugo has a point. So Hawks takes a calming breath that does very little to actually calm him down before forcing himself to release Monoma and go back to observing the building across the street; however, the peace is only momentary. No sooner has Hawks returned to his post does Monoma stand back up and ask “So when all this inevitably blows up in your face, how long do you think it’ll take for (y/n) to come running back to me to fix her reputation again? A week? A day?”

There’s only a split second between Hawks registering what Monoma has said and his reaction. He whirls around, fist connecting with Monoma’s face, causing the other man to stagger backwards with the force of it. He rears his fist back to land another one but Bakugo catches his arm and yanks him back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bakugo demands. Hawks wrestles himself free of Bakugo’s grip and redirects his gaze to the younger man. He should calm down, objectively he knows he should, but Monoma’s words are floating through his head and Bakugo had prevented him from fully venting his ire so it continues to burn through his veins. “What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you? You just gonna let him talk about (y/n) like that?” Hawks spits back. “He’s obviously trying to get a rise out of you idiot. So stop giving him the satisfaction,” Bakugo scoffs. “Oh so he can just say whatever the fuck he wants and you won’t react huh? Won’t defend your supposed best friend,” Hawks replies and he knows it’s unfair but he’s pissed and so much stress and tension has been building since the moment he told Endeavor about the two of you’s relationship that he needs an exit for it. It was supposed to be Monoma but now Bakugo has stepped into the crossfire. “What the fuck are you implying bird brain?” Bakugo asks, his voice low and lethal as he steps closer to Hawks in warning. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying you’re a fucking coward,” Hawks replies, wings subconsciously puffing up to make him appear larger. “Don’t you fucking dare call me that. Motherfucker don’t play with me,” Bakugo warns. “I’ll say it again. You’re a fucking coward.”

Hawks should’ve listened.

The punch to his face is not unexpected and he almost immediately follows up with one of his own. But one punch isn’t enough and the fight starts escalating. One minute they’re trading blows and the next he’s shoving Bakugo off the roof and the other man is dragging him over too. Hawks quickly engages his wings to avoid falling and by the time he lands on the street Bakugo is doing the same, having used a few well timed explosions to control his fall. The fall hadn’t cleared either of their heads though and as soon as they make eye contact Bakugo is surging forward with his palms sparking, crimson eyes rage filled. Hawks sends a few feathers his way but it doesn’t slow the other man down so he pulls out his two large feathers ready to wield them as blades.

On the other side of town Midoriya mutters under his breath as he takes notes on the movements inside the building opposite the one he, Tokoyami, and Shoto are stood on. “Some things never change,” Shoto comments as he goes to take a seat next to his friend. “What? Oh! Yes I guess so,” Midoriya admits bashfully. “How has (y/n) been doing?” Shoto asks. “Better since she and Hawks made up but still difficult. All of the events are driving her up the wall since they take time away from actual hero work,” Midoriya explains. “I wish I could offer some encouragement but my father is just as bad as All Might. Overheard him demanding Hawks invite his plus one to the bullshit agency-only cocktail party he’s having tomorrow,” Shoto replies. “Honestly I’m surprised (y/n) hasn’t killed him and All Might yet,” Tokoyami interjects as he joins the conversation. “Trust me, she’s thought about it. Repeatedly,” Midoriya comments. “Anyway, what do you say Midoriya can we confirm it’s this building?” Shoto asks, veering the conversation back to the task at hand. Midoriya nods, “Yep, I’m certain of it. We should notify the others.” “About that.... we have a problem,” Tokoyami sighs as he shows Midoriya and Shoto a photo Monoma’s just sent him of Hawks and Bakugo locked in combat.

Hawks should stop.

He knows he should stop.

He wants to stop.

But somehow he can’t stop until he wins.

His wings are a fraction of their usual size, his ribs ache, he’s heavily bruised, and there are burn marks where Bakugo has caught him with one of his explosions a few times. Granted Bakugo isn’t looking that much better, equally bruised and bleeding in several places where Hawks has managed to cut him. This all started so pettily but neither he nor Bakugo is willing to back down. They’re both too proud. Both feel as if they’re fighting for your best interest and, as such, admitting defeat would in some way be letting you down. One massive fight that at its core is just two men’s horribly misguided attempt at defending you. The sheer irony of the fight is something both men will come to realize once the dust has settled but for now their minds are far too clouded to consider that what’s happening is exactly what Bakugo had been warning Hawks against. So instead of stopping like he knows he should, Hawks continues to grapple with Bakugo, the two of them locked into close proximity tumbling over each other until finally Hawks has Bakugo pinned beneath him, a feather pressed to the other man’s throat.

That moment it’s like all the air gets sucked out of the area. Hawks has never and will never needlessly kill someone, especially not an innocent or fellow hero. But with Bakugo pinned underneath him, both their chests heaving with exertion and Bakugo’s eyes burning with defiance and a refusal to back down or submit even with his life in Hawks’ hands, Hawks is struck by the realization that he could. He could kill Bakugo right now if he wanted to and that’s a sobering thought. “Shit,” he huffs out and the next word out of his mouth is about to be an apology when suddenly he’s being ripped backwards by an unseen force and Bakugo is being similarly yanked away. As Hawks finds himself suspended in air he finally takes in his surroundings for the first time since he and Bakugo started exchanging blows.

There’s a massive crowd of people around staring and whispering in an attempt to figure out what exactly is going on. He spots with growing dread a news van and several reporters all taking pictures of the scene, including some of the collateral damage to the street. Thank god none of the buildings themselves were damaged. Then finally he finds the source of the unseen force holding him in the air.

In the middle of everything stands you.

And man, oh man do you look pissed.

Author’s Note: Men are ✨dumb✨ but we’ll see how (y/n) reacts next chapter. This is the chapter with the least connection to the associated song which meant leaning more heavily on the overall album’s inspiration (Romeo and Juliet if y’all couldn’t tell lol) for this particular chapter and more trying to have the vibe of the chapter match the vibe of the song.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

#hopelesspf #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n

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missroserose · 4 years ago

Text

if you want it, got to bleed for it, baby

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

or read on AO3

groove to the playlist

ngl, tax season is eating my face. but I couldn't go much longer without writing a little more smutty angst for these two. hope y'all enjoy.

Have I mentioned how amazing @anarchist-billy is? Thanks for betaing, love. <3

“Stay with me.” Billy’s voice is low, urgent, a lifeline. “Keep the pressure on.”

Steve is there, in the passenger seat of the car, holding a wad of paper towels to the gash in his belly—and Steve is the car, too—he feels the warm gold-red glow of the bonfire, demodog corpses and dead vines disappearing into invisible smoke, fading all too quickly from the rear view mirror. The bass note of the BMW’s V8 thrums deep in his chest, hurtling towards Hawkins at near-lethal speed. The cool night air roars in his ears as Billy redlines it—he can feel Billy, too, the atavistic satisfaction of driving this amazing machine, of pressing it to its limits—

The fire disappears, and the outside world is nothing but a dark blur. No streetlights, no trees, nothing to indicate it even exists. Even their movement fades into a queer sense of unmotion, a bubble of existence floating in the endless void. The glow of the dashboard lights on Billy’s expression, drawn and set. The rumble of the car, rearing to meet the challenge. The just-warm air blasting from the heater. Van Halen on the radio, staticky signal fading in and out over the road and wind noise. I been to the edge, and there I stood and looked down—

“We’re nearly there. Harrington. Hold on a little longer.”

Billy’s lying through his teeth. Steve knows he’s lying; he’s driven this road any number of times since he got his license. Floored the gas, the same way Billy’s doing now, felt his car eat up the thirty-eight miles of two-lane blacktop, straightaway snaking between forest and farmland. Rolled down the windows and whooped, Tommy in the passenger seat, Carol and whatever girl Steve was seeing that week in the back, all of them chasing the horizon at breakneck speeds. Not for jubilation, or anger, or any reason in particular; just...because they were bored. Because they could—because they were young and free and would live forever, would be friends forever—

“What’s the rush?” Steve has to almost issue a conscious order to make himself smile, like he’s giving his face instructions over a long-distance phone call. “I’m the King. They’ll wait for me.”

Billy doesn’t look at him—can’t, at the speeds he’s driving—but his shoulders seem to loosen a fraction. “Guess that depends,” he says, threadbare bravado thin at the edges. “You don’t make it, there’s only one king left. Makes my life awful easy.”

Beer spilled down a bare chest. Red punch on a white blouse. Bullshit. Tea roses and spunk and sweat and blue eyes on his in the bathroom mirror. “Maybe it does,” Steve says, trying not to let his words run together the way his thoughts are doing. “But that’s not what you want.”

There’s a gap opening up, a space between the two of them; it takes Steve a moment to notice the knuckles, tense on the steering wheel. Billy opens his mouth, says something; a moment later, the words unfurl in Steve’s consciousness, time-delayed. “Like anyone gives a shit about what I want.”

Steve laughs a little, at that. “That’s the first lesson of being king, Hargrove.” He swallows, with some difficulty; his throat feels thick. “You’re not there for you. Every fool who wants a favor, every damsel in distress, every asshole determined to get a piece of King Billy…” He trails off, seeing a crown amidst those golden curls in a bathroom mirror, set over heated blue eyes, lips parting in a look of mingled awe and desire—

“Hey. Hey! Harrington!” Billy’s slapping at his face, one hand flapping ineffectually against his skin, just hard enough to force his consciousness to surface. Steve doesn’t particularly want to surface; there’s something looming there, not terror, but a shadow of it, a formless dread. Like the first time his parents had gone out of town, and he hadn’t been smart enough to put the breakables away before he threw the obligatory kegger. He’d spent three days waiting for his mother to return and discover one of her Hummel figurines missing, only to have her so preoccupied with his father’s latest fling that she’d left before noticing—

“Don’t you dare.” Billy’s voice is a growl, but there’s something beneath it that catches Steve’s unmoored attention. “Steve. Don’t you fucking dare die on me now. You ruined my night, you pulled me out here to chase down God knows what those rabid alien dog-things were, you’re going to pull through this and you’re going to give me a fucking explanation—”

Steve gives a small laugh, even though it hurts like a bitch. “I’m really fucked, aren’t I?”

Billy bites off his rant like a piece of taffy. “What?”

Steve issues the order to smile again, feels his face sort-of obey. “You called me Steve. It must be bad.”

“Not that bad,” Billy says, almost believable, as if he can change the state of the world through sheer stubborn insistence. “You’re gonna pull through this. You’ve got to. When the school hears about how I saved your ass? It’s gonna be a riot, Harrington.”

Steve could almost laugh again, but it hurts too much. With an effort, he diverts his reaction, reaches for bitterness instead, bile like he’s swallowing down in the back of his throat. The school. Graduation. The future. A dark unknown, filled with people whose eyes slide away from his, in respect or in contempt—“You’ve already had my ass. What do you care about the rest?” The gap between them is opening up again. Steve has a mental image for a moment of trying to leap that gap, of hanging in the air over it for a beautiful moment—wonders if people would see him then, shining golden before the inevitable plummet to the nothingness below—

But Billy’s voice is stubborn, penetrating. “Did you hit your head when that alien tackled you? Of course I want the rest. The way you swung that bat? Waded into that fight without a damn hitch?” Billy’s voice cracks a little, in disbelief, or in awe. “That’s King Steve. Not that namby-pamby asshole who haunts the hallways at school.”

And something in that voice pulls Steve towards the looming terror, away from the peaceful dark. He presses the paper towels harder to his gut, ignores the sharp pain this elicits. “Didn’t think you were looking for a king, Hargrove.”

A pause, brief and endless. Steve slips a little, tossed about in stormy waves, uncertain which way to the shore, uncertain which way is up—

Then Billy’s voice comes in, low and smoky, a beam from a lighthouse parting the dark. “I jerk off at night thinking about your lips on me.” Steve’s suddenly aware of his lips as they part slightly, but Billy’s continuing, words gushing from him like water from a burst pipe. “I haven’t bent you over your kitchen counter yet. Haven’t felt your cock twitch between my lips as you come down my throat—”

The words are gathering somewhere deep in Steve’s hips, insistent warmth, flickering but stubborn in the face of the terror. The words fall into his mind, and he drops them without thought, uncaring, because who even cares at this point? “I want to fuck you in my bed.”

A breath sucked between teeth. A glance, briefly risked, at Steve’s face, as if gauging his seriousness. “You want it in a bed, pretty boy?”

“I want you. In my bed.” The paper towels are growing wet between his fingers. “Empty house. Nobody to hear us slam the headboard against the wall.” He presses a little harder; the lance of pain stabs through him, but the image in his mind is bright as he gives a half-wrecked gasp.

Billy seems to shudder at that gasp. “Hell yes,” he says, seeming to almost relax for a moment. “Gonna hear you good and proper as you come—”

“Gonna feel you under me when I do,” Steve says, words tumbling forward heedless, headlong. “Billy. You’re gonna feel me inside you as you shake apart. Gonna walk around the next day still feeling it, and I’m gonna watch you—”

“Fuck—” Billy’s grip is white against the steering wheel now, fingers torqued tight. “Steve,” he says, his voice rough. “Promise me something.”

“Sure.” The words are fading, growing further away, but Steve struggles, holds his head up. Tries to read Billy’s expression, the hesitation in his voice. “If I can.”

“Next time we see each other, it’s just you.” Billy licks his lips. “Just you and me. No kids, no party, no—nothing. We’ll tear the phone out of the wall if we have to. Just...just us.”

Steve reaches for a careless smile. Ignores the sudden empty fluttering in his chest. Isn’t certain if he manages either. “Gotta settle up who’s king for good and all, huh?”

“Yeah.” Billy settles back into the seat, though tension still thrums through his body with the engine. Overhead, the first of the streetlights flashes by, briefly illuminating his face, determined, desperate. “Yeah, something like that.”

#harringrove #my writing #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #too young to fall in love #lemon

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talesofstyles · 5 years ago

Text

Did I Break It?

A domestic dad!Harry and husband!Harry, where you share a glass of wine in the kitchen and enjoy scraps of the kids’ leftovers while trying to figure out Year 3 maths homework. Oh and followed by quite a realistic smut because some nights aren’t just meant to be, right?

Honestly, you thought you’d be done with maths when you finished school. Well jokes on your younger self because here you are, a little over a decade later, nursing a much-needed glass of Riesling as you work through equivalent fractions to check on your son’s homework while Harry deals with bedtime stories upstairs. Or so you thought, because now you hear the sound of the stairs creaking (that would probably finally get fixed by the time your last baby turn eighteen), followed by familiar footsteps coming into the kitchen. There’s absolutely no need for you to lift up your head and glance towards the arched doorway, because you’d recognise that sound anywhere. But you do it anyway.

And there he is, your husband, making his way into the kitchen looking all happy and soft. Although you won’t deny the fact that he does look like he needs a wash and a good night’s sleep, because that’s what being in charge of bedtime routine for four young children aged eight and under does to you. But even then, the combination of exhaustion and pure joy on his face that makes him look very much like a dad, is a sight you enjoy getting a front-row seat every night and one that you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Tha’ was quick,” you comment as you feel two arms sliding around your waist, and then a chin drops onto your shoulder. You let out a small, contented sigh, before setting down the white wine on the kitchen island and wrap your arms around his.

He cheekily takes the opportunity to pull out one of his arms from around your waist, and proceeds to steal your wine from the counter. “Hey!” You protest, eyebrow raising playfully at the sight of him smirking before taking a sip.

“Wha’?” He feigns innocence as he sets the glass back down on the counter. His smile is still playful as he looks down on you, before leaning closer to give you a soft, chaste peck just beside your ear.

“I haven’t cooked for us,” you start before you take another slug of your wine. “If you’re hungry, think there’s still some leftovers in the kids’ lunch boxes.”

“Oh, no school dinners this week?” Harry asks as he makes his way to the other side of the kitchen island where your children’s lunch boxes are sat. He opens one of them and immediately begins munching on a baby carrot.

“Nope,” you shake your head, and you frown when you see the untouched veggies and a nearly full sandwich with only one or two bites max missing. Although the treat is surely gone. “Whose is that?”

Harry flips the lid to see and mumbles your daughter’s name, before helping himself to the cold sandwich. “She only took the KitKat,” he laughs.

“Your daughter,” you roll your eyes comically.

“Nope, nuh uh, she’s all yours ‘cause I swear to god you’re just as picky when it comes to food,” Harry teases you as he takes the last carrot stick before moving onto the second lunch box, grinning proudly when he finds it perfectly empty. “Now, this is my son.”

“S’tha’ so?” You muse, realising the fact that he’s right and you’ve lost this one.

“Mhm,” he hums. “One hundred percent my boy.”

“Here, check your boy’s homework then,” you can’t help but grin as you slide his maths book across the counter.

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” he mutters jokingly as he catches the book, and his eyes widen as he looks at the questions. “Whoa, equivalent fractions. Year 3 kids do that now? What ‘appened to number lines?”

You let out a hearty laugh. “I know right?! I’m pretty sure I did this in Year 5.”

“Okay, we’ve got this,” he rolls up his sleeves, making you laugh even harder, before tucking a pencil behind one of his ears. “Six over twelve is blank over ninety six. Fuck, what’s ninety six divided by twelve?”

“Now’s the time to use yer brain innit, big head?” You tease him this time.

“Oi!” He complains, trying to sound annoyed but the smile plastered across his face is hard to miss. “Be nice t’me.”

You chuckled. “When am I not?”

Harry rolls his eyes in response, before he takes the pencil from behind his ear and holds it between his teeth instead as he tries to figure out the next question. There’s something about the way his brows knit together, and the way he bites his bottom lip when he takes the pencil from between his teeth and begins scribbling some numbers down on paper to count properly because his phone is charged upstairs in your room, that makes you can’t keep your eyes off of him. Although technically, that isn’t new, you two have disgust people around you by your inability to keep your eyes (and hands) off of each other for years. But there’s just something about him tonight that makes you all mushy.

You know how much he loves prancing around the stage in front of thousands, sparkly suits and all, and you hope he gets to do that for the rest of his life. But seeing him right now, looking all cuddly and soft and the epitome of a family man doing the mundane things like eating the scraps of whatever is left from the kids’ meals and double-checking their homework, your heart swells at the realisation that this is what he meant to be.

“You’re staring,” he shoots you a playful smirk. A little part of you hates the fact that your cheeks still flush, even after ten years of marriage and four babies later, for being caught staring. But the bigger part of you loves the fact that you still blush because of him, that he still makes you feel something you can’t even describe, and she wins.

“Sue me,” You challenge him, both of you smiling simultaneously.

“Nah,” he grins and shakes his head. “M’just as guilty.”

“Hey,” you start, pausing to take another slug of wine before you continue. “We haven’t shagged in a while.”

“S’tha’ you asking?” You notice how his grin grows ten times bigger and you love it, even more so with the familiar pair of dimples digging into his cheeks. “Does mummy want a shag? Hmm?”

“Harryyyy,” you whine in protest, because he knows how much you hate it when he calls you mummy, completely the opposite of him who gets crazy whenever you jokingly call him daddy. The word feels strange coming out from literally anyone else besides your own kids. “You’re ruining the mood.”

Your son’s homework is now forgotten on the other side of the counter. He stops behind you, sliding his arms back around your waist just the way he did earlier before he turns you around to face him.

“Wha’?” He feigns innocence once again and you roll your eyes. “Yer a mummy,” he states, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, still grinning ear to ear. “Mum t’me babies.”

“Yeah,” you respond in a sarcastic deadpan. “I wanted Ryan Gosling’s babies.”

“Funny that you’ve just said this now,” he retorts. “Four babies later.”

You can’t help but giggle, and you pull him by his waist even closer to you so you can wrap your arms around him. “M’joking. I love you. Love ‘avin yer babies.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, and you notice the way his lips quirk into a gentle smirk. “I can probably squeeze one more in there, then, hmm? Fifth baby, the cherry on top?”

Your eyes widen in terror. “Oh no, no no, don’t get any ideas,” you warn him. “Four is a good number.”

He lets out a giggle. “It is the best number,” he agrees. “And don’t worry, m’joking. Unless…” he trails off and smirks at you.

You push him away only to have him pulls you back into his embrace, before bringing his face down to meet yours and lock your mouths together.

“Not gonna take me to our bed first?” You asked him, eyebrow wiggling playfully when you finally break the kiss.

“Thought you love me shaggin’ you in the kitchen?”

“I’m a lady, Styles.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry laughs. “M’pretty sure at least half of our babies were conceived here,” he mutters, before he leans closer again to give you another lingering kiss.

“Wait,” you stop him and pull back. “I’m not hungry but it’s okay if you wanna have a proper dinner first?”

He licks his lips, smirking at you. “Got my dinner right here.”

“Wow,” you chuckle. “That line still works?”

“We’ll see now, won’t we?” Harry murmurs before he starts leaving a trail of kisses from your jawline down your neck.

“Bed,” you remind him.

“As you wish, darlin’.”

It feels forever before you finally reach your bedroom upstairs, but when you finally get there, he wastes not another single second before he pushes you against the door and kisses you hard. He lifts you up into his arms and strides over to the bed, and both of you fall into the mattress together.

Your breath hitches and your head loll to the side as his mouth finds your collarbone, his lips warm but his tongue even warmer. You feel his hand runs down your back before he plays with the seam of your shirt, slowly inching it up and you savour the feel of his warm hand as it brushes across your ribs. He barely lifts your shirt up and over your head before you sit up and reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra, and not wasting much time before you move your arms quickly as they slip out of the straps and toss it somewhere on the floor.

He starts kissing down your neck and over your naked chest. And you let his hand wander further south, cold fingers creeping underneath the waistband of your shorts, giving you a sneak peek of what’s to come.

You hold your breath when you feel his palm against your clothed core, before you feel him slowly pulling his hand out and begins fumbling with the button of your shorts.

“Fucks sake,” he mumbles in annoyance when the button is being stubborn, and he pulls himself up for a second to see and try to figure out how to unfasten the bloody thing.

You let out a giggle before you sit up to try and help him out. But as you raise your head, he’s coming back down to have another go at it, resulting in you whacking him right on the bridge of his nose. Harry groans in pain as he rolls into his back, covering his face with both hands as he does.

“Oh my god!” You quickly sit up and try to lower his hands so you can see his nose. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Is it broken?”

“Mhm,” he nods his head to assure you that he is okay. You wait for another few seconds before he pulls his hands away. “Am I bleeding?”

“No, but you’re crying,” you grimace. “Harry, I’m sorry.”

He let out a chuckle as he wipes his own tears. “Hey now, s’alright. I’m alright, yeah? Don’t worry. No blood, just a little tear.”

“Rain check?”

“Hell no,” he grins before his mouth attacks yours once again, taking your breath away. He holds himself up while he hungrily kisses your lips, slowly bringing you down to lay on your back again.

His five o’clock shadow is soft against your flushed face, dragging against your skin with every movement of his lips. You pull away when you feel his fingers fumbling with the button of your shorts again and giggle. “Let me get that.”

“Probably a good idea,” he nods and begins working on his own boxers.

After you manage to discard every piece of clothing without any further incident, things are progressing rather quickly and smooth sailing and before you know it, he flips you over so you’re on top of him. Both of you smile at the same time, realising the switch of power, and you notice how much he is trying to savour the rare occasion.

You lift up slightly, feeling the tip of his cock settle just where you desperately need it to be, before you slowly sink home.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” he jokes and you snort.

You slap his chest playfully. “Shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

Soon enough the laughter and pained groans are replaced by passionate whimpers and gasps. He searches for your fingers to intertwine with his, and while it’s heartwarming, it makes you lose your balance and you can feel him slipping out of you. You try to reconnect without letting go of his hands, but you miss and feel him jab hard against the crease of your inner thigh. You quickly jump off of him as he cries out in pain and folds back on himself.

“Fuck!” You sit up straight away. “Harry, are you okay? Shit, I broke it, didn’t I? Oh my god, tell me, did I break it? Do we need to go to the A&E?!”

“No, no, s’alright,” he tries to calm you down, and while his words are comforting, looking at his face you know that he’s not okay.

You run your hand on his back, trying to soothe him. “Did I break it?”

He let out painful laughter before he takes a deep breath. “No, you didn’t,” he starts. “Although I hope you’re happy with four ‘cause I don’t think we can have more after this.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise again, cringing at the sight of him clutching his manhood in pain.

“Really, s’okay doll,” he tries to comfort you. “No worries, yeah? S’not broken, I promise. It’ll be up and runnin’ before you know it.”

You chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. “It really wasn’t meant to be tonight, huh?”

“Married you, didn’t I? Got the rest of our lives to shag” He grins, and it’s either the pain has disappeared or he’s just a really great actor. “‘Sides, this makes a pretty great story.”

“You’d never let me live it down, wouldn’t you?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head in laughter. “Hey, remember when you almost broke my nose AND my dick in one night?”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabbles #harry styles blurbs #dad!harry #husband!harry #the styles gang #harry styles fluff #dad harry imagines #harry styles fic

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alexxdes · 4 years ago

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The Strong Don’t Cry

Summary: Jacob breaks the silence by asking about Pratt’s family, something that’s relatively normal yet seems so out of place given their situation. Pratt tells him a bit, and assuming it to be just another way of getting more information to use against him, is taken aback when Jacob actually responds with his own story.

Note: I have not written a single thing in ages and I have no clue what this is. Enjoy.

———————————————————————

“Where’s your family, Peaches?”

The question breaks the heavy silence the two men had been sharing for the past few hours very suddenly. Pratt, from his position next to the door, hands clasped at his front, pauses for a moment, taken aback.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“I said-“ Jacob places the paperwork he had been filling out into a file and switches to a new one, “Where’s your family? You have one, don’t you?”

This is surely some kind of test, Pratt thinks, and for a moment he considers what exactly Jacob could be trying to gain from asking this. Trying to find some new weakness to exploit maybe? Something to use against him?

Doesn’t he already have enough of that?

“Yeah.” He says simply, taking care not to let his offense at the sudden interest in his family life be so apparent as to piss the larger man off. “Of course I do.”

Jacob lets out a little hum of acknowledgment, and still without looking up from his desk replies, “They live around here?”

This further proves Staci’s theory, although he isn’t sure what to do about it. Being held here by Jacob, being under his constant scrutiny, you learn just how cunning the man truly is very quickly. Especially considering he spends every single day getting into people’s heads, breaking them down until they’re nothing but a mindless soldier for him to use as he pleases.

Point is, Pratt isn’t stupid himself. He may have been changed very significantly in the time he’s spent at the Veteran’s Center, he may be merely a fraction of who he used to be, but his will wasn’t completely broken. Not yet at least. He made sure to keep a fair amount of it hidden away someplace in the back of his mind where he hoped to god Jacob wouldn’t find it. Then again, he thought, maybe that’s what Jacob’s after somehow. To take what’s left of who he is and keep it for himself.

“No. They cleared off a few months ago, when your people started getting worse.” He didn’t see any other option than to just tell the truth and see where things went from there. Jacob has a funny way of telling when you’re lying. Pratt certainly learned that soon enough, anyways.

Jacob didn’t say anything, and he was still looking down at his goddamn desk. Staci wasn’t sure he had looked up from it for hours, and somehow he took the silence as being Jacob’s way of showing that he was unsatisfied with the answer in some way.

“I’ve got a sister who lives in Missoula. I think my parents went up that way, and my brothers went with them.”

Jacob made a subtle little expression, one that Pratt was sure meant he was considering what he had said, taking note of it. The thought made him very uncomfortable, but other than that there was no response for a good minute or two. At first he thought that maybe Jacob was just going to leave it there, let it hang out in the air just to drive him crazy. He didn’t, though, instead he stopped working on whatever report he had been writing and turned his head ever so slightly to look at Pratt.

“Do you miss em’?”

A simple question, really, but startling nonetheless. Pratt thought about it for a minute before coming to the realization that he actually hadn’t thought about it much. There hadn’t been time since the crash, the only thing he had the chance to think about was his own survival.

Was that it? All this just to break Pratt even more? To make him miss his family who he’ll probably never see again? It pissed him off, quite frankly, and somewhere deep down he accepted the fact that he probably wouldn’t see them again. And even if he did, it’s not like he would be the son they knew anymore. No, he’d be a stranger. They’d look into his eyes and see nothing but empty. Probably best they never have to experience that heartbreak.

That’s not what he said, though. Instead Pratt stared at the floor and tried not to cry.

“Yeah.” He said softly. “I do.”

What he was expecting to happen was for Jacob to take that information and sit on it. Or maybe even start mocking him for the vulnerability, further subduing the man. What he wasn’t expecting was for Jacob to leave whatever he’d been working on and stretch, finally turning to face the other man.

“Yeah. I know what it’s like to miss your family. Not know if you’re ever gonna see em’ again.”

Staci just stared with an unreadable expression, and Jacob continued, clearly not looking for any sort of permission to do so.

“It was the happiest day of my life when Joseph found me again, after Iraq. I could’ve died a happy man right then and there when I saw John standing there with him. I was real proud of the man he’d become even if he was a goddamn idiot back then.”

He pulled out a pack of smokes from one of the drawers under his desk and lit one before taking a long drag.

“I finally had a purpose again. Do you know what that’s like? Not having any particular rhyme or reason to even be alive?”

When Pratt didn’t respond, he scoffed.

“Of course. You probably didn’t realize it. Hell, you still probably don’t. But I can guarantee that being apart of this project is the first worthwhile thing you’ve done your entire goddamn life. Not for nothing, Peaches, but when we first met you didn’t strike me as the type that ever knew what the hell they were doing.”

He was right. Of course he was right. Staci had only become a cop to help him get whatever pretty young thing he noticed from across the room’s number. He only did it for the status, the uniform, not because he had a passion for it. He never had a passion for anything, but it didn’t give Jacob the right to be so fucking right.

“No, I didn’t. But I can tell you right now this “project” isn’t for me.”

It was little acts of rebellion like that that kept Pratt sane. Kept him from completely forgetting who he is, or rather was. It’s just about all the breathing room Jacob would allow. Though maybe that’s the point. To give him hope that he could really get to Jacob, only for it to fall flat on its face without the satisfaction of any real response.

Jacob laughed, this breathy, humorless thing and leaned back in his chair.

“You say that now, but you’ll come around. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know if I believe in all this stuff Joseph goes on about, but I do know that this world is done for. And I don’t know about you but I’d like to be prepared.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Pratt asked, desperate at this point for any reason as to why Jacob would open up like this to him.

“Figured we should get to know each other a little better.” And with that he flicked off the light on his desk and walked toward the bed, gesturing for Pratt to go to bed too.

#jacob seed #staci pratt #deputy pratt #far cry 5 #far cry 5 fic #far cry 5 fanfiction #my writing

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years ago

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Let Us Begin

Here we go! The first meeting! If you have any confusion or want any clarification, feel free to ask. If you have any requests, comments, concerns, questions, or criticisms, feel free to tell me those as well. Enjoy the story!

“There’s no way that this is gonna end well.”

“Really? You think? Governments from nine different separate realities, crossing every political spectrum imaginable, from theocratic xenophobes to neo-socialist utopians to democratic federalists and everything in between meeting in the same space with a ton of guns? What are you talking about? There’s no way this could end poorly!”

“Are we ready to go?” The cameraman gave a thumbs up. The news anchor smoothed a back mop that was probably more gel than hair at this point. “And here we are, outside the beautiful Citadel Tower, where the governments of the nine new galaxies are meeting for the first time! We already covered their arrival on the station, and what an arrival it was!” he continued with intense fake-cheerfulness. “Now, they are meeting to discuss policy and open diplomatic negotiations. And while we aren’t allowed inside, I’m sure it would be a sight to behold!”

Well this is certainly a sight to behold, thought Commander John Shepard to himself. Not necessarily a good one, but a sight to behold nevertheless. The meeting had started out well enough. The various governments had filed in accordingly, filling the enlarged space completely. He had been shocked at the sheer amount of different factions and races; there were over a hundred by his last count. Governments he worked for, governments he knew of, governments he didn’t, governments that he had been told to keep an eye out for: everyone was here. Dear lord.

They all had their own bodyguards, of course, so the Council had ordered the Spectres all back to the Citadel. Most of them, Shepard included, were now standing watch over the meeting. Guns were out, ready to fire if something should happen. The bodyguards were all tense, accustomed to being watched by professionals. Well, most of them. The mercenary Pilots hired by the Frontier Militia and the IMC looked relaxed enough, as did Drake. The Galactic Empire’s Death Troopers were completely unreadable. And the Imperium’s Tempestus Scions? They seemed to be lining up firing solutions, eager to kill a room full of heretics and xenos on the drop of a hat. Bloody great.

The meeting had started off as well as could be expected. The Council had opened with a greeting, welcoming everyone to the Citadel in the name of peace and cooperation. Most of the governments had responded in kind. Shepard had to admire the Imperium, who had given a rather weak and sickly greeting, then settled back to give death glares at everyone else. At least they were honest, for the most part. (Or maybe not. He still didn’t know what was on board their ship.)

It had steadily gone downhill from there. The United Federation of Planets had objected to most everyone else's governing practices, especially the exclusion of other species. The Galactic Assembly had pointed out that they let everyone join, no strings attached, and the Federation had conceded the point. The IMC and Militia had objected, stating that there simply weren’t any aliens in their galaxy, otherwise they would let them join. The Imperium had taken offense to this, stating that if a galaxy was ruled by humanity, there should be no reason to give it away to filthy xenos.

The Nova Empire diplomats and Asari Councillor snapped back that their governments were older than humanity itself, and much more advanced, so show some respect. The “sit down and let your betters talk” was left implied. The Imperium had pointed out that they were ten thousand years old and ruled the galaxy with a fist of iron, and had actually told their detractors to shut up and sit down. Adam Vir had interrupted with an utterly magnificent speech preaching the benefits of tolerance and cooperation. That bought some respite… at least until the New Republic pointed out that since the entire delegation of the Galactic Empire was made up of war criminals, shouldn’t there be some restrictions on them? The Militia had quickly followed suit, saying that they would not deal with the entirely criminal Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. At that point, all semblance of order had broken down.

Currently, it was a scene of complete chaos. The Imperium of Man was alternating between very pointedly not speaking to any non-human diplomats and screaming at the non-human diplomats about the honourless nature of aliens. The Militia and IMC were yelling at each other about territory disputes and war crimes, and threatening to air out each other’s dirty laundry while Cooper and the 6-4 bodyguards of the Militia talked in underhanded tones to Kuben Blisk, leader of the IMC’s bodyguard detachment. Why that was happening, Shepard had absolutely no idea. Cooper and Blisk seemed to have some sort of history, and the 6-4 seemed nice enough.

Thomas Drake and the Merchant’s Guild were presently sitting back with shit-eating grins on their faces, probably wondering how much money they could make if they sold weapons to everyone there. Getting involved was bad for business.

The New Republic was relatively calm, any of their diplomats who seemed to be ready to start something being stared down by Leia Organa, their de-facto leader. Luke Skywalker sat nearby, looking alternatively amused at the chaos and annoyed at everyone’s incompetence.

Their opposite number, the Galactic Empire, was one of the calmest groups present. Several of the obviously military members of that delegation were itching to join in the conversation, nodding along with the Imperium of Man’s points. However, every time one of them seemed to be on the verge of speaking up, their leader, a neatly uniformed blue-skinned man (Grand Admiral Thrawn, if Shepard remembered correctly) glared down at them with such intensity that they meekly went back to their seats. At least someone had control of what they were doing.

The United Federation of Planets seemed to be split evenly into two groups. One was arguing constantly with everyone, pointing out with shocked voices all the horrible things each group had done. They wore the faces of people who believed that they were completely morally superior in every respect, and having groups whose idea of a good government was “if they’re different, they’re inferior” did not resonate well with them. The second group was made up of Kirk and several of the more level headed individuals trying to keep the peace. They had just convinced the first sub-faction not to bring up the subject of xenophilia; if they had, Shepard was almost certain that a war would have started. So thank whatever gods are up there that Kirk can read a room.

The galactic Assembly was presently fractionated and trying to argue with just about every group present, including themselves, simultaneously. Adam Vir sat with his head in his hands, hopeless expression on his face. At least he tried, though Shepard, unlike literally every other person here.

The UNSC delegation looked lost, clearly seeming to think that the human supremacists had a point but realizing that it would be politically unwise to say anything. Master Chief stood behind them, gold visor as expressionless as ever. In fact, if Shepard did not know for a fact there was a man inside that suit, he might have mistaken the Chief for a particular large and detailed green statue.

And his own government? The Citadel Council? The Turian representative was vehemently arguing with Anderson over the issue of human military supremacy and treaty violations while the Asari and Salarian Councillors shouted at everyone present, including each other.

Quill and his crew were seated in between the human diplomats from his galaxy and those of the Nova Empire, and kept trying to make probably snide and inappropriate comments every time someone said something, only to be slapped down by an annoyed Gammora. Vir actually mouthed ‘help’ in Shepard’s direction, as if he could do anything about this.

Utter madness. Fun times.

It was around the point where people began going towards the extremely hot topic of A.I. legality when Shepard noticed something out of the corner of his eye. One of the Spectres, guiding a group of armed figures in black body armor and full face masks into the room. He looked closer. The Spectres weren’t supposed to leave their posts unless it was for a very good reason. What the… The black armored soldiers stepped into the middle of the room, and in one fluid motion, drew their weapons from their hips, each aiming at a different delegation box, ready to fire… and were promptly turned into red paste from at least twenty different points.

Every diplomat in the room stopped what they were doing, looks of utter shock plastered on their faces. It was quiet for one single, eternal moment, then everyone began shouting at once. The bodyguards still had their weapons raised, ready to open fire on command.

“What is this? You had us come to kill us?”

“Treachery!”

“You obviously paid them off! No one except you would do this!”

“How did this happen? How did they get in here?”

“Inside help! Who did this?” Aw, shit. Guns were at the ready, various guardians and even some of the diplomats squaring off against each other.

“Whoh, hey!” A singular voice called above the din, startling everyone. Thomas Drake, black coat billowing, hands raised placatingly, addressed the various stunned and still twitchy diplomats. “Calm down, everyone. If any of you decides to do something stupid, we all lose.” At least that had bought a little time. “Now, if any of you actually noticed before you started to jump to conclusions, there was at least one assassin aiming at everyone present. They were planning on killing everyone here. I know quite a few of you present, and I know for a fact that none of you had anything like this planned.” A few more bodyguards lowered their weapons. “The question is, who did this, and why?” Some of the diplomats nodded along with him. Shepard saw Vir and Quill moving towards his position for a better vantage point. But before anyone could say anything, the console of the Council started rapidly beeping. Tevos answered it with alacrity.

“Yes?”

“Councillor! The Citadel is under attack! We have unknown and armed hostiles in the open! There’s some sort of fleet coming, too!”

“Great,” muttered Shepard. But before anyone could react to this new information, the message abruptly cut off, along with most of the power save the lighting.

“Double great,” muttered Vir, as he slid into position next to him.

And here. We. Go.

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #fanfic #crossover #ultimate crossover #scifi #mass effect #star wars #guardians of the galaxy #warhammer 40k #star trek #halo

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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David x Patrick, 40k so far, A03 (read from the beginning here)

It starts with a reunion... but what happens after that?

Chapter 13

Monday morning after his run David goes into the office, closes the door, and gets to work. He spends a little bit of time figuring out whether he needs a printer (no), and if there are any office supplies he can order from Amazon and charge to the company (possibly; a larger monitor would be nice, and they aren’t actually that expensive). The desk and chair are functional enough, although they probably weren’t meant to be used for actual nine to five activity, and David is going to feel it in his back before the day is over.

He reluctantly logs on and starts checking emails. There’s a bunch from last week that he needs to deal with, and he messages Rory to see if he can respond to some of them. At ten there’s a meeting with a vendor over Zoom (and yes, he thinks, I am capable of using Zoom, Stevie), and by eleven o’clock, he’s bored.

It’s not that his job is bad, or even difficult. It’s just boring. Although he’s still involved with the type of products he enjoyed selling at the Apothecary, most of the joy has gone out of it. Now bringing in a new product means finding some way to convince the hotel operations staff that they can use it, and there are only so many travel size toiletries that a motel chain can give out without losing money.

When Patrick knocks on his door at noon, he’s more than ready to take a break. They bring their lunches out onto the lanai, Patrick rocking back and forth on the chair as David eats the delicious salad Patrick has prepared.

“I should have known you’d appreciate the grapes,” Patrick says, smiling as David takes another forkful.

“And the goat cheese,” David says, his mouth full. “It’s quite good. This can’t have come from the Publix.”

“No, I went to the farmer’s market in town,” Patrick says. “There’s a guy there with some really nice cheeses. From his own goats.”

David narrows his eyes at Patrick. “Are you being serious?”

“What, you think there can’t be goats in Florida?”

“It just doesn’t seem very on theme.”

“You’d rather they try to make cheese from alligators, or dolphins? I don’t think it would work.”

“Shut up.”

“People used to eat the armadillos, but now they give you the plague, so you won’t find that at the farm stand.”

David stares at Patrick. “Now you’re definitely making things up.”

“Nope.” Patrick grins at him, then takes a long sip of his iced tea. “So, how’s work?”

David opens his mouth to complain about how bored he is, and then shuts it again. He has no right to complain, he’s still involved with RA, he’s still employed. Patrick is neither.

Patrick sees exactly what’s going on. “It’s okay. I can take it. What craziness are the vendors trying to pull today?”

David hesitates, but Patrick’s face is open and he’s genuinely interested. He launches into his tale of woe, the repetitiveness and the limits and the damn corporate frames, and all of a sudden he’s out of breath, sitting back in his chair with his jaw on the floor.

“Sorry. I guess it’s been grating on me for a while. I didn’t mean to spew that all over you.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Patrick shrugs. “I wasn’t able to find anything I liked doing as much as our store. It’s different, I guess, when you’re in charge.”

David smirks. “When who was in charge?”

“Fine – when we were in charge.” Patrick’s face changes, and David can feel it in his chest. “It was ours. Together.”

That’s the rub, isn’t it? Rose Apothecary wasn’t just the ideal place to express his creative side through high-end bath products, it was a labor of love with the love of his life. Together.

*****

“Ugh, David, why won’t you help?”

“Alexis, for the hundredth time, I can’t magically lower your rent. I’m already working for you for a fraction of what my time is worth. If you’re not making enough money and you don’t want to live somewhere our parents already own, get a real job.”

“Every time I run the numbers it looks like it should work out. I don’t know why my projects never make what they say they will.”

“What who says they will?”

“My spreadsheets!”

Like a genie responding to his name, Patrick sticks his head in the door to the office, an Amazon box in his hand. His eyes go wide when he sees Alexis on the screen. “David, um, this came for you, I didn’t know if you’d need it…”

“Oooh, thanks.” David’s pretty sure the package contains the sketch pads and colored pencils he ordered. He was planning on expensing them to the account he’s working on with Alexis, but it sounds like now is not the time to discuss it.

He stands up and goes to Patrick, taking the box from him and putting it on the couch, then reaching out to link his arm through Patrick’s. Patrick is possibly even paler than usual, and seems to have lost the power of speech as he stares at Alexis. She’s staring back at him, her hands frozen in whatever little flingy motions she was making when she caught sight of Patrick.

“So, this is incredibly awkward,” David says, looking between the two of them. “What do we say we just move past it?”

Alexis recovers first, her need to disagree with David overpowering her distress. “David,” she starts, tossing her hair and shaking her head in an effort to get herself on track. “It’s not awkward. We’re fine. Peachy. Right, Patrick?”

David moves them a little closer to his laptop, and guides Patrick to sit down in the chair. “Yeah, um. Hi, Alexis.”

Alexis twists a lock of hair around a finger and leans in close, peering at Patrick through the screen. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says, gently sincere.

Patrick’s hand flies up to his head, as if he had forgotten all about his wound. “Is it that noticeable?”

“It’s not, not really.” David slides his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “I’m sure she can’t even see anything,” he says softly into his ear. “She only knows because I told her about it.”

Patrick looks up at David a little helplessly, and David can’t help leaning in and kissing him, a hand on his cheek, not letting up even as Alexis sighs loudly at them.

“Eat nails, Alexis,” he says, without much venom.

“I’m not mad,” Alexis says. “I get it. You’re each others’ locks.”

Patrick blinks at her, confused. “We can’t both be locks.”

“Whatever, you’re the key that goes in his lock, you know what I mean.”

“That’s quite an assumption,” David says, struggling to keep his face straight.

“Eew, David, shut up.”

“You started it.”

“I don’t care, you still have to help me figure this out!”

Patrick shifts, sitting up a little taller. With a quick glance at David, he enters the fray. “Did I hear you say you were having problems with your budgeting spreadsheets?”

*****

David’s in the living room, waiting for Patrick to finish talking with Alexis and possibly reveal that she needs to declare bankruptcy, when the landline in the kitchen rings. Figuring it might be the hurricane screen guys (who he needs to be nicer to, they could be saving their lives) he scoots off the couch and hustles into the kitchen to pick it up. When he hears the voice on the other end, he really wishes he had let it go to voice mail.

It’s not the hurricane screen guys. It’s Marcy Brewer.

“David? Is that you?”

He imagines hanging up, but that would be unfathomably rude, and this is Patrick’s mom. Who David hasn’t spoken to in over three years. Who probably hates him for leaving Patrick.

“Um, yes, hi, hello.”

“It’s so nice to hear your voice,” Marcy says. Sounds fake, but whatever. “How are you?”

David rocks his head back and wonders how on earth he could have gotten into this situation again – he’s not going to be mistaken for Patrick’s business partner this time around, but do Marcy and Clint know they’re back together? At least Marcy doesn’t seem to be surprised that David is at their house picking up the phone.

“I’m good, thanks. How about you?” he responds, the standard phrases giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“Oh, we’re fine. What have you and Patrick been up to?” Marcy sounds friendly, interested. Not at all like she wishes David was suffering in the deepest levels of hell.

David forces himself to try to respond to her question, and then nearly laughs, given that they haven’t been “up to” anything nearly as raunchy as Marcy probably expects. Best to escape as soon as possible. “Not much – hang on, let me get Patrick.”

“David, wait,” Marcy says, and David does, pressing a hand over his eyes and hoping that this isn’t the scolding he was expecting. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s really not looking forward to it.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that Clint and I are so pleased that you two boys are giving it another go. Patrick’s never been as happy as he was when you were together.”

David’s throat gets tight. He’d like to think that’s true. Patrick seemed happy, at least most of the time. He had said he was. But then how does he explain the whole Mark thing?

“It probably seems hard, but we have faith in you,” Marcy continues. “We saw what the two of you had. It was something special.”

“It was,” David says, Marcy’s kind words demanding an answer. “You have to know, he made me happy too. Happier than I ever thought I’d be. But I blew it, I screwed it up…” David has no idea why these words are falling out of his mouth, it’s some kind of effect that Brewers have on him, it’s horrible.

“Don’t beat yourself up, dear. Sometimes getting everything you ever wanted can be overwhelming. Patrick wasn’t used to that either, you realize. The important thing is that you’re both trying again, and learning from what happened before. You’ll make it work this time.”

David lets out a long, slow breath. From your mouth to god’s ears, Marcy. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. I have a good feeling about this. I know my boy. It can take him a while to figure out what he wants, but when he does, look out.”

David laughs weakly. “Is that a good thing?”

“Well, do you want to be with him?”

He’s positive that there aren’t words in spoken language to fully express how much he wants to be with Patrick. “Yes.”

“Then it’s good. Because Patrick is sure about you. Let yourself be sure about him. Not everything has to end in disaster.”

David wants to argue with her, to point out how his life is an example of exactly the opposite. But then he remembers a conversation with his therapist where she made him reflect on things that have gone well for him, whether or not they were shaky at some point in the past – his relationship with his parents, his bond with Alexis, his work with RA. His recovery, and the effort he’s put into his mental health.

Maybe his relationship with Patrick can be like that. Shaky in the past, but solid now.

Patrick is sure about you, Marcy put it. Maybe David can be sure, too.

“Thank you,” David says to her, his brain spinning.

“Anytime. Now go get yourself a glass of water, and put Patrick on the phone.”

Patrick chooses this moment to appear, his eyes questioning as David thrusts the phone at him and escapes into the bedroom. But he’s too jittery to just sit on the bed. He goes into the guest room, strips, and tugs on his swim trunks and a long-sleeved swim shirt. He pauses to look in the mirror over the dresser, his eyes looking back at him a bit wild. The thin shirt is white with a black stripe down each sleeve, and he runs his hands over the smooth material. Not exactly haute couture but it’ll do in what is feeling very much like a pinch.

David feels Patrick’s gaze on him as he breezes through the living room and out on to the lanai, not letting himself pause before jumping feet-first into the deep end of the pool. The water is warmer than the air, but still a bit of a shock as it surrounds him. He pops up to breathe, pushing his hair out of his face, and starts swimming.

David had it in his head that he was going to swim laps until he burned out his nervous energy, but he rapidly discovers that the pool isn’t really big enough for that, and also that as fit as he might be, swimming seems to use different muscles than running and breathlessly swimming miniature laps in a tiny pool isn’t that much fun.

He still swims back and forth a few times, then bobs around in the deep end, letting himself sink down with his hands above his head, his fingertips seemingly staying above the water even when his toes touch the bottom. It’s not very deep.

The pool isn’t large but it is pretty, dark blue ceramic tiles running along the waterline, and seat-like ledges set in several places in both the shallow and deep ends, presumably so that the old people doing their water aerobics can rest. Or maybe to sit on while sipping a tropical drink, which is a decidedly appealing thought David files away for later.

He hears steps and spins around to see Patrick, clad in a white t-shirt and Kelly green swim trunks, standing by the edge of the pool.

“Hi there,” Patrick says. His face is wavering between fondly amused and concerned.

“I like the pool,” David says. He reaches out to hold on to the concrete by Patrick’s feet. The angle is kind of funny, looking up at Patrick’s pale legs.

“I can see that.” Patrick fiddles with the hem of his shirt, glancing around and then back at David. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” David tries to make this sound confident. Why wouldn’t he be? Getting worked up over talking to Marcy Brewer for the first time in more than three years and then throwing himself into the deep end of the pool is dramatic, fine, but it’s not completely out of character.

“Want some company?”

David can’t help but smile at this. “Assuming you are referring to yourself, always.”

Patrick goes over to the shallow end, where there are steps leading into the water and a curved handrail. He pauses, and David sees him hesitate before tugging off his t-shirt. David swims over, reaching out to Patrick, catching him by the waist and guiding him into his arms.

They stand in the shallow end together, David carefully running his hands along Patrick’s flanks, wary of the still healing bruises. Patrick relaxes, his shoulders coming down, and he rests his head on David’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” David asks softly, a hand splayed over Patrick’s ribs.

“Good. Really good.” Patrick looks up at David and presses a finger along his eyebrow, catching a stray drop of water. “How are you?”

David shudders as he remembers the call with Marcy, which the sight of Patrick’s bare skin had managed to overshadow for just a moment. He takes a breath and squeezes Patrick’s shoulders, putting on a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did my mother say something to upset you?”

He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not.”

“Then what is it?”

“You told your parents.”

Patrick tilts his head. “Yes…?”

“About us. Being back together.”. The phrase still doesn’t sit right with him, it seems too trivial for what is going on between them, but it gets the point across.

“Yeah, I did. Was that not okay?”

“No, of course it’s okay, it just…”

“It surprised you.” Patrick gives him a rueful glance. “Because I didn’t tell them, before, back in Schitt’s Creek.”

“I just wasn’t sure,” David says, “when I picked up the phone and it was your mother, whether she knew? And then it turned out that she did know, and she said – all these unbearably sweet things.”

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t have much of a filter.”

“No, it’s okay, like I said, she was really nice.”

“It was just a lot?” Patrick suggests.

“It was a lot. And from your mother.”

Patrick laughs. “She’s just excited.” He backs them a little deeper into the pool, the water now up to their shoulders.

“But why?” David says, a panicked whine creeping into his voice. “After what I did, why would she think this is a good idea?”

Patrick puts his hands firmly around David’s waist and finds his eyes. “After we broke up, I told my parents everything. Everything.. It’s kind of embarrassing, looking back on it, but I did. They were getting ready for a wedding too, remember? They didn’t understand what went wrong, so I told them about Mark, and how you knew something was off. They don’t blame you for what happened, any more than they blame me.”

David feels his chest clench. “Are you ever going to tell me what really was going on? Why you were flirting with him?” He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but there’s a part of him that needs to know why. Was it something he did? Is there something he needs to do better? And if Patrick can’t come up with a reason, how do they make sure it doesn’t happen again?

Patrick steps back from David, one hand trailing down David’s arm to take his hand, putting a little distance between them but still hanging on. “I think I was just scared of getting something I thought I’d never have.”

“But you were going to marry Rachel. You had the chance before, you knew you could have it.”

“I could have been married to Rachel, but it wouldn’t have been right. When I was with her, there was always something missing. That’s what I thought I’d never have, even when I couldn’t put my finger on it. Turns out, what was missing was you.”

Patrick pulls David in, brushing a kiss over his lips. He tastes like tea, and pool water, and the soft warm heat of his skin. David melts against him, his hips swaying to bring them close. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know how to handle it,” Patrick says quietly. “It was scary because you made it right, David. After all that wasted time, you made it right.”

When they part, David feels giddy. It’s time to commit, he can feel it. He can feel how easy it is to love this person, who doesn’t hesitate to share his feelings with David, who isn’t scared off by how strongly David feels, by him spiraling literally into the deep end. He knows that loving someone is a risk, but Patrick is all in, and David wants to be there too.

“I’m sure about you, Patrick,” he says. Patrick’s eyes widen, fixed on his own, and David nods, feeling the truth of it all through his body. “I’m sure about you, too.”

Patrick surges forward in the water and climbs into his arms, his legs coming up and around David too, almost overbalancing them as David splashes to keep them upright. As he steadies he wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him fiercely. Getting what you’ve always wanted may be overwhelming, but it’s damn good just the same.

#David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #SC fic #Schitt's Creek #Reunion fic #Literally spiraling into the deep end

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hysterialevi · 5 years ago

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His Name Was Isaac - A RDR2 Fanfic

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Alright guys, here’s the first part of my Isaac fic! I’m not 100% sure if I’ll continue this one so please let me know if you like it. I hope you enjoy :)

Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

AMERICA, 1907

WEST ELIZABETH

Bang.

The man collapsed to the ground.

His body twitched, his face contorted, his chest spurted blood, and within a few heartbeats... he was already gone from this world.

He was dead.

Just like that.

And soon, his friend would follow with him.

Smoking pistol in hand, his assailant cocked their firearm one last time and brought their attention to the final survivor in the room, preparing to take them out.

They crawled helplessly away from their pursuer and attempted to grab the weapon of one of their fallen comrades, only to cry out in agony when the other man pressed a boot on top of their fingers, practically grinding them to dust.

“You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch...!” The victim growled through gritted teeth, his eyes wet with tears from the pain. “I knew I shoulda killed you when Whitley first brought you here...!”

His attacker disregarded the comment and simply continued to twist their heel into his hand, causing a disgusting crack to emit from their joints.

“...You expect me to be grateful?” The other man replied, his tone low and venomous. “You signed your death warrant the minute you killed my mother all them years ago. You pieces of shit ain’t even getting a fraction of what you deserve.”

The injured man remained on the floor, his jaw tightly clenched due to the ongoing pain throbbing throughout his hand.

“We let you live...” he whispered, desperately attempting to bargain with him. “We gave you a place to stay. We kept you fed. Goddammit, Isaac -- we raised you!”

Isaac glowered at the absurd statement and knelt to the ground, making sure he was face-to-face with the other man.

“No,” he corrected. “You used me. You took everything I had and then forced me to give you more. And now...”

He applied even more pressure onto the man’s hand, causing him to start weeping.

“...you’re gonna die for it.”

Knowing there was no way he was going to talk himself out of this one, the man resorted to cowardly insults and intimidation, trying his best to scare Isaac out of going after the rest of the gang, but to no avail.

“If you’re thinkin’ about tracking Whitley down too, you can forget it. He’s already long gone. He ain’t nothin’ but a ghost nowadays.”

“You think?” Isaac said. “Well, I’m not too worried about it. I managed to track you down, didn’t I?”

His victim shook his head in anger. “It’s been ten years since Whitley left our gang, Isaac. Ten. How the hell are you gonna recognize him? You’ll never find him!”

Isaac let out a chuckle and rose from the ground, finally taking his foot off the man’s hand.

“Have no fear.” He reassured, taking aim. “I already have.”

Bang.

~~~~~~~~~~

THREE DAYS LATER

RHODES, EVENING

“Blackjack!” The dealer announced after checking his cards, earning a series of groans from the two players sat around him, along with the spectating crowd. He happily removed their chips from the betting position and retrieved their cards, stacking them proudly amongst his own.

“Alright, everyone, place your bets.” He instructed once everything had been reset.

Not too confident about his luck, the first player decided to adopt a safer strategy and presented a smaller amount of chips than the last round while the second player, Eli Whitley, decided to go higher.

He scooted the chips into the small circle drawn onto the table’s surface, biting his lip in uncertainty.

“Okay, no more bets,” the dealer said, shuffling the cards. “Let’s begin.”

Placing a total of two cards in front of each player, Whitley ended up with a six and a jack while the other received a king and a queen, leaving them in a much more favorable light than Whitley himself.

The dealer addressed Whitley first, throwing a quick glance at his cards.

“We have a sixteen.” He observed.

“Hit me.” Eli said, taking a third card. This one was an eight.

“Bust.”

Whitley sighed in disappointment upon seeing the result, leaning back as the dealer took away his chips before moving on to the next player.

“Twenty.” He noted.

The player held a hand up. “I’ll stand.”

Keeping his cards in hand, the dealer returned to his own pile and began flipping them over one by one, only to end up with a nineteen.

The second player grinned proudly at that. “Well, alright then!”

“...Dammit.” Whitley muttered to himself. Tonight was not his night.

Repeating the cycle as always, the dealer cleaned up the table once again and put everyone’s cards back into the stack while also giving out the appropriate number of chips, only to perk his head up in interest when a third man joined the game.

“Welcome, sir.” The dealer greeted.

“Evening, gentlemen.” He replied casually, settling down two seats over from where Whitley was.

The new player caught Whitley’s attention.

He appeared to be much younger than everyone else at the table, and had a head of wavy, blond hair as well as a thick layer of scruff outlining his jaw. He carried the look of someone who was no stranger to traveling around the country and also kept a beautiful revolver on his waist, allowing it to hang just beside the rim of his rugged duster coat.

Though, what really intrigued Whitley was the man’s eyes. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something strangely familiar about them. Like... he had seen this man before. No names were coming to Whitley’s mind at the moment, and he was fairly certain he had never ran into this young man in the past, but everything about him just screamed, “you know me.”

Well, Whitley supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask and turned to face the new player, curious to learn who he truly was.

“Hey there, partner.” He said, leaning forward. “Have we met before? You seem... familiar.”

The player simply carried on with the game, clearly not sharing Whitley’s sense of recognition.

“I don’t think so, mister. I’m usually pretty good at remember peoples’ faces, but...yours don’t ring any bells.”

Still, Eli was determined. “What about my name? You know anyone called Eli Whitley?”

The young man’s expression paused for a moment upon hearing his name -- as if he suddenly remembered who Whitley was -- but then returned to its natural state as he placed a small stack of chips in the betting ring.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry, mister.”

Whitley furrowed his brow in disappointment and confusion.

“Hmm... strange. Perhaps I’m mistakin’ you for someone else.”

The young man smiled in a friendly manner. “No worries. I guess I just have one of those faces.”

Letting their conversation drop there, Whitley fell back into silence as the dealer continued on with the game and began making his way around the table, starting with the new player.

“I see a twelve.” He examined.

“Hit me.”

The dealer placed another card down. “Eighteen.”

The young man held a hand up, signaling a stand. He moved on to Whitley.

“Fourteen.” He announced. Eli decided to take a risk and placed another stack of chips in the ring.

“I’ll double down.”

The dealer gave him an extra card, presenting a jack. “Bust.”

“Damn...!” Whitley cursed under his breath, shaking his head as his chips were whisked away. He could hear a few scattered moans of discouragement coming from the crowd.

“Welp...” He said with a lighthearted shrug, “I never did have much luck with gambling.”

The young man laughed softly at that and slid his cards back to the dealer.

“No, you didn’t.”

Whitley froze at the comment.

Wait, what?

What the hell was going on with this guy? Didn’t he just say that he had no idea who Whitley was? And now he was talking as if he knew him? Perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding in their little exchange that Whitley failed to catch.

Eli jolted his head in the young man’s direction, admittedly somewhat perplexed by what was happening.

“Hang on a minute, I thought you didn’t--”

Just before he could finish speaking however, a fourth player decided to jump into the game and occupied the seat between Whitley and the blond haired man, blocking his line of sight. Eli tilted his body so that he could see around the newcomer and leaned back a tad, only to find himself staring at nothing more than an empty chair.

“What in the world...?” He murmured.

Whitley was beside himself with bewilderment.

Where did the man go? Who was he? How did he disappear so fast? Was he even real? Or did Eli just have one too many drinks tonight?

Well, whatever was going on, Whitley started to suspect that Blackjack wasn’t the only game being played. Clearly, the young man knew significantly more than he let on, and Eli was beginning to suspect that his true intentions were far from innocent.

Deciding to call it a day, Whitley returned his cards to the dealer and stood up from the table, fully determined to find that young man now. He had about a thousand questions swimming through his head at the moment, and by God was he going to get some answers.

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE RHODES, MIDNIGHT

Squeak.

That was all Whitley could hear as his lantern swayed back and forth with his horse’s movement, causing his shadow to warp into all sorts of ominous shapes on the dirt road beneath him.

At the moment, Eli was trying to locate the young man in the fields just outside of Rhodes, but the nightfall in this area was brutal. Even with a flame to help guide the way, the darkness still managed to swallow the light of his lantern whole, and it also nearly enveloped his vision completely.

There was nothing around him except for endless fields of grass shrouded by utter blackness, and in the distance, Whitley could’ve sworn he saw an abandoned barn standing behind a misty layer of fog.

“...Jesus Christ...” He muttered, admittedly feeling on edge.

What was he doing out here? Was it even worth it to find this boy? For all Whitley knew, that young man could’ve been absolutely no one special, and he could’ve just been wasting his time out here like a complete moron, searching an answer that didn’t exist.

But no... it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. It was clear that the man knew who Eli was. He knew his face. He knew his name. And somehow, he knew Eli would be in Rhodes tonight.

Whitley just had no idea how.

Pushing further into the night, Eli decided to make a beeline straight for the barn and lightly whipped the reins on his horse, urging it to go into a steady trot.

Despite all the fog surrounding the eerie structure, Whitley managed to spot the soft orange glow of another lantern sitting outside the barn’s doors, indicating that someone else might’ve been there, too.

Even if it wasn’t the young man, Whitley still felt a wave of relief rush over him nonetheless. There was no denying that these empty fields made him uneasy, and with the odd encounter he had at the Blackjack table earlier, he wanted nothing more than to return to his room until the world realigned itself.

Cautiously approaching the barn, Eli squinted through the darkness and held his lantern up a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead.

Not too far away from him, it looked like there was another horse hitched by the barn’s entrance, and -- if Eli’s eyes weren’t deceiving him -- a person sitting on top of it as well. Their back was turned to Whitley at the moment, but there was no one else accompanying the stranger as far as he could tell, so he assumed it would be safe to introduce himself. Perhaps they were another lost soul, hopelessly trying to find their way around these winding meadows.

“Um, excuse me, sir?” Whitley called out, getting off his mount. “Or ma’am...?”

He walked over to the other horse, curious to see who this stranger was.

“I apologize for intruding, but I was wonderin’ if you could help me find my way back to town. It’s a hell of a lot darker out here than I first anticipated, and I seemed to have gotten myself turned around. Would you be so kind as to--”

Finally standing next to his new friend, it didn’t take long for Whitley to notice that the stranger was no person at all, and in fact, a simple scarecrow that had been placed on top of the saddle.

“What in the hell...?” Eli whispered in a baffled voice, observing the decoy.

That was when someone suddenly shot him from behind, planting a bullet in his leg.

“Shit!” He hissed, falling to the ground as smoke rose from his shattered kneecap and the horses whinnied in fear.

Tightly clutching his leg, Whitley heard the distant sound of someone cocking their gun, followed by a chain of footsteps emerging from the shadows that eventually led to his side.

“No wonder you have such bad luck with gambling,” a familiar voice remarked. “You’re far too predictable, Whitley.”

Holding onto his wounded knee as he writhed on the ground like a worm on a hook, Eli gazed upwards at his assailant and saw the same man from before, only with a completely different temperament this time.

As opposed to the casual, laid-back demeanor he carried during the game of Blackjack, he now lacked any empathy in his expression, and didn’t seem to hold even a shred of remorse in his conscience. His blue eyes were narrow with a sense of hatred, and the angled light coming from Eli’s fallen lantern cast a number of shadows across the man’s face that only seemed to sharpen his glare.

Whitley let out a series of rapid, shaky breaths, attempting to speak through the pain.

“W-Who the hell... are you?” He groaned out. “Why are you doin’ this...?!”

The young man kept his pistol aimed at Eli and slapped his horse with the other, scaring it off as a way to ensure Whitley had no means to escape.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” He answered vaguely. “I know it’s been over ten years, but seein’ as how you was drowning your sorrows in the parlor house back there, I figured you hadn’t forgotten.”

Eli sighed in frustration, his voice becoming more ragged due to anger. “Enough games, sir! Just gimme your name so I can know what the hell is goin’ on! Haven’t you played with me enough?”

“Not really,” the young man disagreed, “but I ain’t got any more time to waste on you. So consider yourself lucky. For once.”

Circling around Whitley like a vulture observing its meal, the young man finally decided to come clean and crouched next to Eli’s face, making sure his revolver was ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Fifteen years ago or so... you and your ‘associates’ may have robbed a small cabin...? Killed the owner in the process, too. A young woman, barely into her twenties. Her name was Eliza, and she had a son as well.”

He paused, holding up a finger. “Oh, but you didn’t kill her son. Instead, you took him in. Forced him to work for your gang, and then dug another grave by his mother’s to ensure his daddy wouldn’t come after him.”

The man aggressively pressed the barrel of his pistol against Whitley’s temple, nearly digging it through his skull as he growled his next words.

“Any of this ringin’ a bell now?”

Suddenly realizing just who this man was, Whitley’s eyes sprung wide open in remembrance as he gaped at his captor with a horrified look, finally understanding what all of this was about.

“...I-Isaac Morgan?” He breathed out in disbelief. “Is that you? My God... y-you was just a little boy the last time I saw you.”

Isaac nodded as confirmation, appearing satisfied with the answer. “If I recall correctly, you left your gang members behind ‘cause you couldn’t... ‘deal with the guilt anymore.”

Whitley closed his eyes in shame, unwilling to relive the tragic memory.

“...It was one of our first jobs, Isaac. We never meant to kill Eliza. We only wanted her money. But people just panicked, things got escalated, and -- for God’s sake -- it was an accident! Okay? The trigger went off and we couldn’t just undo it!”

Isaac shrugged at Eli’s confession, evidently not taking a word of it in. “I don’t care. Your ‘accident’ cost me my family, my home, and my childhood. And there ain’t no way in hell you can give any of that back, so I’ll just settle for takin’ your life. But before I do...”

He took a handful of Whitley’s collar, yanking the man’s face closer to his own. “...Tell me where Mackintosh is.”

Eli furrowed his brows at that. “Shay Mackintosh? How on earth would I know?”

“You and Mackintosh were practically brothers before you left the gang. You must know something!”

Whitley raised his hands in a diplomatic manner. “Look, I haven’t spoken to Mackintosh in years! I have no idea where he could be!”

Isaac pulled the hammer on his pistol down, afterwards pointing it at Eli’s other knee. “Well, you better give me something.”

“Wait!” The other man exclaimed, starting to panic. “Just wait! I’ve... I’ve heard rumors of him runnin’ around with the Van der Linde gang recently. Apparently, he’s one of them now.”

Morgan wasn’t quite finished with interrogating him yet. “The Van der Linde gang? Who are they? Where can I find them?”

“I don’t know,” Whitley answered truthfully. “I’ve never met them before. All I know is if you wanna find them, you gotta find Dutch van der Linde first. He’s their leader. He’s the one in charge.”

“...Dutch van der Linde...” Isaac repeated to himself, taking a mental note of the name. “Alright, then. I’ll go find him. And Mackintosh, too. Seems you ain’t completely useless, after all.”

“But what about Baumann and Blackmore?” Eli questioned, confused as to why Isaac stopped his interrogation there. “Aren’t you gonna look for them as well?”

Isaac stood up from the dirt path and patted any dust off his coat, averting his aim back to Whitley’s head.

“No need. They’re already dead.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #isaac morgan #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #Micah Bell #rdr2 oc

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tae-cup · 4 years ago

Text

Twin Flame | Of Eternity and Euphoria (1)

Pairing: God!Min Yoongi x Human!Reader sort of soulmate!au?

Summary: The god of the underworld hasn’t been whole for a millennium. Suddenly you came stumbling into his life...literally.

Warnings: N/A Fluffy!

Word Count: 4.9K words

A/N: I like this. Yes. Let me know your thoughts and if you want more of this mini series!

Other:

Series Masterlist

What Is A Twin Flame?

~ Sometimes discussed in terms of a “mirror soul” or “soul connection”, a twin flame is the other half of your soul. It is theorized that a soul can split into two after ascending to a high frequency. Thereafter, the soul lands in two different bodies.

It had been disgustingly simple. You were just minding your business, on your phone scrolling through instagram, when you bumped into someone. This resulted in the ice vanilla latte in your hands finding a home on a stranger’s shirt.

You looked up quickly to apologize, but you stopped mid-way through your sentence to gawk. The man standing before you had jet black hair and skin as pale as the moon. Even his eyes held a certain darkness and yet...to you he was absolutely stunning. You quickly shut your mouth and he quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You dipped your head apologetically. The stranger didn’t say a word. He just tilted his head at you quizzically. “I’ll pay for your dry cleaning!” You exclaimed, feeling the need to fill the awkward gaps. You inwardly cursed at yourself, knowing you didn’t have much money. You continued to ramble, only stopping when he put a hand up. That effectively silenced you. You had a bad habit of rambling on and on when nervous.

“Your name?” He said curtly.

“Y/L/N Y/F/N.” You said immediately.

“Interesting.” He looked around, eyes surveying the cars and streetlights. “The human world has changed quite a bit since I was last here.”

“Human...world?” You weren’t religious or really superstitious. The notion of there being an other world seemed silly to you. So, of course, you suddenly had your reservation when speaking to this mysterious, albeit devastatingly handsome, man.

“Ah, sorry. You’re human, yes?”

“Yeah...?” You found yourself taking a small step back from him, but the smile he gave you was fond and warm. It almost made you relax; almost.

“I’m Min Yoongi.” He held a hand out to you. His fingers were slender and long, delicate, but not fragile. You met his hand with your own, giving it a good shake. Instantly, a warm tingling feeling spread from your hands to your body. It felt like your hand was made to hold his. It was comfortable. He seemed just as confused as you, but instead he cleared his throat and dropped your hand. “I’m very busy, I must be going.”

You nodded quickly, still unsure of what just happened.

“Oh and...don’t worry about the laundry. I’ve got it taken care of.” He said nonchalantly before moving past you. You waited until he was out of sight before sprinting back to your apartment which was only a couple blocks away. Something inside of you had ignited when you met. Now it felt cold. Almost dead. And your apartment seemed even lonelier, if that was possible. What you didn’t know was that, quite literally, below your feet, there was a being sharing your exact feelings.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair.

“Listen, joon, I don’t fucking know how it works either. I’m telling you that something happened when I touched that mortal!” Yoongi paced in front of Namjoon. The god of wisdom was intrigued to see his usually cold friend of the underworld pacing frantically like a high schooler.

“Now now, hyung, don’t get too caught up. After all, you’ve been in the underworld, alone, for a century. You never join us for cards anymore.” Namjoon spoke like a calming parent.

“I don’t like unnecessarily messing with the lives of humans, namjoon.” The older male shot back. “That just means more clean up for me and I don’t enjoy having more work than I need to have.”

“Right right, whatever.” Namjoon dismissed his bitter comment with a wave of his hand. “How can you be sure?”

“That’s why I came to you, dumbass! Aren’t you supposed to know these things?” His words held the tiniest bit of contempt.

“I know a lot of things, Yoongi, I’m just not sure if I’m allowed to tell you all of them. The fates have their own way of things, you know that.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll see for myself.”

“And just how do you plan on doing that?” The god of wisdom clasped his hands together, looking unamused.

“I’ll take her home.”

You ran through the material one last time. Friday was the big final for the year and you had to pass. There was no other option unless you planned on working at McDonalds for the rest of your life. You rubbed the space between your eyebrows, looking for comfort from the oncoming headache. Papers upon papers were sprawled in front of you. Your little apartment was overwhelmed with clutter. Books, stray magazines, and plates littered the living room. Your bedroom wasn’t much better. Let’s just say you weren’t exactly a clean person.

There was a sudden knock at the door. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was that odd man you had met the other day. You didn’t want to open the door, but something drew you in. Lately, that man had been on your mind more and more. You didn’t really know why. There was something about him. It felt like...like he had completed you for a fraction of a second.

“Hello?” You slowly opened your door. You only had a moment to take in the man in front of you, dark suit and pale skin, until the wind blew open your door wider. You nearly shrieked, jumping back quickly.

“Y/N.” His voice drawled, low and almost bored. “You need to come with me.”

He looked at your terrified expression. A man in a dark suit who you’d met once was now standing in the doorway of your apartment...like a fucking weirdo. Who could blame him? He had spent thousands of years alone. Hesitantly, Yoongi stepped through the doorway. You only took another step back. No matter how handsome or how right this man was, you weren’t going to just let a stranger take you away!

“What do you want? I don’t-I don’t have any money on me right now.” You said, cursing yourself for stuttering. At this, Yoongi softened his expression.

“Sorry, let me try again.” He quietly stepped out of the room and closed the door. Then he knocked.

This absolute fool. You thought, shaking your head and then deciding to humor him. You cautiously opened the door. He stood there, smiling.

“I’m the god of the underworld and I believe you’re my twin flame. So, I’m going to have to have you come with me.”

You blinked once, looked around your apartment, then at him like he’d grown two heads. Of course, this was just another lunatic who thought himself some sort of God. You scoffed, stepping forward to close the door. Panicked, the man quickly stepped inside.

“You’re insane.” You mumbled, but when he grasped your hand, you froze. The sensation was back, but it was sudden this time, spreading throughout your body like a wildfire. Your heart raced like a hundred horses running. His other hand on your arm snapped you out of it. You shook your head, trying to clear your mind which had become increasingly foggy.

“I’m not insane. You can feel it too, can’t you?” He insisted, those his face didn’t give away the same emotion his voice did. His voice screamed panicked teenager, his face said hello, I’m a fucking god. When you slowly nodded, he grinned. You couldn’t help but admire his smile. It put you at ease.

“No, wait.” You stopped yourself from moving toward the door, heels digging in and fighting your instinct. “I barely know you. For all I know, you’re about to sell me into some underground prostitution ring.” Your voice was hurried, not knowing if you should run after trotting horses or stay behind. To take a leap or not? He interrupted your train of thought by pulling you close to his chest. When you were chest to chest, his head bowed down to stare intently into your eys.

“We’ll have all of eternity to learn about each other, love.” His words dripped honey and elegance. Against your better judgement, you found yourself following him. “See? You can’t escape fate.”

You looked at him, still questioning his motives. You didn’t believe in gods, there was surely no way he was telling the truth. But there was also no explanation to the feelings coursing through your veins. It was like your skin ignited under his touch. It was a tingling feeling that you wanted to keep.

“Apologies, this may be a little...weird at first.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he walked you from your apartment all the way to the park across the street.

“A little weird?”

“Getting to the underworld.”

“I’m sorry, come again?” You immediately took a step back. once again broken from your trance.

“Uh...Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about spending eternity with dead people.” You frowned. Yoongi sighed, squeezing your hand tightly.

“You’re not trapped down there forever. We can go to the surface any time you want. I just need to make sure you’re really my twin flame. Once we get through to the underworld, if things go well, our souls will merge as they should be.” He explained calmly, as if this was the most normal thing. You opened your mouth to respond, when a hand reach from the ground and grabbed your ankle.

“Yoongi! What is going on?!” You screeched, only to be met with an inky black.

You opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the darkness. The room was dark, you assumed from the lights being off, but something about this place just felt...dark. Then everything came rushing back to you. You quickly rushed out of bed, looking outside the window only to see a black abyss.

Panic was the first emotion. Your heart clenched. Was this really the underworld? You checked your pulse, sighing in relief when you felt your pulse still beating. Then you tentatively moved around the room, exploring your surroundings.

This was impossible. Gods are real? You couldn’t believe it, yet here you were.

Yoongi knew you were awake. He knew your whereabouts since you came to the underworld. It had been intense, the feeling of two halves of a soul finally coming together. He felt warm for the first time in years. He was finally complete. He wanted to leave you to your own devices for a while, suspecting that this may be all too much for a mortal.

You were wandering around the castle. There was no one in sight. It was cold and there was something missing from yourself. You felt whole and well, but you were missing something, maybe someone. Yoongi.

Immediately, you started sprinting, bare feet treading softly across the tile floors. Where is that god?! You searched every corner, every room on your way. Then you made a magnificent discovery.

Large doors made of a wood so dark it was almost black and covered with rot iron decor. It was menacing, but having spent an hour or more exploring, you needed answers. You also felt oddly accustom to the drafty halls and the silence. You never had silence like this back home. Your apartment was always noisy with traffic and shouting from the neighbors down the hall. The quiet that so comfortably filled this place was...nice.

“You can go in, you know?” A kind voice said behind you. You jumped, startled, before turning to take in the man. He wore a blue suit and black dress shoes.

“Oh, oh, okay.” You said, your nervousness coming to the forefront again. The man before you was unfairly handsome. He had full lips, unmarred skin, and broad shoulders.

“Ah, mortals, always so nervous. Come on then.” He gently placed a hand on your back and gave you a small push towards the door.

“Mortals? Does that mean you’re also-”

“Yes.” He smiled gently. “I’m Kim Seokjin, god of the sky, but you can call me Jin.”

You mutely mouth oh. That explained the outfit. You carefully opened the door. Inside was a large throne room. Two thrones were at the end of the long hall that was to your left and right. You must have entered through the side door as you spotted a long runner spanning the length of the room in front of you. You glanced from side to side, taking note of the high pillars and floating lights. The thrones sat empty and in the middle of the room was a large table with six men sitting at it like it was nothing. You could hear them chatting happily, laughter rising out of them.

“We’re here!” Seokjin’s voice rang out, echoing in the large room. The chatter didn’t die down as the men turned to look at you two. You wanted to shrink away under their gazes. They’re all so unfairly handsome. As you walked over, falling a few steps behind Jin, you felt like shrinking away. Jin was met with cheers and claps on the back.

“Ah, hyung you’re always late when we meet in the underworld.” A man with pink hair complained.

“Yah! You know it takes me longer to go from the heavens down to the underworld.” Jin protested.

“It’s only a minute from where I live.” A deep voice piped up.

“But Taehyung, you live right above Yoongi.” Jin huffed.

“Who’s this?” A voice said.

All heads turned your way, watching you as you shifted uneasily.

“Hello, I’m Y/N.” You dipped your head. Yoongi resisted the urge to smile. After all, he was supposed to be the cold one in the group. The guys would tease him endlessly if they saw him being soft.

“Y/N. Come here.” Yoongi commanded and you did as you were told, not finding the strength in you to throw back a sassy remark. The invasive stares of the other men bit into you.

“Y/N?” Mused a man that seemed far too bright for the underworld. “So you’re the one Yoongi has been going on about.”

That made both of you flush a bright red.

“R-really?” You looked awkwardly at Yoongi where he just simply put an arm around your waist. He softly tugged you closer.

“I think you guys should introduce yourselves to my lover.” Yoongi declared.

Okay that was a lot to take in. Lover? Who were these men? Obviously they were gods but who was what? You already knew Jin. They chuckled at the confusion that must be evident on your face.

“Are you sure you passed that over with her?” A man in a crisp brown suit raised an eyebrow.

“We’re two of the same soul, of course we’re lovers.” Yoongi scoffed, his grip on your waist tightening. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

You found yourself nodding. “Yes, yes, of course.” You firmly agreed, your heart still racing at the thought of being this close to him.

“Right. Well, I’m Namjoon.” The man in the brown suit, Namjoon, introduced himself. “I’m the god of wisdom and knowledge.”

“Hello, I’m Hoseok, god of the sun.” The bright man from earlier chimed in.

“Jimin,” The pink haired man held a hand out to you. For some reason, your pulse quickened looking at him. He was definitely attractive. “I’m the god of love and passion.”

You shook his hand, ignoring the redness creeping back onto your face. He winked, to which Yoongi took to intertwining his freehand with yours.

“I’m Taehyung.” The deep voiced man leaned back in his chair, studying you. “And I’m the god of the sea.”

You nodded in acknowledgement. Then you quickly blurted out, “I think you saved me when I was eight.”

Taehyung looked quizzically at you. “I may have. I save a lot of people.” He shrugged. There was something about him you didn’t trust.

You remembered that day clearly. You hadn’t heeded your parents’ warning and you had gone out into the ocean way farther than you should have.

Your boogey board floated helplessly in the water. At least it was keeping you afloat. There was a gust of wind and the water started to pick up more, becoming choppier. Salt water drenched your small form as you desperately tried to swim back to shore. You believed in gods back then. You believed maybe just maybe a god would have mercy on you.

But no one came to your aid as you thrashed in the cold water.

“HELP!” You screamed into the wind. You realized you were doomed. There was no one on the beach. There was no beach in sight. There was no lifeguard. There were no gods.

“PLEASE, PLEASE ANYONE?!” You cried, salt water leaving you gagging. When the ocean swallowed you whole, you didn’t even bother struggling. You took a deep breath and let yourself go under. Just as the darkness pulled at you, a hand grasped your arm.

“Now is not your time.” A voice whispered, which seemed impossible since you were in water. Then everything went dark and you were coughing up sea water on the beach surrounded by worried bystanders.

“Are you okay?” A gentle woman’s voice called to you. But you felt too dazed, staring out at the water. Your hand went to the spot where you had felt the touch of someone. Who was it? Who had saved you? You decided it must have been a kind person, because why would the gods have thrown you in that situation in the first place?

When you had explained the story, the other gods gave each other a knowing look.

“Right...I definitely saved you. I think I remember now.” Taehyung smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something dark in his gaze.

Yoongi didn’t move, seemingly frozen. He frowned at Taehyung before turning away, looking at Jungkook introduce himself as the god of war. Then Seokjin said hello once more and the chatter continued.

You dazed off, feeling overwhelmed at what was happening. Maybe you would wake up and realize this was some crazy complicated dream. You looked at each man, memorizing their features. If this was a dream...you wanted to remember them the best you could. Looking around at the seven of them laughing and acting as if they were normal beings, it made you desperately wish this wasn’t a dream. You wanted to see Taehyung smile again. You wanted to see Jungkook’s bunny smile, hear Jin’s laugh, Hoseok’s dance moves, Namjoon’s smart comebacks, and Jimin’s wink. You wanted to feel Yoongi’s arm around you again. Just once more.

You were drowning again. water entered your lungs. You screamed and no one heard. People watched from the beach and they laughed at your pitiful attempts to survive against the strength of the ocean.

“You need to tell her, Taehyung.” An annoyed voice shook your from your far from peaceful sleep. You identified the voice to be Yoongi’s. He was speaking to, probably Taehyung, out in the hallway.

You smiled softly, remembering his tight grip on you last night. The way he whispered sweet words in your ear.

“Why? She’s going to be your downfall, Yoongi, we all knew it. I care about you. I didn’t want you to have to go through that!” Taehyung argued, voice hushed.

“You tried to kill her! I saved her.” Yoongi hissed.

“You would rather fall from grace, like the prophets said, huh?”

“I’m already in the underworld, how much farther can I go?” Yoongi said dryly.

“You’re out of your mind.”

You carefully thought back on that day. The darkness, the hand, the voice. It all screamed Yoongi. And Taehyung had tried...tried to kill you.

“No, You’re out of your fucking mind, Tae. You can’t fuck around with fate!” His voice had risen significantly.

“You’re going to wake her up!”

“As if I didn’t know she’s been awake listening to us this entire time. Isn’t that right, love?” Yoongi opened the door to see you standing there, shaking.

“Taehyung...” You spoke softly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “You tried to kill me?”

Taehyung didn’t meet your eyes, looking away uncomfortably.

“It’s funny how scared you are of a mere mortal.” You suddenly sneered, a certain anger possessing your body. “Don’t come near me again. I’ll stay out of your way and you stay out of mine. I’ll try my best not to be the downfall of Yoongi, but it’s like he said...you can’t fuck around with fate.” You had been wanting to curse the gods for ages. Who knew you would have the chance to do it in person? “And if you fucking touch me or even think of it, I will be sure to be the downfall of you.”

Taehyung gawked at you. Here was a mortal, dressed in a white nightgown with slippers, and he felt the need to bow to you. It was so stupid. He was scared of a mortal.

“If you care about Yoongi, you would do well to leave here.” He said, a hint of malice in his voice.

“I’ll make that choice.”

“Very well. Good day.” Taehyung carefully stepped back before breaking into a fast paced walk down the hall.

Two arms wrapped themselves around your middle, pulling you close to a warm body. Who knew the god of the underworld was so comfortable? He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“That was amazing, love.” Yoongi whispered, his breath fanning across your neck and causing goosebumps to raise.

“I may be stuck here-”

“You’re not trapped, we can always visit the surface if you want-”

You held a hand up that stopped him from continuing. You unwrapped yourself from his embrace and took his hands in your own, facing him.

“-but I won’t be pushed around. I have a life and I need to tie things up before I come here permanently.”

“Permanently-?” Yoongi felt his cheeks heat up. The thought of you belonging to him, that he would finally be happy for eternity, made him overjoyed.

“Yes.” You squeezed his hands, the ones that fit so perfectly in yours. Your gaze was unadulterated love. He could get lost in that gaze.

“After you finish...will you tell me more about yourself?” He said, his voice quiet.

“Of course, but I need to tie up the loose ends of my life.”

“As you wish.”

Waking up in your old apartment, sunlight filtering through the curtains you’d had for years, had you wondering if it all was a dream. Was Yoongi even real? You slowly got up from bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Yoongi?” You called out, knowing in your heart that he wasn’t there. He was somewhere in the underworld, just awaiting your return. Your other half. With a sigh, you got dressed and called into work. “Yeah, I’m sorry this is so sudden, but I’d like to quit. No, no, it was nothing anyone did. I just got offered another job across the country.”

“That’s an interesting lie.” A deep voice said behind you. You froze.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, thank you for your time. Yes, I wish you luck as well.” You quickly hung up. Without turning around, you gritted your teeth. “Taehyung, I told you not to come near me again.”

“I’m a god, you can’t stop me.” He chuckled.

“I’ll tell Yoongi.” You murmured, spinning around to face the god of the sea.

He merely laughed.

“I do enjoy you, Y/N. You’re fiery. Perhaps one day we may be friends.”

“And we have forever and ever to decide that, I suppose.” You nodded. “But I don’t plan on it being soon.”

You went to the kitchen, the god trailing behind you. You couldn’t help looking behind you every now and then.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I’m worried for my hyung. I’ve known him since we were new gods.” Taehyung said sheepishly. If you were dumb, you might even mistake it for genuine concern. “Can we start over? I would like to be friends. Especially since we’re going to be around each other a bit.”

You didn’t look up, searching through your drawers for the check book. You found it, taking it out and signing the rent amount on it. Then you looked for an envelope.

“Taehyung, I’d love to, but what changed your mind?” You raised an eyebrow, looking toward him as you sealed the check in an envelope for your landlord.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about right now.” He glanced away, suddenly seeming bashful. You tilted your head at him before turning back to find your mailbox.

“Right.” You decided not to pry. “I guess I need to pack everything up now...” You blanched looking at the clutter. Why hadn’t you bothered to clean up? Taehyung followed your eye line, finally acknowledging the mess. He’s a god and you’re here showing him your messy apartment. Taehyung smiled a boxy smile.

“It’s okay, the mess, I mean. Yoongi hyung is just as messy if not more.” He patted your arm and this time you didn’t shrink back. “You guys are meant for each other.”

“Well, thanks for your blessing.” You rolled your eyes. Despite having been so angry with him earlier, you found that he seemed the easiest to talk to now. You could tell that if you had gotten off to a better start, he and you would have been best friends. However, now you held your reservations and you tried not to get too close to him.

“I’ll help you pack.” He knew that Yoongi could easily snap and have all your things transported, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Oh? Okay.” You shrugged. Then you took out the moving boxes stored in your closet from where you moved in a few months ago, and got to work.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at all the boxes currently in the throne room. A long line of souls had begun piling up and he needed to get to work, but he wanted an explanation first.

“Taehyung and I decided to pack up the apartment, I didn’t want to trouble you too much.” You shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Taehyung?” Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “Taehyung is dangerous, jagi.”

“I know, I know. But he showed up at my apartment-”

That made his eyebrows shoot up.

“-And we sort of worked through our problems and now I think it’s okay.” Your smile caught him off guard. He couldn’t help smiling back, it was infectious.

“If that’s what you say, I trust you.” He snapped his fingers and the boxes disappeared. “I’ve moved them to our private quarters. The maids can unpack them.”

“Maids? I’ve never seen any around.” You pondered.

“Oh they’re around. I just instructed them to stay out of your way.” Yoongi pointed to the throne next to his. “Come join me.”

You hesitantly walked forward. “Really?”

“Really.”

As you made your way down the long hall, he continued speaking.

“You remind me of my mother. She has the same grace and elegance. You hold yourself in a similar manner. I find it charming.”

“Tell me about yourself.” You lifted your chin, trying to pry information out of him instead of the other way around.

“Impatient, are we? Well, I’m the god of the underworld. I make sure souls that deserve it pass on safely and souls that don’t deserve it, suffer.” He said casually. “I do enjoy music.”

“What kind?” You had a certain look in your eyes, one that made him want to lose control and kiss you on the spot. You seemed so genuinely interested in him, quite unlike any goddess who had tried to seduce him.

“Any. I play piano.”

“Oh?”

“I have eternity. I might as well learn something new.” He chuckled, then held his hand out to you. “And you can spend it with me, all you need to do is take my hand.”

You walked forward, not hesitating to take his hand. With that, he pulled you in and pressed his lips with yours. Your mouth felt like it was made to be on his. His lips were perfect for yours, like a missing puzzle piece. Warmth spread through your body and you glowed an ethereal light. It was a light that was too bright for this dark underworld. When you broke away, you were still glowing ever so slightly.

“Now you can stay with me forever.” He smiled.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his. He placed his hands on the back of your neck, closing his eyes and breathing in your scent.

“Would you like that, Y/N? Will you spend eternity with me?”

You looked him in the eye, moving apart slightly to look at him better.

“Yes. I’ll spend eternity with you, Yoongi.”

The missing piece in your life. The hand that saved your life. The man that held your heart in his hands. You loved this man.

“I love you, Y/N.” He breathed.

“I love you too.” Then you hugged him, throwing your arms around his waist. And he held you tight. You were made for him. He couldn’t imagine letting you go, not for an eternity.

#bts #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #twin flame #of eternity and euphoria #God!Yoongi #fluff #tatawrites #i didn't proof read this. whoops

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