#and now when I drink only black coffee smoke and barely eat anything they’re like what kind of a mean girl are you

[old-memoria]

Hello bitches how we doing

[kythed]

“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji. 

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.” 

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.” 

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.” 

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh. 

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.” 

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.” 

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?” 

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.” 

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am. 

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own. 

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.” 

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.” 

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin. 

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.” 

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his. 

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.” 

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.” 

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair. 

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.” 

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—” 

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.” 

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way. 

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception. 

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am. 

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?” 

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing. 

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!” 

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?” 

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.” 

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself. 

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?” 

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair. 

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.” 

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.” 

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.” 

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips. 

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.” 

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles. 

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.” 

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job. 

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat. 

“you okay?” 

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.) 

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.” 

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye. 

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.” 

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.” 

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation. 

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”  

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.” 

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning. 

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

you scoff. “corny.” 

“you like it.” 

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.” 

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.” 

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.” 

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.” 

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.” 

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind. 

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm. 

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.) 

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?” 

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.” 

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?” 

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?” 

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.” 

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.” 

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.” 

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.” 

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.” 

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real. 

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

[thunderthighs77]

Tendou and Semi Cuckold Part 1

**Part 2** IF THE LINK DOES NOT WORK, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. PART 2 CAN BE FOUND ON MY PAGE RIGHT NOW ANYWAY  

CW/TW for Pt. 1: Fem Reader x Tendou + Semi, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mentions of weed, cursing, vaginal play, smoking weed.

Y/N comes home from college to her bf’s house. He’s rooming with Semi, who’s always had eyes for Y/N. That doesn’t bother Tendou. In fact, it excites him...

(Basically, Tendou is lead dom here)

CW/TW for BOTH PARTS: Fem Reader x Tendou + Semi, spit roast (tag team), double penetration, voyeurism, exhibitionism, vaginal/anal play, shotgunning, (smoke), oral sex (giving), mentions of weed, cursing, pussy rubbing?, whining, creampie, praise/degradation kink.

18+ MINORS DNI

You were so fed up with midterms. 5 exams this week. 5 e x a m s. You just wanted to go home and get away from this fucking campus. You left your class and checked back into your dorm to empty out your book bag of notebooks onto the floor.

You pack a few clothes and your wallet. Your roommate had left for the weekend to her girlfriend’s house and so, you locked the door and left. You took the 11 up west to where you lived and walked home with your headphones on. 

You stopped in front of a mini market and figured your parents hadn’t cooked dinner since they worked nights. It was already evening time, so you decided “what the hell.” You walked in and walked out with some instant ramen, a bag of jerky, and a Reeses, Tendou’s favorite candy. 

Speak of the devil, your phone buzzed. It was Tendou asking if your midterms went well.

“They were fine. Thanks for asking, babe. I’m home rn” You typed as you bit a chunk out of the piece of meat. 

“Ooo. Want me to pick you up tonight?”, he texted. 

You were really close to home. The market was just down the street. As you made it to your front gate, you saw a note at the front that said, “Gone for the weekend. Say hi to Tendou from us if you decide to stay over.” 

“Say less!” You shout happily. 

“No, I’m heading over rn,” you type quickly. Tendou was also nearby your house. You walked down the quiet neighborhood as you ate your jerky and listened to your vaporwave. It was rarely a nice day in March; a good 68 degrees. Odd in the early spring where you lived, but a nice change from the dreadful winter you had suffered during the fall semester. 

You knocked at the front door and was greeted by a tall blonde face you recognized from your boyfriend’s high school volleyball team. He has on some black sweats and a white tank. He opened the door while his head was turned to the side, completely focused on the volleyball game on t.v. “Hey, Y/N,” he said as he just turned his head for a second before it swung back the side to focus on the t.v. He stepped aside as you walked past him. 

You walked in to the faint smell of weed, smoked probably a few hours ago. You set the grocery back down and hung your jacket at the front. The house was dark. It was 6:43 pm to be fair, the sun had almost fully disappeared. The tv’s glare and Tendou’s computer screen were the only source of light at the moment. 

You walked to where Tendou was sitting. Shirtless and in some grey sweats, he was shouting in his headset. “Come on, you motherfucker! He’s right there!”, he shouted as he pointed to the computer screen at his game. He felt your warm hug around him and he looked back and leaned into your kiss. 

“Hey baby,” he said. He turned back and yelled to the set again, “Come on, you dick! Oh my fucking-” 

You chuckled and backed away to let him continue playing. Semi was on the couch and glued to the game on the tv. His knees were spread and you climbed over to sit down on the other side of the couch. Your passing did not faze him at all. He kept his focus on the game. “Yes!”, Semi shouted as the whistle blew on the tv. It was some random college game. You sighed and scrolled through your phone. 

The coffee table in front of the tv was messy. An ashtray of burnt out cigarettes and blunts, leaves of weed sprinkled throughout, and empty beer and redbull cans. Keys, wallets, a few bills here and there, and a charging PS4 controller. 

You shut off your phone and asked. “Can we order some takeout?” You figure the 2 packets of ramen weren’t enough to feed all three of you, and you knew Tendou nor Semi couldn't cook, or even have food in the fridge, except for drinks and the occasional condiment or two. 

Tendou sighed in relief at the screen as “YOU WON” appeared in green and he took his headset. “Sure, babe,” he said as he held the power button to shut off the computer. “Semi, do you mind takeout?”, Tendou asked. Semi shook his head no. You walk over to the kitchen and try to find a menu. “That place over on 5th is really good,” you shout back to them. 

You get no response as you burrow through Tendou’s messy kitchen drawers. You can’t find any takeout menu as you look through them. “Babe?”, you call out. “What?”, Tendou calls out from the living room. “Where are the take out menus? They’re not in the kitchen.” 

“Check the bedroom, hun,” Tendou said. You swish your lips as your stomach growls. That jerky wasn't enough to hold you. You hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Exams ran through your lunch period so you were starved the whole day. You look through Tendou’s room and into his closet to find a pile of menus. “What the hell are these doing here?”, you ask yourself. 

You get a pile of your favorite restaurants’ takeout menus and flip through them, trying to find your favorite one. Suddenly, you felt a finger slide right between your folds and you yelp. Tendou wrapped his elbow right on top of your breasts and held you in a choke hold. He continued to slide his finger in between your folds on the outskirts of your tights, and then two fingers. 

You bite your lips and roll your eyes back. Tendou chuckles and sinks his kisses right under your ear. You close your thighs, tightening his fingers and making him rub your clit more. You bend your knees and grind against his groin, him following the motion and grinding back with you.

It has been 3 months without sex since winter break. No orgasm whatsoever. You couldn’t even touch yourself in the dorms. Senior year was brutal with classes and internships. You were just exhausted and starved. Tendou let go of his chokehold and cupped one of your breasts. “Jesusss,” he hissed and he kissed your cheeks and squeezed it. 

“Tendou,” you let out in a breathy moan. “We gotta...eat…” You could barely form a sentence. “I missed you so much, baby,” Tendou says in your ear. His fingers are going ham in between your folds. He stops and pulls you by your arm and pins them behind your back with one hand while he bends you over the dresser. Your tights were thin, and therefore, made your pussy easy access. 

Tendou took his index, middle, and ring fingers and rubbed your pussy from the back. You let out a few tiny moans and close your eyes at the feeling. You quiver and throw your head back. 

“Where is my charger?” Semi asked himself as he looked around the outlets in the living room. “Ah shit!” He realized it’s in Tendou’s bedroom since he needed it last night. Semi walked over only to stop at the door. It was slightly cracked open and he heard moans. He figured you and Tendou needed some alone time. 

Semi turned away and wanted to wait until you two were finished. “Ahhh fuuuck!”, you shouted in such a pretty whine. Semi paused in his steps. He looked to the side and sighed. “Just a peek,” he told himself. He turned back and looked into the door. The tent in his pants was pitched just from your moan. 

Lord, were you a sight. He knew you were his best friend’s girl...but damn...you can’t blame him. You were just his type, and you were always over during winter break. He could hear your moans all the time. And he didn’t mind. You were fun to listen to. He always jerked off to your moans at night. And whenever he had sex with his one night stands, your vision was what he saw sometimes. It haunted him. He felt so guilty being Tendou’s friend knowing he had such thoughts. 

“HAHAHAHA!” Tendou let out a belly laugh as he threw his head back when Semi opened up to his best friend about his guilty conscience. Tendou took an inhale of his blunt and blew it out with another slight chuckle and a sigh. “Why are you laughing? I’m serious, man. I feel awful. And I’m so sorry,” Semi said sentimentally. Tendou shook his head and smiled. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” Tendou asked. Semi made a confused face. Tendou smiled and scratched his forehead with his blunt still in his hand. “You see….” he began as he leaned in. “I like to...how do I say this…” he paused as he began to think his words carefully.

“I know my girl is hot, Semi. I know guys look at her all the time. I don’t worry, though. In fact, it’s kind of hot to think everyone wants her, but only I get to have her.” Tendou wasn’t wrong. Every event you came to for their high school, like a volleyball meet or an elegant sports dinner, a lot of guys were over you. Not to mention, Tendou always asked for you to wear tight cocktail dresses or ones that showed off your tits or ass a little. He got off on guys eyeing you as you walked in. 

He watched from a distance as guys would ask you, “Can I buy you a drink?” “Can I hold your coat?” “Can I get your number?” Nothing dangerous or unwelcomed, of course. Both you and Tendou liked the attention. And Tendou was always there to make sure everything went well, as he swooped you in last minute and gave you a deep kiss in front of all the guys, making them sigh in despair as they knew you were taken.

Tendou smiled as he watched Semi’s mouth gaped in confusion. “I still don’t get it. You’re not mad at me?” Tendou shook his head as he inhaled his blunt. Semi began to stutter; “But...but...but I imagine Y/n-”

“Don’t you get it?”, Tendou said as he cut him off and leaned in. “It turns me on, Semi. I get hard thinking someone likes Y/n.” Smoke escaped Tendou’s nostrils as he smirked. Semi backed away, almost disgusted.

 “How?”, he asked, horrified. Tendou leaned back into his chair and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just hot. I know she’ll always be mine. But, I always had a fetish of her fucking someone in front of me. Or at least a threesome, you know? What’s that shit called?” 

“Cuckolding?”, Semi asked. “That’s it!”, Tendou shouted joyfully at Semi recalling the word he forgot. 

Semi shook his head at the past conversation he had with Tendou. He was leaking pre cum from his pants as he watched you quiver at Tendou’s hands. “Se-Semiiii!“, you let out whined. “Ah fuck,” Semi whispers as he grabs his hardened crotch. 

“What’s that, baby?”, Tendou asked as he leaned in your ear. “Se-Semi might hear,” you whine as you furrow your eyebrows and close your eyes at Tendou’s pace. Tendou smirks and looks up in the mirror and at the doorway. He sees a figure moving in the lit hallway. He forms a cheshire grin. 

Semi freezes in fear, but then realizes Tendou is probably loving this. Tendou smiles in the mirror while glaring at Semi and rubs your pussy faster. You quiver and release yourself from Tendou’s grasp and grip the sides of the dresser. Your head is pressed down by Tendou’s hand and you tremble from your orgasm creeping on you. 

You beg and ask for permission. “Oh god! Pleaseeee! Please, sir! Please!” Semi is pulling on his crotch outside the door, thanking Tendou telepathically for leaving a slight crack in the door to peek at this show. Semi was full on hard, and he whipped his cock out and stroked it as he watched you melt in Tendou’s hands.

Tendou suddenly pulled away at your dismay. “Fuck!”, you yell out. “No,” Tendou said sternly as he smiled. Semi realized Tendou had just edged the both of you. Tendou’s fingers were pruned, and a bit sticky from your wet pussy. Your juices had leaked through your thin panties and tights, and onto his fingers. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and caught a whiff of your heat he had just violated. 

You slide down to the floor and breathe heavily. Your clit was pulsating, beating rapidly, like a heartbeat. Your hair was a mess and your face was flushed red. Tendou knelt down to your height and kissed you. “Nice to have you home, baby.” You smile and let out sighs before you see a shadow move in the hallway. You gasp as Semi suddenly disappears. Tendou looks back and smiles. He stands back over you and lends a hand to help you stand up. 

“The menu was on top of the fridge, baby. “ You smiled gently as you exited the bedroom first and entered the hallway into the living room. Semi was on the couch with a pillow on his lap and scrolling mindlessly through his phone. Tendou was on the phone while you sat down next to Semi. You looked over at his flushed face. How cute. 

[belovedbangtan]

Dive| Part 10 | jjk

<Masterlist>

Pairings: Jungkook x y/n, Yoongi x oc

Word Count: 4.6k

Series Description:  Camping with your ex, sounds horrible right? The camping trip was   planned and payed for long before y/n’s shitty boyfriend broke up with   her. Her best friend Abby, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook are there to make sure she has an amazing time. However, sharing a tent with  a smoke show like Jungkook is bound to lead to some complications.

Warnings: language, *this chapter mentions mentally abusive actions* *Very clingy/Jungkook and oc*, mentions of sex. For real... seriously CLINGY. 

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They were attempting to be quiet but, their hushed tones were far from hushed. You’re awake now, eyes still closed as you process your current surroundings. You focus on the conversation that is seemingly between Jungkook, his cousin, and what you assume to be his aunt. She thanks him a countless amount of times and he tells her that it was no problem an equal amount of times. A hint of annoyance in his tone, but she clearly didn’t detect it at all. Then his cousin says something that you can barely make out, whispering being something she clearly comprehended; unlike her mother and Jungkook.

“We’re supposed to talk today, ill let you know what happens…” His voice veers off as if he suddenly became nervous.

“She cares about you Kook, I can tell. You care about her too, right?” she mumbles, no longer trying to whisper.

“A lot,” Is all you hear him respond with. His cousin giggles and tells him one final time not to stress and that everything will work out. She thanks him for the umpteenth time and they finally leave.

You wonder what time it is, laying there fully coherent but for some reason scared to open your eyes. After laying there for awhile and playing out every possible outcome, you decide to ‘wake up.’ Pulling yourself up into the sitting position, your pupils adjusting to the small amount of sunlight coming in from the windows.

“Good morning,” His voice is like honey, as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips. “Do you want some coffee?”

A soft smile and a nod have him gathering a cup and pouring the liquid gold into it. After telling him that you’ll take it black, he walks it over to where you are on the couch. You take it into your cold hands, sighing after taking a drink. Holy shit you were hungover.

You sit in silence long enough to wonder why it suddenly felt odd. You had so many things you wanted to say but couldn’t formulate the proper way to bring it up.

“Thanks for letting me stay the night,” you murmur, his large doe eyes peak up from his mug.

“Of course,” He answers, his face freezes when he realizes he doesn’t know what to say either. Or maybe, like you, how to say it.

Things go quiet again, you hear the birds chirping outside and the slow morning flow of traffic. You adjust yourself so that you’re facing him directly, your legs crisscrossed beneath you. His hair was fluffy, tame, but fluffy. The area around his eyes is slightly swollen and you wonder if he got any sleep last night. Mindlessly you set your mug down on the coffee table and you start moving across the couch to where he is. You still don’t know what or how to express what you need to but maybe you don’t need words. His eyes flick to yours, at first, he looks panicked then it quickly changed to relief. A smile pulling at his lips as he leans forward to set his mug next to yours. With his hands free, he sits back as you straddle his sweatpants clad lap. You take a deep breath, drinking in his morning beauty as his hands find their way underneath his shirt that clung to your body, resting on your hips just above the waist band.

When your eyes meet his, you forget why you worried at all. A wave of complacency rushing through your veins. With him you felt safe, with him you had no worries. Your fingers delicately push their way through his fluffy locks, letting your nails lightly scratch his scalp. His eyes close instinctively as he exhales deeply. As his head falls backward, your eyes are drawn to the center column of his throat. Fantasizing about how good it would look decorated in your love bites.

Before you can act on it, his words are pulling you from your heed.

“I’m really sorry that I made you upset last night, I should have told you what was going on so you didn’t worry,” his eyes meet yours and they’re filled with regret.

“Well I appreciate your apology, but I’m the one who should be apologizing. I guess I was just… confused, it hurt seeing you with someone else obviously.” you explain softly your fingers steadily raking through his hair.

He hums at your words, his fingers delicately brushing along your spine. Fire spreading from the tips of his fingers through your cold body. His brows shoot up, “I wish it wouldn’t have happened, but I learned something because it did,” his head tilts to the side as he drinks you in.

Staring into his whiskey colored orbs longer than you should have, “What did you learn?”

“I learned that… seeing you cry is something I never want to do again. I only want to make you happy, never sad,” He reaches up to cup your jaw, his eyes scanning over your face frantically.

Looking away from him, you feel your eyes start to well up. He inhales quickly before adjusting beneath you, “No… no, what did I say? I didn’t mean to ma…” he starts to panic, wondering what he said wrong.

“Remember when we were camping? And you told me I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen in your life,  and I started to cry?” You chuckle. He reaches up to wipe away your tear. His body visibly relaxes when you compare the situations.

“Mhm, and you told me that no one had every talked to you like that,” his voice is quiet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat when you realize he remembers that moment as clear as you do.

“Well it’s true, ya know? I don’t know if I’ve ever been properly…loved,” You start to explain, “At the same time, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way about anyone else. You make me feel like I’m crazy. There’s something about you that’s so intoxicating to me. I’ve never experienced having someone care about me the way you do or pay attention to me the way you do. It’s all so new to me, I’d be lying if I said that I’m not terrified.”

When you look up at him, he’s nervously chewing the side of his mouth. You laugh through your nose, leaning forward to press your lips to his. When you start to pull away his lips chase after yours. He kisses you a little more passionately this time as his hand wraps itself around the back of your neck pulling you down to him again. Breathlessly you pull apart, his hand still holding you close as your forehead rest on his.

“I’ve never been in this deep for someone, y/n. I’ve never cared about someone as much as I do you. I don’t know why. I can’t explain why I have these feelings for you but, I do. You make me so happy, and you bring a peacefulness that I’ve never felt before. I fucked up once, and I promise you that I will never do anything to hurt you ever again. Like I said… only want to make you happy.”

Your tears are mixing with his, and you can’t stop them from coming. You know that everything he’s telling you is true. You know that even though he hurt you, he didn’t mean to. You know that if you allow him too, he will love you with all of his heart for the rest of his life.

“I know we were going to talk about this tonight, but I can’t wait anymore, “His voice was shaking, almost as if he was unsure of the words that were about to be spoken. He sits up tall so that his face is mere inches from your own. He swallows hard, and his nerves start to rub off on you.

You raise your brows giving him a gentle smile as your fingers slide down to the back of his neck, silently telling him that he didn’t need to be nervous. He exhales loud in response.

His hands quivering as they rest on your sides, “I want to be with you. I want to be all yours, and I want you to be mine. I know what I want, and I don’t want you to be confused about anything anymore. Will you be my girlfriend, y/n?”

Your chest tightens with every confession that leaves his lips. The overwhelming feeling to scream or yell or cry. His eyes scanning your face for an answer, a hint, anything to ease his nerves.

Your voice is shot, so you nod aggressively. Tears shaking off of your face. Before you can get your full response out his lips are on yours fervent and passionate as his fingers lace in your hair on the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

He pulls back to take you in once again, “I’m sorry, I’m just having a hard time believing that you’re finally mine.”

You giggle as he pulls you in again kissing you slower this time, taking in the details to remember this specific moment and the exact way he feels. He wonders if he should tell you he loves you. He wants to, he wants to scream it from the roof top. He was honest about never being this deep. Part of him thought he may never know what it felt like to be in love. Up until you, it was short relationships that were always one sides and lacked something vital. Up until you, love didn’t exist. To him, you were love.

“So, does this mean…we can get breakfast instead of dinner? I’m literally starving to death,” Your stomach groans rip through the silent room. Jungkook instantly starts to die of laughter.

“Yes baby, I’ll make you some pancakes, sound good?” He shakes his head, giggling at your dramatic head nod.

Sitting across from him as you eat breakfast, reality set in. Everything felt surreal. Every fiber of your being was ready to dive into what ever was in store for you and Jungkook. As much as you convinced yourself that you were ready for the next step, there was no denying that you were terrified of giving your heart to him. Obviously, the sexual attraction was there, but you wondered if that was part of what was making everything so intense for you.

Jungkook was an anomaly to you in so many ways. He was caring, attentive, and insanely attractive. The most dangerous thing about him, however, was his ability to bring you to your knees; literally and figuratively. He was like a sex God that you couldn’t say ‘no’ to, because why would you? During your time away from him, you wondered how you would feel if you hadn’t allowed yourself to be with him sexually. The automatic intimacy was something about your relationship that made you miss it; made you miss him.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice is laced in innocence as he cocks his head to the side. Stacking your plate on top of his. You have to laugh at his innate ability to see through you. Another reason it was so hard to deny your chemistry.

“I guess, I was just thinking about us,” your bottom lip is instantly sucked into your teeth as you look away from him.

You hear him hum as he stands to put your plates in the sink, “Anything you want to share?” he asks. You can tell he’s somewhat anxious by the way he avoids you. His back turned away from you as he fidgets with the dirty dishes in the sink. You stand and wrap your arms around the back of him.

“Nothing bad, I don’t think at least… just maybe want to take things… slow.” You mumble into his back, feeling his quiet chuckles rumble against your cheek. He turns in your arms, brushing your hair behind your ears before cupping each side of your head.

“I’m listening,” He smiles.

You take a deep breath as you explain how you feel. Ultimately ending by telling him that you want to wait awhile before the two of you do anything sexually.

“It’s not like I don’t want to, I just think it’s smart if we maybe slow things down a bit. The way we should have at the start. I like you a lot Jungkook, and I want to be confident that we exist outside of our sexual attraction…” you ramble, his attention on you never faltering. “Do you hate me now?”

His eyes scrunch together, appalled that you would ever assume that he could hate you.

“I could never hate you,” He presses his lips to your cold nose, “What I feel for you is way more than sex. But I get that I need to prove that to you, and I will. I think that if that if it’s something you need from me than I will go as slow as you need me to.”

“You promise you’re not mad? Or upset?” you ask him quietly, swallowing hard. He lightly grips your chin, pulling your face up so that you’re looking at him.

“Baby… why do you think I would be mad?” He asks, his voice is soft and concerned.

“I-I don’t know,” your chest starts to tighten, and tears start to build up in the corners of your eyes, “Ben would get mad if I didn’t want to. He always made me feel guilty because I made him wait three months before we had sex. He said he didn’t mind at first, but he did.”

Jungkook wraps his arms around your shoulders pulling your in close. His face red with fury. If he thought he had reasons to hate Ben before, now he had motive for murder. He lifts you up, setting you on the counter so he can stand eye to eye with you.

“Look at me baby,” he demands softly, “I would never make you feel guilty for not wanting to have sex with me. You are so much more than your body and I need you to know that. We can take things as slow as we need to take them. I want you to trust me completely, I will never hurt you.” He pleads, begging for you to believe that he was someone different.

Tears building in his own eyes now, guilt of his own words and actions weighing even heavier. He knew that he hurt you when you overheard his conversation with Ben, but it was so much more than that. You let your walls down for him, and he completely let you down. He pulls you into him tighter this time. Understanding how vital it is for him to love you properly. To show you how incredibly special you are to him.

Your conversation ended there. You both moved to the couch, deciding to watch a movie while you cuddled with one another; not quite yet ready to let one another go.

“Abby is going to lose it when she finds out we’re actually together.” You murmur into his chest with a giggle. You feel his chest shake when he starts to laugh quietly.

“Yeah Jimin and Tae have been making bets on if and when it would happen.”

“Assholes,” You shake your head, rolling your eyes at their immaturity. At the same time you cant blame them for finding a way to make your roller coaster of emotions somewhat entertaining for them.

“Are you going to Jimin’s movie night tomorrow?”

“Yeah, should we tell them then?” you ask

“Maybe… or maybe we should have some fun with it?” He grins down at you.

“I’m listening…” You tilt your head on his chest to look up at him.

“Well if Jimin and Tae are betting on us, you know Abby is playing along too. So, what if we tricked them. When we show up tomorrow, we not only act like were not dating… but as if we have no feelings at all. They’ll be so confused.” He giggles.

“When do we tell them?” you bite your lip, weighing out the scenario in your head. You know they’ll be pissed but that’s what makes it intriguing.

“Mmm… I guess when we leave? Unless they catch on before that.” He shrugs, looking down at you.

“They’re gonna be pissed,” You giggle raising your brows.

“I know,” He laughs, clearly that’s the point for him.

“Alright lets do it.”

Movie night comes faster than expected. You almost fucked up the plan by  wearing Jungkook’s sweater over your leggings. Last minute you had to run inside and switch it out for one of your own. You and Jungkook ride together, deciding that you’ll go inside a few minutes before him. You’ll tell everyone that you took an Uber if they ask.

“Remember, pretend I don’t exist.” Jungkook reminds you, as he pulls into the parking spot. You glance over at him, nodding your head. His sharp jawline on full display as he chews at his bottom lip. His tattooed arm flexing as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He reaches down and puts his car into park. As soon as he does you instantly reach across turning his head to look at you.

“You say that like it’s going to be easy…” You mumble as you drink in his facial features, the mole just under his lip begging to be kissed. His lips start to pull into a smirk. Without thinking you push yourself out of your seat and over to his lap. Straddling him with one leg on either side of his. His eyes follow your every movement, his breath hitching when you finally make yourself comfortable. His hands naturally reaching behind you to cup your ass over the thick material of your leggings.

Finally facing the truth, you will never get used to the way he looks you. His dark caramel colored eyes reminding you of Whiskey in more ways than one. The way they warm your entire body from head to toe, or the way that they make you want to risk it all; never thinking about the consequences. Completely and utterly intoxicating.

You lean in kissing his cheek with a feather light touch, his eyes never leaving you. With your fingers just below his jaw, your lips dance along his cheek, closer and closer to his plump lips. Both of you letting out a sigh of relief when you finally reach them. Your lips fitting together as if they were made for each other. His tattooed hand suddenly comes up to your neck pulling you desperately closer. His tongue teasing your bottom lip just before he decides to let it slide inside. Your tongues tangle together for what feels like a century, until he pulls away, trapping your bottom lip in between his teeth as he does.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this,” He giggles as he tries to regulate his breathing. You giggle as you leave a trail of kisses down the side of his neck. You know it’s not helping the situation but if you’re not allowed to talk to him or look at him for the next 3 hours you needed to get in what you could now. With one final, long, kiss to his lips you open his car door to let yourself out.

“It’ll be worth it,” You giggle, realizing his hand was still holding onto yours. You look at his lap realizing that you caused quite the situation. You wince, biting your lip as you look at him with sorry eyes. “Ill go inside and let you figure that out,” You giggle as you start to walk away.

“I thought you were supposed to be sweet?!” He yells out sarcastically, only making you laugh harder.

It was harder than you thought it would be. Not because you desperately wanted to snuggle up to Jungkook on the couch, but because between Tae, Jimin, and Abby; you couldn’t catch a break. The second you were in the door they were on you like bats out of hell. Asking you every question under the moon about you and Jungkook and your impending status. You immediately excused yourself to the restroom, claiming you had to pee the entire way here. Once you were away you texted Jungkook telling him to come inside so they would stop hounding you. You knew they wouldn’t talk about it if you were in the same room.

Conveniently, Jungkook walked into the apartment as soon as you walked back into the kitchen. You smiled at him, then quickly excused yourself to the living room to sit and wait for the movie to start. Jungkook follows your lead, sitting directly across the room from you. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, and you wish you had the ability to read his mind. The not so quiet whispers from the kitchen catch your attention. You have to giggle a bit at how overdramatic they were being. No doubt, they were confused. If it weren’t for Yoongi yelling out for them to join everyone in the living room, they probably would have stayed in the kitchen trying to figure out what was happening.

They all file into the room, their eyes casually flicking from you to Jungkook. Abby cuddles up to Yoongi, her eyes tight on you. You avoid her at all cost, knowing she would try to communicate through her eyes. Jimin sits with Jungkook and Tae plops down next to you. His innocent smile playing on his lips as he turns his head and looks you up and down.

“You doin okay?” His brow lifts as he asks you.

“Uhm… yeah?” You giggle, scrunching your brows as you adjust the cover that lays over your body, “Are you?” you smile.

He looks over at Jungkook, who is seemingly immersed in whatever is on his phone screen.

“Im… good.” He answers, his brain still trying to put the pieces together. Jimin is talking to Jungkook but it doesn’t look like he’s getting the answers he wants. As Yoongi presses play on the movie, all of the questions come to a halt. You can still feel Abby’s eyes burning into your head. Midway through the movie you can tell they’re all texting one another, each of their phones going off at the same time.

Your phone goes off a few minutes later…

Kookie:

He keeps asking me and I keep shrugging my shoulders. He’s losing it… this is so funny.

Wait awhile to respond, they’re watching.

Controlling your reaction on your face was harder than you thought it would be. You calmly set your phone down, resting your head on the couch. A few minutes later you decide to go to the restroom, pulling your phone out to text Jungkook back.

Y/n:

Yeah they’re for sure losing their minds.

… this is kinda hard.

*send*

You glance at yourself in the mirror, fidgeting with your appearance. A risque thought comes to your mind. You know you shouldn’t but, at the same time, you can’t think of a reason not to. You quickly take your hoodie off of your body and slide your leggings down your legs. Adjusting the waistband of your panties, then adjusting your girls in your bra. You sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, making your ass look fuller than it actually is. After playing with angles, you decide to take your bra off since he can see your tits from this angle anyway. After a few tries you finally capture the perfect picture.

Plopping down on to the couch, you wait a few minutes until you see Jungkook take his phone out of his pocket. Hiding your phone, you quickly press send, and adjust yourself so you can see his reaction. His eyes suddenly widen as he rearranges himself on the couch. His eyes flick up to yours, making your chest burn with a simple look. His pupils are blown out as he gnaws on the corner of his mouth anxiously. He pulls a pillow over his lap and waits a few more minutes before responding.

Kookie:

Baby doll, this was not a part of the plan.

I cant stop mentally undressing you now.

 As you read the message, the corners of your mouth lift into a cocky smirk. The pillow over his crotch tells you everything you need to know. As the movie comes to an end, everyone starts to talk about their weekend plans. Jungkook is quiet as his eyes are locked on you. His leg bouncing beneath him, as he leans on his elbow. You pick up your phone trying to decide on the words to say. As your fingers ghost over the screen, you can’t seem formulate what you want to say to him. You slowly look up and when you make eye contact with him, your mind is made up.

You slide your phone into your hoodie pocket, as you slowly push yourself off of the couch. Jimin going on about weekend plans in the background, but you and Jungkook are in a world of your own. As you walk across the room, you don’t notice when the room goes silent. Jungkook instantly perks up when he realizes what’s happening. Straightening his posture, he moves the pillow on his lap, and you take its place. Straddling him as if no one is in the room. Leaning into him, you gently slide your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck pulling his face up to yours.

Both of your smiles disappear when his lips hit yours, pressing into you for longer than he should have. When you finally pull away your rest your forehead against his.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi.” He smiles.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!” Abby and Jimin scream nearly in sync with one another. You and Jungkook both start to die of laughter, as you adjust yourself to sit in his lap facing the others.

Taehyung, Jimin and Abby staring at you like you have three heads.

“Are you… are you together? Officially?” Abby throws Yoongi’s arm off of her so that she can stand up.

You look at Jungkook, and you both nod.

“Finally! For fucks sake. It took you long enough.” Yoongi groans out of nowhere, expressing the thoughts that were on everyone mind. The whole room erupts into laughter, and snide comments about how cruel we were to trick everyone. Abby and Jimin expressing their annoyance with not being called immediately.

“We just thought it would be funny. We know you guys have been placing bets on when it would happen, “Jungkook says as his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you in closer to him as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

An overwhelming feeling of contentment washes over you. Jungkook’s lips lightly brushing against your shoulder as if he needed to make up for the time that he wasn’t able to. His fingers laced with yours as his thumb brushes the back of your hand. It felt so natural. Even everyone around you had seemed to move on, clearly it felt right to them too.

His lips trail from your shoulder up to your ear, moving your hair out of the way, “No one will ever wonder if we’re together anymore. From now on, everyone will know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”  

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Taglist:

@cainami @carolsummerlove @zeharilisharaban @jikooksgirl19 @fallen-for-luke @madygswich @sugalarity @lofikoo​ @ggukkieeee @peachy-bhun @megs58298 @kawaiiayasan @ jeonchan26  @ambersaesthetics​ @hopekookies​ @rumpucis @iaintnohollybackgirl

A/N: THANK YOU for your patience on this chapter. There will be one more chapter (maybe two) after this one! I got a new job and life has been hectic. Please let me know what you think! (let all of your favorite writers know how much you love their work! We appreciate it more than you know!)

[harrygroves]

a simple favor - chapter five

part four

“Billy, get on the horse.”

“Steve, for the tenth time, I am not getting on that thing.” Billy repeats, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?” Steve asks, atop his own horse, growing impatient.

“Look at what you’re on, Steve. That thing is huge.”

“Yes, they are, but it’s safe. I swear.” Steve promises.

“Nope. No fucking way. I’ll pass on this.”

Steve gives him a murderous smile, talking through clenched teeth. “Billy, my mother is watching through the window, alright? Get on mine then, just come on!”

Billy looks over his shoulder, back at the house where Mrs. Harrington is indeed watching them.

He turns back to Steve. “You want me to ride with you?” He asks.

“If you won’t ride on your own then you can ride with me.” Steve replies with a shrug.

Billy deflates, defeated. “Fine, but I’m not wearing the stupid fucking helmet.” He snaps before approaching Steve and his horse.

It’s a big, strong looking American Quarter (according to Steve) horse with soft brown hair and black, inky eyes. Billy has never been this close to a horse before and it’s scaring the absolute shit out of him.

Steve instructs him. “Right, so put your foot there, and grab here and hoist yourself up.”

Billy does so with shaky hands and the horse moves while he hoists, and it freaks him the hell out and he settles behind Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle tightly.

Billy can feel the laugh vibrate through Steve’s body. “Wow, you’re really scared, aren’t you?” Steve says.

“Yes, I am not just trying to grope you, I am in fact, fucking terrified right now.”

“Well, then you’re not going to like this.” Steve says before making a loud noise and kicking the horse.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Billy shouts into the back of Steve’s neck as they take off.

Galloping. They’re fucking galloping.

Billy’s going to murder him.

*

He doesn’t get used to it, not for a single second and when Steve finally slows the horse to a light trot, he realizes his body is rigid and unmoving and it takes a great deal of effort to untangle his arms from Steve. His limbs are stiff, but he can’t fully let go of Steve; he’s the only thing keeping him on the fucking horse, so he settles for lightly gripping his sides.

“I h-hate you.” Billy sputters out, voice shaking.

“Aww, sweetie. Love you too.” Steve replies cheekily over his shoulder.

Billy had kept closing his eyes while riding, and hadn’t fully looked around him. They were in a meadow, near a pond, a couple ducks gliding along the water.

Steve leads the horse to the water and lets it drink. Billy tries to stop trembling but it’s not going away.

“So, how do you think this is going?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“I fucking hate it.” Billy snaps.

“No, not the horse, you dolt, the plan.” Steve bites back.

“Oh. Uh. I don't know. Fine I guess. Your parents are a fucking nightmare, but you warned me about that. Do you think they’re buying it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment. The horse shakes it head around, steps back and moves forward a couple times and Billy finds himself gripping Steve’s sides harder.

“I think mom is too mad to look any deeper.” Steve finally says. “I can’t read dad. I’ll have to ask Robin.”

“What do you mean?” Billy scrunches his nose, confused.

“I mean, I’m not gonna actually ask, like, do you think dad is buying this?, but I’ll ask her if dad likes you.”

“He’d tell her?”

Steve nods. “They talk a lot more than he and I do.”

“Oh.” Billy says, feeling an awkward silence fall between them.

The silence is broken by Steve kicking the horse again and they’re off, Billy letting out a surprised, scared sound and wrapping his arms around Steve again.

*

After Billy gets off the horse, his legs feel like jelly. Steve brings the horse to the stable and takes the time to brush it, cooing and whispering at the thing like it’s a human child. Billy smokes a cigarette and rolls his eyes.

Finally Steve is done and they make their way back into the house.

Robin runs into them in the hallway and asks how it went.

“Lovely.” Steve says at the same time Billy says, “Fucking awful.”

Robin laughs, a deep-belly sound that actually makes Billy smile. She’s genuinely a fun person to be around and Billy’s starting to like her.

“What are you guys doing the rest of the day?” She asks once the laughing subsides.

“Probably prepping him for another interrogation at dinner.” Steve says with a long, tired eye-roll.

Like an afterthought, Steve reaches over and takes Billy’s hand, squeezing it lightly. The exchange might appear as though Steve was trying to comfort Billy, so Billy smiles at him slightly before the attention goes back to Robin.

“Alright, fine, but I want a day with him.” Robin says, crossing her arms.

“Uh. What?” Steve says, dropping Billy’s hand.

“Oh c’mon, Steve. The last guy you brought here was, like, two years ago. And I didn’t even get to know him. Let Billy and I hang.”

“I...don't...uh...stories!” Steve blurts out. “You’ll tell a bunch of embarrassing stories, and I won’t allow it.”

Billy wants to facepalm. He wants to cry. Steve is so bad at this.

“Sweetie -- ” Billy starts with a sickening smile. “ -- I think it’s a great idea. It’ll be fine. Promise.”

Billy reaches an arm over and wraps it around Steve, does it casually like it’s a common occurrence. Steve is tense beside him, mouth pursed and Billy can tell he’s not happy with this plan.

“Yay!” Robin claps her hands together. “We can curl each other’s hair and talk boys.” She says with a wink before saying goodbye and leaving them.

Steve shakes out of Billy’s arm and gives him a mean look. “You’re such an asshole.” He grumbles lowly.

“Aww, c’mon Stevie. We had a barely tolerable afternoon, don't ruin it.”

“I fucking hate you.” Steve continues, storming away.

“Steve? Steve! Wait for me! Seriously, I’m not getting lost in the Winchester Mystery House.” Billy shouts, running after him.

*

They’re arguing in Steve’s room.

Steve does not want Billy spending alone time with Robin.

Billy doesn’t understand why.

“It shouldn’t matter why.” Steve tells him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m paying you for a job, and this is not a requirement for that job.”

“Jeez, boss. Re-lax.” Billy says, laying on the bed.

“She’s going to...look, she’s going to tell you a bunch of stupid stories and I don't need you knowing anymore about me, other than the totally necessary shit for this stupid charade.”

Billy snorts. “A charade you designed.”

“I will fucking suffocate you tonight, I swear to god.”

“I honestly think you could with these pillows.” Billy mentions airily. He sits up. “Look, dude, this is stupid. I don't care what she says, I literally will not absorb any of it, swear. Unless it’s incredibly humiliating and I can use it against you in the future.”

Steve’s eyes are daggers and he looks like he wants to yell. Instead he stalks into the bathroom and slams the door.

*

Dinner is another awkward affair and Steve is mad at him, which makes it much worse. Robin keeps looking between them with interest. Billy tries to keep up appearances and puts his hand on Steve’s leg. Steve roughly shoves it off.

It’s like the kid forgot why Billy was even there.

Irritated, he cuts into his steak and eats angrily.

After dinner, Steve and Billy excuse themselves. They go back to Steve’s room, and Billy takes off his clothes, leaving him in boxers, before slipping into bed without a word.

Steve turns the television off but keeps it low. Billy isn’t facing him but he can tell Steve is still pissed. So is he.

Whatever.

*

The next morning Billy is plastered against Steve, one arm underneath him. Their legs are tangled together, hips touching. They’re both hard in their boxers. At some point last night, Steve had changed into a black-and-white striped tank top and taken his pants off.

The weight of Steve against him is comfortable and weird at the same time. His hair smells good. The tank top has ridden up, revealing mole-speckled skin. His mouth is open and the stale stench of morning breath wafts out, but Steve’s lazy, almost pleasant expression is what Billy is more focused on.

It’s nice.

It’s actually kind of nice.

Billy wants to kiss him.

Fuck.

This is...not good.

If he kissed Steve, would Steve wake up?

Would he kiss Billy back?

Would something else happen?

Billy zones out for a moment, thinking about that, but then realizes he absolutely cannot think about it any further because heat is pooling down his back, down his front and he has the overwhelming urge to grind against Steve.

Billy clears his throat and starts slowly trying to separate himself and Steve.

Steve only half wakes up, eyes fluttering open briefly. Billy’s moved his lower body away, but Steve’s still lying on his arm.

“Hmm?” Steve hums.

“Kinda...trapped here.” Billy says awkwardly.

Steve moans a little, sleep-heavy, and rolls away from Billy.

Billy leaves to use the bathroom, forcing himself to only pee and not jerk off.

When he returns to the bedroom, Steve is still lying on his side, but he’s looking at his phone.

Billy starts to say, “Good mo -- , ” but stops himself because oh yeah, they’re angry with each other. Steve looks at him briefly before turning his attention back to his phone.

Billy goes to the closet and grabs sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He needs coffee and a fucking cigarette.

He doesn’t say anything to Steve before leaving to try and find the kitchen.

Billy doesn’t get very far. He overhears fragments of a conversation coming from one of the libraries, or at least, Billy thinks it’s a library. He can’t keep track of the rooms in this damn house.

It’s Steve’s parents.

“ -- not thinking straight, obviously -- ”

“ -- Billy is just a phase -- ”

“ -- fighting all the time, just heard them the other day -- ”

“ -- don't think they’ll last -- ”

“ -- push off the money if Steve’s this unstable -- ”

Well fuck.

“ -- go talk to Steve right now -- ”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Billy ran as quietly as he could back to the bedroom.

Steve was sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Billy peeked out the door, looking down the hall. He saw the unmistakable hairstyle of Mrs. Harrington turning the corner and shut the door silently.

“Fuck.” Billy rubbed a hand over his face.

“What?” Steve yawned.

Billy turned and looked at Steve apprehensively. He guessed he had about thirty seconds and had to move quickly.

Billy took his shirt off, throwing it aside. He went over to the bed and slid under the covers, pouncing on Steve and pinning him down, Billy’s legs pushing Steve’s apart.

“What, what the fuck?” Steve all but shrieked, trying to move away, twist out of Billy’s hold.

“Dude, shut up. Listen to me.” Billy hissed. Steve is still hard and it’s pushing against Billy’s inner thigh but Billy tries to focus. “I overheard your parents talking, I’ll explain that part later, your mom’s coming in here. I need to -- ” He cut himself off, looking down at Steve’s mouth.

Steve seemed to understand and looked away briefly, but only for a second before giving a tight nod in response.

“It is extremely important that you act like you’re enjoying this.” Billy informs him and tries to sound as serious as possible.

Steve doesn’t say anything but Billy doesn’t miss how his cheeks are flushing and yeah, Steve’s dick just twitched.

Billy leant down and kissed him.

Steve was unresponsive for a moment, but Billy lets one of his wrists go and reaches down to pull at Steve’s tank top, pushing it up to his neck. Nipples exposed, Billy puts his hand on Steve’s chest, digging a finger against one of them.

Steve gasps against Billy’s mouth and Billy takes advantage of it, plunging his tongue in Steve’s mouth.

Billy feels Steve’s free hand grab at his hair and Steve’s suddenly kissing him back, making these little, desperate, almost confused noises in the back of his throat.

Billy drags his hand down Steve’s body, further down, dragging Steve’s boxers slightly down with his hand. He grips at Steve’s hips, which jerk in his hold. Steve whines a little. The blankets are pooled at their hips, so Steve’s mom wouldn’t even be able to see that, but Billy’s being a little greedy right now. Truthfully Steve hasn’t stopped moving since they started kissing, like he’s trying to move his body away, trying not to push against Billy, but he can’t stop shifting and squirming, and Billy wonders if it’s intentional or for show cause it’s doing things to Billy that he’s trying not to overthink.

Another desperate sound falls out of Steve’s mouth and Billy is starting to get hard again, knows Steve can feel it.

It was hot.

His heart is hammering. He kisses Steve harder, starting to lose himself in the way it’s making him feel.

He’s desperate to touch Steve, and his hand moves down a little.

“Steven, I -- ”

They jerk apart.

Mrs. Harrington stands in the doorway, eyes wide in shock.

“Mom!” Steve yells angrily.

“I. Oh. I. Oh no.” She’s short-circuiting, clearly embarrassed, and stumbles backwards out of the room, shutting the door.

Billy doesn’t move. He waits a full ten seconds before turning back to look at Steve who is staring at him, face bright red, and it’s spread down his neck, his chest.

They’re still so close and Billy’s still holding his wrist, other hand gripping his hip.

He glances down at Steve’s mouth and he wants, god does he want.

Billy moves ever so slightly towards Steve.

Steve’s breath hitches. “Get off me.” Steve says quickly.

Crashing back to reality, Billy pulls away, moving off Steve.

Steve yanks his shirt down, pulls the blankets over him and lets out a long, shaky breath.

“What the fuck was that about?”

So Billy tells him.

chapter six

[poormeowmeowcollector]

We would name our children Jackie and Wilson

Relationship: Loki/Female Reader (Hozier did the gender first, don't @ me)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, mental health, alcohol.

Summary: Your relationship reminds you of a nice soft song. But things are not always so sweet.

Notes: this is part of a somewhat Collab with @lucywrites02, her part is done and can be found here, read it to soften the pain. I would say that I'm terribly sorry for the pain ahead, but I'm not. Meaning of the song can be found here, I used it for reference

Read On AO3

So tired trying to see from behind the red in my eyes

Loki fights for a deep breath.

It's just your face, you idiot. What are you afraid of? This mean voice from the back of his head asks.

They manage to draw a shaky inhale and puff it out, finally opening his eyes and staring at the reflection.

But those hateful crimson eyes staring back is too much, even though they look at them behind tears.

"Maybe another day…" he sighs and wears the illusion again. But the bloodshot eyes stay, this time not because of the Jötunn form.

No better version of me I could pretend to be tonight

For how long will you hide from the monster you are? This same voice asks in the dead of the night.

Once again, it's not mistaken.

"I can't walk amongst mortals like this. This illusion helps me avoid some of the staring," they respond. It's a beautiful lie, Loki almost believes it.

Still, it will break down. Like everything does.

This argument stays and torments him for the rest of the night.

Soul deep in this swill with the most familiar of swine / For reasons wretched and divine

Stark had suggested another night out on a bar. Loki usually declines, but comes to this one.

Soon enough, everyone is drunk and happy. Alcohol from Midgard is like a beverage for Æsir, and Loki can barely get tipsy. But Loki still decides to drink.

This period had some very successful missions, and the avengers are celebrating it by drinking. Little do they know that Loki drinks for a whole more different reasons…

She blows out of nowhere, a roman candle of the wild

It's late. Loki's surely past the tipsy phase, but still has control. So, they just sit on a bar and watch the others have fun.

"Would you mind some company?" you yell from a part of the crowd. Loki tries not to flinch, loud sounds do no good at him.

Then they see you, all smiling and beaming like a firework, drink in hand as you walk closer and point at a stool beside him.

They have to admit, you look ravishing.

"You're free to sit, if you want to," he smiles back and nods at the seat. You grin and slide there, placing your drink in the bar and having your attention to them.

"Are you not afraid someone might drug the drink?" Loki winders, eyes on the cocktail.

"Sitting beside an Avenger is safe enough, don't you think? And it's rubbish anyways, I probably won't finish it,"

Midgard has different communication patterns, and Loki's inability to catch up in time has made their silver tongue rusty and useless. But you make a conversation with him out of nowhere, like it's the most easy thing.

Laughing her way through my feeble disguise/ And Lord, she found me just in time

A few days later after the night out, the sparks of happiness you casted on Loki's heart have died out. But Thor insists that being out of the four walls of their chambers will do good to him, and Loki gives in. They wear an illusion to hide the mess that he is in and join Thor on their afternoon walk around for some food, mostly.

During the hours long conversation, you didn't mention that you work for Stark, in the Tower. They smile and call your name the sparks igniting inside his heart once again. It gets stronger when you give them this glowing smile and walk closer.

"Brother, will you mind if I get stolen for a moment?" he turns to Thor.

"Have fun, brother," he smiles before greeting you and leaving.

"You know, there's a nice coffee shop with a big tea collection, what do you think?" you beam, knowing it's an offer Loki cannot resist.

It's not far away, and truly a sweet little place, crammed between the offices. You order your drinks and settle on a table nearby. You give Loki the chair with the view on the passers by, sitting so you can only see them and the wall behind him.

"You didn't say you work for Stark," they hum, taking a testing sip of the dandelion tea that caught his attention.

"That's cause I work for the Avengers, technically, not Stark. Mission support agent, Romanov brought me here," you shrug one shoulder. Loki can't hide a smile, they always had a soft spot for humble warriors, for they're so rare on Asgard.

"Odd, I don't remember you in any field," he mutters.

"I haven't gone on a mission with you. I find it insulting for a God to be supported by someone who learned how to tie their shoelaces at age 12," you laugh. Loki doesn't share the enthusiasm for the 'joke'.

"You'll be the best support, if you ask me," they smile, and change the subject. And then, you throw this damned question.

"So, how are you doing?" you trail off.

"Just fine," he scoffs. You see through it like they're the worst liar ever.

"I know we're somewhere public, but you are allowed to be honest," your eyes scan him.

He takes a deep breath and makes an illusion of you and them just talking. Then, he lifts his own.

Your face stays almost unreadable as the green glow reveals the mess of them. Expect for the eyes that speak of sympathy.

Underneath the table, you cup his right hand, your thumb petting it. "If you want to, we can go somewhere more private. Your call,"

"Only you can see this. Don't worry, I'm not making a fool out of you," they laugh without humour, voice almost breaking. You now squeeze the hand.

"You'll have to actively try to make a fool out of me, your highness. It's your boundaries I'm worried about," the playful tone leaves you as you speak.

You've barely done anything, but Loki is already determined to kill for you.

Cause with my mid-youth crisis all said and done / I need to be youthfully felt 'cause, God, I never felt young

"Forget it, I'm not doing it. It's stupid!" he tries hard not to yell at you.

"But it's going to be fun! Come on, you can cast an illusion if you're embarrassed. Didn't you have fun as a teen?" You grin, pleading for them to come.

Little do you know that the last question feels like a knife in the guts.

"No," he whispers.

"Okay then. I'll be there with Sam, you can pop up if you change your mind," you sigh. It takes some minutes for them to realise what you just said.

"Allow me to rephrase it. No, I didn't have fun as a teen, I had to prepare myself for the throne I wouldn't take. And… this park will do nothing but remind me what I've lost. I'm sorry but I can't come nor change my mind," he fights against tears as he talks, your eyes on them. You walk closer and cup one cheek, letting them rest their head.

"Society says that you must have certain experiences at certain time frames. It's wrong, especially for someone who will live for as long as you. There's always time to replace things you've lost, the question if if you'll do it or not,"

Loki gazes at you and takes a deep breath, in, holding it, and out. Almost like he's smoking the air.

"Fine. But don't force me to stay if it's too much," they smile weakly, but it's genuine.

"Have I ever forced you?" you grin and place your forehead against his. "And anything critical to your physical health doesn't count,"

They laugh before nodding a no, a small kiss being blown in your nose.

Lord, it'd be great to find a place we could escape sometime / Me and my Isis growing black irises in the sunshine

Out of all the things Loki expected his fallen heart to do, daydreaming was last on the list.

They're a realist, always have been.

But the image of him and you in a nice stone castle in the middle of the woods is too perfect to resist. How you two would wake up and sleep together, have no one and nothing to make you feel anything but bliss. The two Monarchs in your little kingdom of two residents

Norns, they haven't even talked to you about these feelings. And he's already scheming his retirement with you.

How are you doing this to them?

Every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside / We'd sit back and watch the world go by

"That's it, Laufeyson," he's glaring at the mirror, one finger pointing at the glass, "no more lies. Fuck those illusions and games and just say the damned words!"

They sigh and run their fingers through the hair, testing if the smell of smoke is still in there, after five sessions with the shower. He has noticed that you don't like the smell, when you keep some distance on his bad days. And stinking on a moment like this is the least they want.

"Alright… into the battlefield…" he conjures his weapon, a bouquet of black irises, your favourite flowers. They finally teleport themselves on the field, outside your door.

Goal of the mission: be vulnerable.

He rings the bell, fixing his already perfect posture before you open the door. This smile they know and love so much is on your lips.

"You didn't have to! Come in," you exhale, beaming as you make space for him to walk in.

They call your name, the tone making your smile drop. "I have to tell you something I've been hiding from you for a while…" he sighs.

You nod, the agent face on. A green shimmer makes the flowers rest in a vase on the coffee table, Loki's hands now free to pick on each other.

"I appreciate your friendship, more than you can ever imagine. You're the only person who has reached out to me like this for eons. But, my heart has started to yearn for more. I've fallen for you, hard. And I can't keep the illusion anymore," they recite, eyes scanning your unreadable face. You stay dead serious, making Loki's nerves eat him up.

"Took you long enough," you grin and bring them down to a kiss.

It's nice and warm and slow, one devouring the other while also offering the best you can. Then, a salty taste makes you break the contact and cup Loki's face.

"Love, why are you crying?" you whisper, wiping away the thin paths the tears have crossed. He hasn't even noticed he's been crying.

"You can't imagine how happy you make me… I love you," they whisper.

You barely have time to say anything before he pulls you into the tightest hug possible, tears streaming down to your shirt and those three words coming out of their lips again and again like a prayer.

Loki has no idea how many lifetimes he washed off within just one hug, but a weight they never noticed they carried was gone when you break the embrace and stare deep into his now puffy eyes.

"I love you too,"

She's gonna save me, call me baby / Run her hands through my hair

"I'm telling you, you have to be more careful in the missions. Yes, you are a God, but don't be so reckless," you groan as you rinse them with water and try to remove the blood and dirt from their hair.

Just the right amount of strikes, and he now can't lift his hands enough to wash his own hair. If you weren't so good at it, they would refuse to stoop so low.

"It was supposed to be abandoned. How would I know that it wasn't? I'm a God, not a prophet," he sighs, holding his sides. Even talking is making their scattered ribs pierce him… "And I did call you to save my arse, that's the exact opposite of recklessness,"

"If you say so. But what will I do if one day my baby comes home with something more than a wretched ribcage?" you laugh.

They try to answer but both the pain and the pleasure from your fingers on his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo, are making his tongue a knot and his throat release one moan of pleasure after another.

She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily / Better yet, she wouldn't care

You walk through broken mirrors and scattered furniture, reached out to Loki, who's hiding their head between their knees.

You don't say anything, you just play with his hair. It's cold, much colder than usually. But you don't care.

"Leave, please. You'll get hurt," their voice is growly from the smoking but weak.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you alone in this state," you declare matter–of–factly. A sound comes out of his throat, something between a chuckle and a cough.

They snap their head up, blue and scarred cheeks wet with tears and flaming red eyes with blue veins all over them drilling holes in you. "Do you dare say this in my true face? Declare that you care about a monster?" He spits, lips shaking as they try to hold back another crying fit.

You face stone, you grib his cheeks to stop them from breaking eye contact. "I am not leaving you alone like this, because I care about you and I love you. And, I don't give a fuck what others have made you think of yourself, you're anything but a monster," you keep your voice steady, trying to physically pin those words in his mind.

They sigh and lean against your hands, eyes closed and breaths slow as tears start rolling down his cheeks again. They turn to kiss your palm, now the rest of his body relaxing and hands bringing you close to a hug. "Thank you," they breathe out against you, the weakest of smiles forming slowly.

We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives / Ride 'round picking up clues

"Feet off or I'll chop them off and put them in the truck," you snap, eyes on the road as you try to find a place to park.

"Relax, it's not ours," Loki brushes off the threat. You sigh and park the car among some trees on the edge of the road, hoping no one will see it. He tries to mask it, like always, but you can see how the pain is making their features harsh.

"You can drop some spells, we're well hidden," you point out, watching as the pale skin starts melting and dark azure replaces it. Your skin crawls, you don't know if it's the cold or the awe. Loki breathes out, head resting back on the seat. "I didn't know the illusion is so painful," you think out loud.

"When running so low on rest, everything is painful. Now, where are those files…" they mutter and turn around, searching for the yellow case in the back seat. "Here. Do you have any idea?" he asks, giving you the file.

"I'll probably find something to milk. Now get that rest before you pass out on the field," you glare at them with that Look. He grins and nods before laying against the window, a thin layer of frost already forming.

Then, they start laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask, not looking up from the report you're reading.

"Before I even talked to you, I had the honeymoon trip already planned in my brain, with too many versions to count. This wasn't even on the list," he straightens up and smiles. You laugh too.

"Well, it's not exactly as bad as you make it sound,"

"Norns, are your standards so low or are you so disappointed in me?" They raise one eyebrow.

"Neither, love. Now get rest before I have to knock you out," you smile through threatening him.

"Kinky, might try it later," they wink and lay back down, his breathing deepening some minutes afterwards.

We'll name our children Jackie and Wilson / Raise 'em on rhythm and blues

You're laying against them, smiling like an idiot as he runs a hand on your stomach and feeling this new anomaly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, watching a small wrinkle from between their brows.

"Yes. Two of them. Perhaps boys but I can't tell yet," he whispers, hand still resting there even though the spell is over.

"Twins… we will become parents," you smile, breathing out and laying against their shoulders.

Loki calls your name. You turn around and he rests his forehead against your own. "I love you so much, you know that? All three of you," they grin. You chuckle and close your eyes, accepting the kiss that's definitely coming.

"You know, we'll have to name them something," you point out after they break the kiss.

"Narfi and Vali," he's… quite fast on picking up the name.

"No way,"

"Why?"

You freeze. "It's silly…" you mutter.

They cup your face, glowing green eyes on yours. "It's bothering you,"

"It's the myth… how Narfi and Vali suffered in the myth because of your… because of Loki's mistakes… I don't want this to happen to the little guys," you sigh.

"Then, do you have to suggest another name while I'm trying to think of a second choice?" he smiles.

"It's even more silly," you giggle.

"At least it won't be your mythological dead kids,"

You take a deep breath. "Jackie and Wilson, from the song," you are ready to hear them laughing at you for the suggestion. But he just smiles.

"Jackie and Wilson…"

Cut clean from the dream that night, let my mind reset / Looking up from a cigarette, she's already left

Loki has no idea how long they've been staring blankly at the ashtray, the suit in front of him mocking him.

It's maybe the first time they're so hesitant about wearing all black.

It was supposed to be a small mission, nothing dangerous. You were supposed to be back, safe, within an hour.

You were supposed to raise your sons and retire in that castle in the middle of the forest.

Why was he so foolish to believe that he deserves a happy ending?

"You have to collect yourself. You have to say the farewell, a fucking thank you for all you've got from it, you coward!" they spit at the mirror opposite to them, hand tensing and breaking the cigarette in half.

A deep breath, in and out, a tight squeeze on the wedding ring hanging from his neck, and they stand up to put the damn suit on.

I start digging up the yard for what's left of me in our little vignette / For whatever poor soul is coming next

The funeral is over, the farewell has been said. But there's a small dinner coming afterwards.

Out of all the public appearances, this is by far the worse. Malevolence is something Loki has learned how to deal with a long time ago. But these eyes of pity are unbearable.

The strangers, probably reporters or Stark's acquaintances, coming to express their "condolences" are at least few enough to allow Loki to slip away to the bathroom.

He sits on the cold floor, this numbness drowning him. They hoped you had made it go away, but you just suppressed it. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg to whatever cruel Deity did this to bring you back. But their mind cannot give the order.

He takes your phone out, opening the music app and wearing your earphones. They press play on the last song you listened to, only to hear some familiar chords echo from the small device.

You were muttering this song all the time since you found out about the pregnancy, it's no wonder it's the last tune you listened to. But the upbringing melody of the song and the dark emptiness in Loki's heart are painfully opposite.

He sits there and listens to the whole song in silence, trying to milk some happiness out of it.

But they only manage to whisper along the last two lines, or an alteration of them. Just before he starts weeping at the tile floor until Thor finds him.

"We would name our children Jackie and Wilson, Raise 'em on rhythm and blues,"

[repsajjjasper]

Asa Emory hcs while I cry

(yes i am self projecting)

This man works consistently. He's a college professor but one of those lazy ones where he hands out an assignment more than the bare minimum for grades, but fuck does he feel the need to do research and he still works on his collection a lot

He's a dog person!! He loves dogs. Small, annoying ones he swears he hates? He gives them little pats and everyone wonders why all of a sudden their dog doesn't bark at him specifically. He actually likes dogs that are on the smaller side of medium the most! (20-40 lbs) He feels like his germam shepherds are more specifically for guarding than anything. They're not exactly "pets" to him but he still loves and cares about them

He actually really enjoys spending time with his dogs. Petting them helps him destress and he often vents to them. Not to mention german shepherds in general are extremely keen and aware of their owners emotions. If he's stressed, both of his dogs sit near him and wait until he's ready to be pet. He takes pride in brushing their coats and clipping their claws. His dogs are the epitome of a breed standard and could win in any competition. He gets his dogs from breeders that screen for any health conditions, breed specifically for working dogs and are ethical.

He actually doesn't even really like german shepherds. He wanted a doberman at first, but with the fact that they can get blisters on their ears during training if not cropped, he opted for a different breed. He didn't wanna go through taking care of the ears after being cropped

The names of his beloved dogs are Vincent (from Pulp Fiction) and Hal (2001: A Space Odessy)

He loves movies! Iconic movies that started generations and changed the industry for years are so interesting to him. He has a love for all genres, as long as the plot is good and there's good acting he's all in. This can lead him to like some more childish movies like Rango 2011 but he doesn't care. His favorite genres are sci fi and gangster/mob movies tho. Still very snobby about what media he consumes. Hates cliche 2000s movies. You know the vibe they all had. More modern movies he would enjoy would be things like Marriage Story, Gerald's Game and Her. He doesn't really like documentaries unless they're on bugs or crimes

He hates coffee. He hates the bitterness. He hates everything about it. But something has to keep him up and active. This led to a caffeine addiction. I've seen the hc that he only drinks it black but that is FALSE (jk you're allowed to hc whatever you want) He takes his coffee with a lot of sweetener and specifically hazelnut creamer. Hs doesn't use sugar because he's aware that putting too much can give him a sugar crash.

He makes coffee at home in the morning because he refuses to go to Starbucks and takes it to work in a thermos. He gets his second cup from a locally owned café that's quiet enough for him to do his work and priced reasonably enough for him to buy lunch when he forgets to pack it (by forgets i mean he really just wants to eat a giant blueberry muffin for lunch but can't bring himself to bake)

Actually decent at cooking. He's not a master chef and wanting to be time efficient often leads him to microwave premade meals, but mans can in fact cook to an extent. He usually just makes grilled chicken and broccoli but he's known to throw down a mean steak

Smokes weed. I will not elaborate. You can't take this hc away from me. You'll have to pry it out of mt cold, dead hands and I'll wake back up and punch you in the jaw

Hates loud noises. He gets upset and overwhelmed by a lot of loud noises very easily. It's part of the reason he hates when his victims scream or talk to him too much. It reminds him of his chaotic household from his childhood

Because of said childhood he's a light sleeper. He's scared someone is gonna show up. This has never happened and won't because he specifically has one of the dogs outside and one sleeping in his room. They trade spots everyday. He doesn't want it to be unfair and if it's too cold/hot or raining he has them both sleep on the floor in his room. He hates the smell of wet dog

He's actually capable of love. Like I said before, he cares about and loves his dogs to an extent. That's it. He can love things, his insects, his dogs and even his s/o to an extent. There's no unconditional love. There's no "I'd go to the ends of the world to make you happy". It's very conditional and he doesn't get close attachments. If he let his s/o go or if they died he would be sad for a while but would move on fairly quickly. He doesn't care that much. It's not a total loss to him. With that being said, he definitely shows his love in smaller ways. Holding hands, cuddling, eye contact, just being around in general. Even little gifts. They're typically useful gifts and not just a stuffed animal or flowers or chocolates. He also takes what you say to heart. You really think the shirt he has on is that bad? First of all fuck you, but you're right. He stops wearing it. You really enjoy when he rubs his thumb on your hand while he holds it? He's doing it every time now

Asa is seemingly unemotional. He holds back smiles. He rarely cries and he rarely laughs. It only happens when he's tired, high or drunk. Or if he's taken by surprise. His father is still in the back of his mind telling him he's not man enough. Whatever the hell that means smh

Bugs aren't his only passion! He likes sculpting and pottery! Tiny figures and vases stand on a shelf in his living room. He quite enjoys them even if they're crudely painted. He also likes training dogs. Granted this only applies to drugged up humans and dog breeds that enjoy being trained and worked. He hates challenges

He likes shopping for antique decorations. I mean, we've all seen his house

He gives me bi vibes. He's bisexual. Idc what anyone else has to say. He's suppressed it for a while but when he finally came to terms with it he's fairly comfortable with his attraction. He simply doesn't care

His type is honestly just different. He typically doesn't like people that look like everyone else he's seen a million times over. He wants someone new. Someone fresh. He wants to see flaws and scars and birthmarks and some chub and eyebags and some acne. It makes him feel better lowkey

He likes talking. He's not vocal about his feelings or emotions but he likes to ramble about a new dog breed he thinks would go great after his german shepherds pass. How different the human anatomy is. How his day went. He likes complaining most of all smh

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader. Requested (A/n- I know huge age gaps aren’t for everyone, but alas, it is the bases of this series. Warnings will be included on a chapter by chapter basis. This is sort of a half chapter to set the tone between the two, next week, things are bumped up a few notches. For more info, you can heck out the series summary here) 

Prologue

“Stop doing that,” Walter warned as he sank down next to her on the plush grey sofa in the private waiting room. They were in Los Angeles, at a popular studio; Y/n had recently gotten a part in an action film, where she’d play a nurse who had found a rogue C.I.A operative bleeding out near her apartment. It was seemingly your run of the mill; young girl getting caught up with an older guy, damsel in distress, high action movie, but her agent; Walter thought it would be a good way to transition onto the big screen as the television show that she starred in came to a close after six seasons. 

Y/n’s head snapped up, turning to face him, her eyes wide, “Doing what? I’m not doing anything!” She frowned, though she knew exactly what he was talking about; Y/n hand been wringing her fingers since they were in the car, on the way to the studio. Walter had been her manager since she started her career at sixteen and knew her almost as well as her own father; he could tell when she was doing one of her nervous ticks, even the subtle ones.

The graying man chuckled, offering her one of the disposable cups filled with coffee, which might not have been the best choice of beverage when one was already vibrating with nervous anticipation, “Here, drink this. And try not to spill anything on that top; Grace,” her stylist, “Will kill us both if you do.”

“I won’t,” Y/n grumbled, “I’m not a kid, you know,” she rolled her eyes, bringing the scalding hot latte to her lips.

“Relax,” Walter went on, “I know,” he sighed, drinking from his own coffee before he continued, “I guess I’m nervous too, my wife says that I micro-manage when I’m nervous.”

At that, Y/n chuckled and slowly, the knot in her stomach starting to loosen, “She’s right. The last time we were here you kept asking me if I was sure I wasn’t cold.”

“It was raining and the A.C was on,” he defended, “What the hell is taking them so long?”  Walter grumbled lowly after a couple minutes.

“We’re early,” Y/n reminded, “There’s still,” she glanced at her phone in her lap, “Fifteen minutes.”

Sighing again, Walter didn’t respond, opting to deal with a few emails on his own phone; getting back to other clients and organizing her appearances for the week.

Keanu stood, near his car, smoking a cigarette while browsing through the excerpt of the script that they were using that morning. He had already read it through a couple times earlier that week but wanted to be sure that he had everything right. The scene was supposed to be the one where his character would meet his co-star’s; Y/n Y/l/n.

Prior to that day, Keanu had heard of the young girl and had seen her on television interviews in passing. Up until then, she had starred in drama series called Behind Lipstick which chronicled the life of a young model combating struggles with addiction, her mental health issues and the pressure of fame in the superficial world she lived in. Keanu himself had never watched the series but his sisters loved it and Y/n had even won a few Emmy's and Golden Globes for her performance. 

The film was supposed to be her introduction to the ‘movie’ side of things and while Keanu was excited and honored to star alongside her what was to be a milestone in her career, finding out that she was also supposed to be his love interest in the movie was still something that he was having trouble getting used to. She was just so young; twenty-two seemed so far away from fifty-five. “Hollywood has a daddy kink,” is what his agent had said when Keanu had first found out and while he could certainly see the appeal, he wasn’t sure if working with a woman that young was his wisest move. 

“Keanu!” Someone called from behind him, and he shook off his thoughts as the familiar female voice grew closer, “They’re almost ready to start.”

It was his agent Eleanor, a woman just about his age, who Keanu had worked with for most of his career, “Yeah, okay,” Keanu pushed off the side of his black Porsche, tossing the stub of his smoke to the ground stomping it out with the toe of his worn boot. At an unhurried pace, Keanu shoved his phone into his pocket, joining Eleanor as she headed back towards the large building in the near distance.

“Are you ready?” Walter asked quietly, close to Y/n’s ear as they took their seats at the long, varnished table. The conference room that the director had instructed them to meet at was a large one, with floor to ceiling windows that let the bright L.A sunshine in, the hint of warmth mellowing out the air-conditioning. It was a huge contrast from the window-less, flat-toned minimalist room that Y/n had auditioned in a few months prior.

“Of course,” Y/n nodded, shifting in the cushions of the leather chair. Laid out in the center table were several varieties of refreshments; hot water and over turned cups for tea and coffee, and a selection of finger foods. Though everything looked inviting, Y/n wouldn’t say it out loud, but she was far to nervous to eat and was certain that any more coffee would have her bouncing off the walls. 

Closer to the edges of the table, nearer to the seats; were copies of the script along with pencils. Not too long after Y/n and Walter had taken their place, an older woman in a well-fitting pale pink skirt suit, her heels clicking softly of the black tiles, entered. Close behind her, a taller man with dark hair falling just past his ears walked in, looking like every sin in a movie where the girl next door falls in love with the older man who just moved in; wearing a sport coat over the plain black t-shirt and dark jeans. Keanu fucking Reeves. He was still wearing his sunglasses, though the minute he walked in, he removed them, hooking the Prada shades on the ‘v’ of his t-shirt.

For some reason, though Y/n knew that they’d be in the movie together, she was still a little in awe of his presence at their scheduled table read. ‘Awe’ that Walter would argue was vastly misplaced; she had earned her place in Hollywood and through she hadn’t been in the business for as long as Keanu had , certainly her status should have granted her some immunity to being star-struck. If only that were true. 

Quietly, greetings were exchanged and to her surprise, Keanu took the seat directly to her left, shifting awkwardly to offer his hand, “Keanu,” he said briskly.

I know were the words she almost stuttered, but thankfully, she was able to sum up enough courage and push away her initial ‘breathless wonder’ and coolly return, “Y/n, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled politely. Keanu’s hand was large, easily swallowing hers up and was rougher than she expected, though the little embrace was still warm, welcoming and seemed genuine. 

At that, Keanu returned her smile with a faint one of his own, “The pleasure is mine,” he assured her. So he really was as humble as they said. 

The end of their introduction was met with a bout of awkward silence; Y/n was too shy to initiate a conversation and Keanu couldn’t think of a thing that he’d have to talk about with a girl her age. When the director; Jackson Gardener, a known name in the genre, walked in, they both straightened in their seats and quickly, another round of introductions were exchanged. 

Sinking into his seat, Jackson glanced between the two, pushing up his black-framed glassed up onto the bridge of his nose with the joint of his thumb. Jackson’s whitish-grey hair stuck out widely on all sides, looking severely wind tousled and his beard seemed to be overgrown. “I see you two have met,” he said, gruff and absent, shoving up the sleeves of his charcoal sweater, “Good,” he nodded, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get into this.”

Y/n’s lips quivered; was he really just going to get started, no setting the scene, no background on their roles and not even a hint of what he was expecting from them? She was about to speak up, ask a question or two, when, surprisingly, Keanu put a tentative palm on her jean clad thigh, his eyes barely meeting hers as if to say, ‘its not worth it.’

Sucking in a nervous breath, Y/n nodded slightly in understanding, grateful that Keanu had possibly just saved her skin. Even after he moved his hand, the warmth of it lingered on Y/n’s leg and she had to fight the feeling that came with the thought of Keanu’s hands on her. Y/n wondered if every other woman who had come in contact with him felt like that. Trying to ignore the whole thing, she picked up the script and tried to immerse herself in the role, hoping that her flustered feelings weren’t seeping through. 

Thankfully, the table read was over in just under and hour and while Jackson’s praises were limited and were delivered with his same stoic tone and un-meeting eyes, he had been kind enough to let everyone go shortly after it was over, with promises that they’d all meet in the near future on location. 

Y/n was a few paces behind Walter in the parking lot when someone jogged up beside her, his long legs easily bringing him into pace with her steps; Keanu. “Hey,” he said, an she nearly jumped.

For the briefest second, Walter slowed down to turn round and look at them, though, quickly dismissing his concern when he saw it was Keanu. “Hey,” Y/n tried to smile, combating the reappearance of her nerves, “Uh....what’s up?” She couldn’t believe that he was speaking to her. Why was he speaking to her?

Keanu’s hands were in his pockets and his sunglasses blocked out the sun from his eyes, not mention adding to his cool, suave appearance. How could one man be afforded the opportunity to look that good in his fifties?

He towered over her, though Y/n supposed it was because she had opted to pair her light-washed ripped jeans and stylish button up with flat pumps, not aiding her small stature. Maybe it was because she was so nervous, or maybe it was just a part his nature that didn’t translate through the camera during interviews, but Keanu seemed more confident that she’d thought he’d be, seemingly not noticing what a nervous mess he was making of her. 

Removing one hand from his pocket to rake his nails through his short beard, Keanu thought on his words for a moment, before he eventually spoke again, “I just wanted to let you know; working with Jackson is gonna be a little tough; he can be kind of an asshole sometimes,” that was something she had quickly caught on to, “But don’t let him spook you, he’s really just one of those ‘crazed artist types’; lots of talk, loads of talent, but sometimes his head is so far up his ass that he forgets that he’s working with actual people,” at that, Keanu chuckled quietly, “The point is; don’t let him get to you. And if you wanna talk, I’d be happy to listen.”

They were approaching a black SUV and Walter was already waiting at the back door for Y/n, though, she knew that he’d give her the space that she needed. “Sure,” Y/n blushed despite herself, “Thanks.”

“No problem, why don’t you take my number, and I’ll take yours?” Keanu had already gotten his phone out and Y/n took a minute to do the same. Briefly, they exchanged devices and by extension; contacts. “Alright,” Keanu determined, reclaiming his cell, “Well, I've gotta get going, but I’ll see you around Y/n,” he quickly patted her shoulder and was already turning to walk off before she could muster up a dumbfounded goodbye.

She had just traded numbers with the Keanu Reeves.

It was about to be an eventful three months.

******

Tagging- @fickensteinn​  @harrisongslimited​  @babygirltaina​  @fanficsrusz​  @paanchu786​ 

[beetlebitchywitch]

I really love when you write Dewey, that birthday fic was soooo cute, do you think you'd be down to write more Dewey fluff? Or even hurt/comfort? Just, whatever you want with him, he's perfect and I love him

This sounds awesome! Thanks to @go-commander-kim for kinda getting the whole “Just Friends” trope stuck in my head because here we are. Some angst to fluff Dewey x Fem!Reader for your reading pleasure!

If anyone asked you why you decided to live with Dewey Finn, you would simply ask why you wouldn’t want to live with your best friend. You’d known one another practically since diapers, having sworn an oath on the kindergarten playground to be friends for life, and somehow, you’d managed to make it work. You were both in your late 20’s now, and you were still going strong, so when you both were looking for roommates, it simply seemed to make sense. 

The fact that you got to get a good view of him shirtless now and again was simply the icing on the cake. 

God. Shut the fuck up, you thought to yourself, shaking your head to rid yourself of that thought as you prepared the two of you breakfast. But still, the image persisted, Dewey with his perfectly squishy belly and his chest hair and his hips-

“Y/N, the pancakes are burning!” 

Fuck, he was right, in your reverie you were blissfully unaware of the two pancakes you had on the griddle slowly turning black and sending acrid smoke dancing through the air. You swore under your breath and pulled them off, discarding them both and pouring two new ones to take their place.

“Sorry, Dew, just got a little distracted…” You turned around mid-sentence to shoot him a smile and instead quickly fell silent because Jesus Christ, your daydream was real. Dewey was lounging by the counter with a mug of coffee in had clad only in a pair of pajama pants hanging loosely around his hips that exposed that fucking delicious little happy trail-

You quickly turned back around, eyes scrunched shut as you tried to forget that the guy you’ve practically been in love with for years was standing behind you with no fucking shirt like it was just a thing to do. Love...God, you hated to admit it, but you were absolutely gone for this man, and there was no use denying it, not when everything from his hair, to his voice, to the way he snored made you swoon. But he was your best friend, he’d always been your best friend, and there was no way in hell you’d ruin nearly 20 years of friendship just because your heart fluttered when he was around. Why did you decide to live with Dewey Finn? Because you were a masochist who enjoyed teasing herself with a guy you could never have. 

“Those smell fucking awesome,” Dewey groaned, rifling throug the pantry for a bottle of syrup. “Let it be known that Saturday morning breakfast is an awesome tradition and if I ever say otherwise, assume I’ve gone crazy.” 

“Crazier than you already are? Impossible,” you joked, hip checking his playfully before flipping the pancakes- these ones, thankfully, were golden brown and gorgeous. Dewey ignored your little quip in favor of setting the table, and by the time you walked over with the full stack of pancakes, he was seated with a hungry look on his face, silverware clutched in both fists. 

“Oh yeah, that’s it, come to Daddy,” he crooned, grabbing pancakes from the top of the stack before you’d even managed to set the plate down. You held back a whimper hearing him call himself that, pushing it down with a grimace and joining him in stacking pancakes onto your plate. He groaned loudly, his mouth so full that his cheeks puffed out and syrup dripped from his lips. “Jesus Christ, these are good.” 

“They’re from a fucking box, Dew, it’s not like we’re having brunch at The Four Seasons,” you said with a playful eyeroll, trying to ignore how badly you wanted to lick up that little bit of maple syrup clinging to his lower lip, God, could this get any worse? “You’re on omelette duty next Saturday, alright? I want that mushroom and swiss one that you make.” 

“Anything for you, Shortstack,” he said with a wink. God, that stupid fucking childhood nickname. It used to annoy you, since Dewey had been taller than you your whole life and never ceased to make fun of you for having to look up at him when you spoke, but now, every time he used it, it was with a warm affection in his voice and his eyes that made it damn near impossible not to swoon. You cleared your throat and sent him a withering stare, trying to hide how your insides had melted from one simple word. 

“Bite me, Dewdrop,” you grumbled, your stomach swirling with warmth when he beamed at the sound of his own nickname, his eyes crinkled so adorably that you couldn’t help but smile around a mouthful of pancake. God, this fucking idiot. “What are we thinking tonight, another horror movie marathon? I’ve got some real shitty ones we could make fun of!” 

“As fun as that sounds, I can’t,” Dewey said, a soft pink blush crawling its way onto his cheeks. “I...I kinda have a date tonight.” 

Date. 

Date. 

Just hearing the world felt like icicles stabbing at your gut, and as it reverberated in your mind, the pain only grew. Dewey had a date?

“Wow! With who?” you asked cheerily, putting on as brave a face as you could the second you saw that happily little smile blossom across his face. 

“Her name’s Amy. I met her at last week’s gig and we just kinda hit it off, I guess. We’re going out tonight for a few drinks,” he said excitedly, blushing profusely seemingly thinking about her. You could feel tears clawing at your eyes, your throat tightening as the thought of him with his arms around some faceless girl assaulted your mind. You couldn’t help but imagine him holding her close, kissing her, whispering little sweet words into her ear while she giggled like a fucking schoolgirl; it made you sick to your stomach, the stack of pancakes in front of you suddenly seemingly utterly unappetizing as you maintained your bright smile, hoping it didn’t look forced. You wanted to be happy for him. You needed to be happy for him, because you’d be a shitty fucking friend if you weren’t, and you refused to lose the guy who’d been there for you since fucking kindergarten, no matter how badly you wished it was you putting that giddy little smile on his face. 

“Well hey, congrats buddy!” you choked out, trying to hide the strain in your voice. “Let me know if you need help getting ready, alright? I, uh, I think I’m gonna go clean up.” 

“Yeah, alright. Wait, you barely touched your breakfast, are you ok?” he asked, looking so concerned that it practically punched you in the gut because you knew you couldn’t be honest with him. 

“Yeah, I’m just less hungry than I thought. You finish your plate, I’ll just be doing the dishes.” And with a half-smile and a little nod, you retreated as quickly as you could to the kitchen, finally letting the tears fall silently as you leaned over the sink, your hands trembling as you braced yourself against the counter. You should’ve fucking known this would happen. Dewey was a great guy, an attractive guy, and you knew someone else would come knocking one day, someone who would make him blush and giggle and swoon the way you did whenever he so much as breathed. You’d tried to deny it, tried not to think about it, tried to forget that other people existed that Dewey might just be interested in, but now the day had come where you finally had to face the music. Sure, maybe this girl wouldn’t last. Maybe they’d date for a few months, break up, and you’d be left dealing with the aftermath of a sobbing Dewey surrounded by snotty tissues and self-loathing. But there’d be another girl after that, and maybe one more after that, and all the while you’d have to sit back and smile and support him as if the sight of him loving someone else wasn’t slowly eating you away from the inside out. But you were a good friend, you were a good friend, and you’d never let your feelings keep you from being there for Dewey, from cheering him on in everything he did. You’d walk him down the fucking aisle and give him away to someone else if you had to, because that’s how much you loved him. Your love wasn’t selfish; it never was, and it never would be. 

So, you dried your tears, steeled your nerves, and began doing the dishes, shutting your brain off in favor of mindlessly completing your task. You heard Dewey get up from the table and likely wander off back to his room, but you paid him no mind and finished cleaning up the remnants of your breakfast. When you were done, you retreated to your room, locking the door behind you and curling back up in your unmade bed, wishing you could fall back asleep and redo the day. You’d stayed there for hours, hair undone and still in your pajamas as you drifted in and out of sleep, fitfully tossing and turning as you tried to forget what was inevitably coming. By dinner time, you finally gave up on your pity party and got dressed in a soft pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing your hair up in a bun and venturing out in the living room. But when you saw Dewey...you froze.

He was perfect. Decked out in his favorite band t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and dark jeans, he looked fucking incredible. It wasn’t the fanciest get-up, but for a night out drinking, it was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. 

“Wow,” you breathed softly, suddenly feeling incredibly underdressed in your ratty t-shirt and ripped up jeans. Dewey turned at the sound of you, smiling nervously and straightening out his jacket as he faced you. 

“Yeah? Do you think it looks good?” he asked, brushing himself off and looking at you anxiously. You gulped and smiled, nodding despite feeling like there was a heavy rock in the pit of your stomach. 

“You look great, Dewdrop,” you said honestly, wanting nothing more than to just reach out and hold him, but holding yourself back for your own sake. “When are you meeting her?”

He checked his watch and balked, quickly rushing to the couch to throw on his favorite pair of worn black boots.

“I should actually get going now. Don’t wait up, alright?” And with a quick wink, he was out the door, leaving you completely alone. You stood silently for a moment, letting the reality of the situation wash over you. That was when the tears came, just silently dripping down your cheeks as you moved to curl up on the couch, swaddling yourself in a blanket and letting yourself cry. 

For the next three hours, you’d think about him, what they were doing, what they weren’t doing, wondering if he’d go home with her...what if he brought her back here? You couldn’t bear the thought of Dewey stumbling back into your apartment with a giggling girl in his arms, kissing down his neck, dragging him to his bedroom...you shook the thoughts from your head, wiping your tears away each time they came. You hated yourself for this, for throwing yourself a fucking pity party on the couch while Dewey was out with God knows who probably having the time of his life. You felt pathetic compared to him, and you knew that if he could see you now, he’d probably think so too...no, that was a lie. Dewey would never think that way about you, which somehow made it worse. Fuck him and how fucking good he was- if he wasn’t such an awesome guy, you wouldn’t be in this fucking mess! Before you could let yourself spiral any further, the front door suddenly swung open, startling you out of your own head. There was Dewey, looking slightly put off without a girl in sight. Ugh, thank God. You let out an internal sigh of relief and put a smile on your face.

“You’re back earlier than I thought,” you greeted him. 

“Sadly,” he grumbled, running his fingers frustratingly through his hair. “That date was a mess.”

God, you didn’t want to be happy about this. You did not want to be happy about this. But you were, you simply couldn’t stop yourself from feeling so utterly relieved that Dewey’s date was a total bust. 

“Yikes. Come here, tell me all about it.” You patted the seat next to you on the couch, which Dewey gratefully took. The scent of cigarettes and beer hit your nose, not altogether unpleasant when mixed with his cologne. “So. What happened?”

“God, nothing. That was the problem,” he groaned, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “We didn’t jive well at all. She didn’t seem weird when we first met, but like...ok, I tried to get her to do karaoke with me, but she totally blew it off like it was a dumb idea. I even wanted to do Don’t Stop Believin’, but she acted totally stuck-up, like karaoke was beneath her. And so then I tried to order her a drink, just a Long Island Iced Tea, and she fucking turns her nose up at it like it’s garbage! And you’re not going to believe this- she didn’t even want wings. 10 wings, half buffalo, half soy garlic, and she doesn’t touch a single one. I mean, who goes to a bar and doesn’t order wings? I swear, I thought we were gonna hit it off great, but she just...I don’t know, she just didn’t seem to want to have fun, y’know?” 

You wanted to feel bad for him. Really, you did, she sounded like a total drag. But you couldn’t stop the wheels from turning in her mind as you went over the events of the night, the realization hitting you in the face like a wrecking ball.

Don’t Stop Believin’ was your favorite karaoke song.

A Long Island Iced Tea was your drink order.

10 wings, half buffalo, half soy garlic was your wing order. 

That didn’t mean anything, right? It couldn’t mean anything. Maybe he just liked all of those things too, except no, he always got 15 barbecue wings and a pint of IPA. Maybe Dewey was just used to you liking all those things when you went out for drinks that he just projected onto his date. Or maybe…

“Dewey, did...those are all...Jesus Christ,” you whispered incredulously, running your fingers through your hair as you shook your head. Dewey’s face pinched with confusion, his brows furrowing and wrinkling his forehead as he turned towards you. 

“What? Am I missing something?” he asked, blinking repeatedly as if to try and force himself to figure out what you were thinking. You simply let out a cynical chuckle, standing up from the couch and pacing around the living room, feeling the words you’ve been repressing for years starting to bubble up in your throat. No, hell no. You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t fucking do this, not now, not after he literally was just on a date with someone else, but...you couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t imagine another night crying on the couch, wondering what Dewey was doing, wishing it was you with him, wondering if it could be you. You needed to be doing anything else, you needed to not think, you just… you needed to go.

“It’s nothing,” you choked out, avoiding any and all eye contact with him because you knew if you took one look at him, you’d be spilling your guts, and God knows you couldn’t handle that right now. You rushed to the front door, throwing on the closest pair of shoes with fumbling hands. “But after hearing all that, a bar sounds really good right now. I’m just gonna head out for a few drinks, ok?”

“Y/N, wait-” but before he could even finish his sentence, you were out the door, the words you desperately wanted to say dying off in a broken sigh as you rushed down the stairs and hit the street, taking the all too familiar route to your favorite little dive bar a few blocks away from your apartment. It smelled of cheap cigarettes, grain alcohol, and loneliness- perfect for a night like tonight. You felt the cracks in your heart only grow with each step away from your apartment, away from Dewey, but you forged on, finally reaching the bar and wandering immediately to the bartop, sitting down towards the end.

“Hey, Y/N, what can I get you?” 

You looked up to thankfully see your favorite bartender, Ellen, wiping down a glass with a friendly smile on her face. You returned it gladly, feeling somewhat comforted by the presence of a familiar face.

“Hey, love. Can I just get my usual, please?” you asked softly, trying to hide the pain in your voice. Ellen, ever the observant one, put down the glass immediately and pointed an accusatory finger at you. 

“I’m throwing in an extra few wings on the house, alright? I don’t know who hurt you, but you know I know how to hide a body.” And with a wink, she was off to mix your drink, leaving you to look out over the bar with a grimace. You saw many of the regular patrons, some giving you friendly waves, while one unfamiliar looking man was up on the stage, belting away to a song you’d never heard of. You wondered if this is where Dewey took his date. You wondered if you were sitting where she sat, except rather than getting to be out with one of the most incredible guys you’d ever known, you were alone, drowning your sorrows with alcohol and cheap bar food. Ellen returned just as the song ended with your glass, the amber liquid looking increasingly enticing the more you thought about the dumb bitch that somehow took Dewey Finn for granted. Taking it thankfully, you lifted it in a silent toast to her poor judgement and took a hearty swig, comforted by the burn of the alcohol down your throat. Now, all you needed was your favorite order of wings and part three of your pity party could truly get underway. After a few minutes of sipping at your drink, you saw Ellen returning with your food and sighed happily, but she stopped short of you, her eyes locked on something behind you. 

“I was wondering when he’d show up,” she said cheerily, finally placing your wings in front of you. “You never come here alone.”

“What are you-?” You turned around to see who she was looking at and your eyes widened to see Dewey standing only a few feet behind you, panting slightly as if he’d run to the bar. “Dewey, what are you doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” he asked, immediately sliding onto the barstool next to you. You tensed at the closeness, feeling the soft leather of his jacket rubbing against your arm, but chose to stare down intently at your wings as if looking at him would betray your feelings. “Something’s clearly up, and you ran away. What, was I supposed to just let you come here and shitfaced alone? Ellen, can I have my usual, please?”

“Coming right up,” she said trepidatiously, looking nervously between the two of you before quickly pouring him his favorite beer and setting it down next to him, making a hasty retreat to the other side of the bar. You sighed, grabbing your own drink and taking a long, slow sip. 

“You didn’t have to follow me. I’m fine,” you assured him, the obvious lie tasting bitter in your mouth. Dewey simply sighed, taking a swig of his own drink before setting it down loudly. 

“Look, I’m your best friend,” he began, and if he saw the way you winced when you heard it, he simply moved past it. “I’m not gonna force you to tell me anything, but you literally know all of my secrets, so why are you hiding this from me?” 

“Because this is fucking different,” you hissed, finally giving in and looking him dead in the eye with a withering stare. “This isn’t like knowing that you pissed your pants at your 3rd grade band concert and spent two hours playing the glockenspiel while standing in a puddle. This fucking means something, Dewey, more than you know, so can we please just sit here and drink in silence?” 

He paused. In the 20+ years he’d known you, he’d never seen you so serious, so...angry. You were angry, he could tell, but he didn’t know why, or what he’d done to make you so clearly adverse to letting him in on it. For now, he knew he needed to respect your wishes and simply be there for you, even if he didn’t know why, but it was already starting to eat away at him inside. With a sigh and a nod, he turned to face the bar, taking a hearty swig of his beer as you finally dug into your wings, trying to ignore the fact that Dewey was basically in this exact situation with another girl only a few hours prior. He looked over at you practically devouring your food and smiled fondly, reaching out to try and steal one. You smacked his hand without even thinking, getting a quiet laugh from Dewey that managed to make you snort under your breath. 

“Sorry, sorry, I know how protective you are of your wings,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. Your wings. You stared down at your food and drink and still couldn’t believe that Dewey didn’t see it. Maybe you were blowing it way out of proportion, but…

“They’re my favorite order,” you pointed out firmly, meeting his gaze with a meaningful look. “10 wings, half buffalo, half soy-garlic, and a Long Island Iced Tea. Only thing that’s missing now is to get up there and sing ‘Don't Stop Believin’, right?” 

“Right, yeah,” he said, his voice trailing off. It took a moment of silence, but you finally felt Dewey tense next to you, his eyes squinting as he looked at you, then your order, then back at you. You watched as the realization dawned on his, his eyes widening a little and his hand trembling slightly, looking like he nearly dropped his beer. “Yeah...that’s…” 

“Yeah,” you responded solemnly, turning away to sip at your drink, doing everything you could to avoid eye contact. “I realized it before you did, clearly.”

He was dead silent. You didn’t feel him move an inch next to you, clearly staring down at the bartop trying to put it all together in his mind. 

“So you think I…?”

“Yep.” 

“And I...God, I did,” he sighed, putting his beer down to run his fingers anxiously through his hair. “I wasn’t even thinking.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you retorted, wincing at how rude you sounded. “Sorry, sorry, I just-”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he said, turning to face you. This was it. This was when he let you down gently, this was the night you ruined your friendship. God, you couldn’t fucking believe how stupid you were. You turned on the barstool to face your fate, keeping your eyes trailed on the bartop even as your body turned toward him. “I never wanted to make this awkward.” 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t,” you grumbled, playing anxiously with your own fingers as all the feelings, the hurt, the anxiety, swirled around inside of you like a thunderstorm. “It’s my fault for making such a big deal out of it.” 

“No, I’m sorry I ever made you uncomfortable,” he said firmly. You paused, finally turning to look at him. Uncomfortable? What was he talking about? “I guess...I guess I just ordered for her like she was you because...because I couldn’t stop wishing that it was you.” 

Oh. 

Oh...my God. 

Oh my God.

“D...Dewey-”

“I’m serious, Y/N, I’m so sorry it ever even came up,” he rambled on, his eyes alone practically pleading for forgiveness. “God, I can’t believe I was so stupid. Look, this doesn’t have to change anything, ok? I’m still your best friend, right?”

“Dewey Finn…” you trailed off, shaking your head incredulously because oh my God, you could not fucking believe what you were hearing. You could feel joy bubbling up inside of you, replacing the anxious storm with fluttering butterflies because for the first time ever, you felt confident about what to do next. “If you think that this doesn’t have to change anything, you’re dumber than I thought.” 

...Oh God, wait. That came out so wrong. You watched as Dewey’s face fell, his eyes rounded and wide as if someone had just socked him in the gut. Jesus Christ, you just found out that your best friend felt the same way about you and you were already fucking it up. Before you could try and take it back, he was standing up from the stool, downing the rest of his beer and leaving a few bills on the bartop.

 “If that’s what you want,” he murmured brokenly. He turned towards the door, his shoulders sagging as he quickly made his exit. You were frozen for a moment, staring after him uselessly for a solid few seconds before frantically rifling through your purse, throwing cash onto the bartop and rushing after him, finding him only half a block away by the time you made it outside. 

“Dewey, wait!” you shouted, sprinting towards him with all your might. He turned around in surprise, pausing on the sidewalk as you rushed towards him. When you reached him, your desperation had reached a fever pitch and you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing Dewey to the nearest wall and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. His eyes were comically wide, his lips smushed against yours almost violently, but he didn’t care, God, he really didn’t care. They quickly slid shut, his arms sliding around your waist and up your back to hold you close, kissing you back with a desperate ferocity. It took you a few moments to realize you were basically making out in the middle of the sidewalk, but you let yourself have it for a few more moments because the man you thought you’d never have suddenly had you in his arms, and you couldn’t help but indulge yourself in him. When you finally pulled away to gauge Dewey’s reaction, he didn’t even open his eyes for a good ten seconds, just basking in the afterglow of the kiss he’d craved for longer than he could remember. When they finally did open, they met yours and immediately crinkled under the force of his megawatt smile. 

“Y/N...you…?”

“Of course I do, dummy,” you chuckled breathlessly, running your fingers through his hair. “Why do you think I was so fucked up over you going on a date? And doing all of my shit with her?” 

“God, she meant nothing to me,” he groaned, his hands pressing firmly on your back and tugging so your bodies were firmly pressed up against one another. “She asked me out and I thought it would finally help me get over you, but all I could do was compare her to you the whole night, and then she hated all the things you love and I just couldn’t stand to be around her. God, Y/N, I just want you-”

He cut himself off with a heady groan as he kissed you again, already addicted to the way your lips felt against his. You whimpered and kissed him back, feeling the joy practically radiating from every pore in your body. He was perfect. This was perfect.

“Take me home, Dewdrop,” you murmured against his lips, tangling your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Please, let’s just go ho-” 

You yelped as he immediately slid his hand into yours and tugged, pulling you along at the fastest pace possible back to your apartment.

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

The next time you walked into that bar, it was hand in hand with your boyfriend, a proud smile on his lips because yeah, he got to be the one to have you on his arm. You both took your regular seats at the bar, Dewey’s hand placed firmly on your thigh when Ellen finally approached.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, albeit a bit warily. “You’re certainly looking...chummy.”

“Don’t we always?” you asked innocently, though the playful wink you sent her way told her all she needed to know. She looked between the two of you for a moment before grinning brilliantly, and you and Dewey couldn’t help but share a laugh under your breath. 

“First drinks are on me tonight, alright?” she offered up with a sly grin.

“Come on, El, we couldn’t ask you to do that,” Dewey retorted. You barely paid attention, already melting from the feeling of Dewey’s thumb tracing little circles on your thigh.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Besides, won’t be a loss for me. OI, GREG! You owe me 20 bucks!” And with a wink, she was off to pour your drinks and collect her money. You and Dewey both shared a shocked look, which quickly dissolved into snorting laughter as you threw your head back and laughed unabashedly, feeling so much happier than you’d felt in so long that you couldn’t help but let it out. When you met his gaze again, it was soft, his little smile and honeyed stare practically making you melt because Dewey Finn was giving you the biggest heart eyes you’d ever seen, and it was too much to bear. You sighed shakily and leaned in for a soft kiss, losing yourself in the feeling of his plush lips on yours. When he pulled away, it was with a sly grin and a wink.

“How long do you think we’re gonna be here?”

“Mm...an hour.” At that, Dewey slid his hand further up your thigh, his fingertips just barely grazing between your legs. “...O-Ok, maybe only half an hour.”

He chuckled gently and placed a loving kiss on your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he crooned, leaving his hand exactly where it was when your drinks arrived. You ignored the blush so obviously staining your cheeks and took a long swig. 

This was gonna be a long night. 

[hitokayachichi]

⛧ you get me closer to god; a tendou satori fic ⛧

⛧ ... school stress makes you do crazy things!! ...like try to summon your guardian angel and summon a demon instead  ⛧

⛧ ... first part of my sadist!tendou series hehe

⛧ ... ahh a little bit is inspired by seita, both for the idea of sadist!tendou, but her blog is rly supportive and welcoming has also given me the confidence to write lewds, and I really appreciate that :>

wc: 6.5k

cw: demon!Tendou, smut, degredation, praise, corruption kink, sadist!tendou, bdsm elements, pet names :>, spit kink, dumbification kind of, there might be something else i cant remember hhfkdjfs

Staring at your open notebook, you rub your eyes tiredly. It’s only one in the afternoon, but your Precalculus class has drained all of your energy. Your professor was absolutely insane, assigning so much homework. Doesn’t he know that college students take more than one class per semester? In your head, you’re already planning out the order in which you’re going to have to do your assignments and when. How late you’re going to have to stay up. All you want to do is take a nap after your last class, but will you even have time for that?

Class is over now, so you pack up your things and leave. At least your next class is much easier. Your Creative Writing professor is super sweet and you’d take a bullet for her, probably. Besides, your friend, Mayu, will be there, too. She always makes you feel better. Mayu has a sweet, but a little chaotic personality that usually rejuvenates you on bad days.

And there she is, waiting at one of the seats in the hallway. Once she sees you, she waves you over to the table excitedly. Her laptop and notebooks are out because she had a half-hour break between classes, and you gently push the notebooks aside to sit next to her.

“Hey, (y/n) guess what! I finally figured out your issue for Precal!” Normally Mayu is on some kind of bullshit, but since you were texting her during class earlier, it piqued your interest.

“Hmm?”

“Look!” Mayu exclaims, pointing at her computer screen. You lean over and it looks like she’s on some sort of forum webpage? It doesn’t look like any popular one that you’ve seen before, but you squint, trying to read.

... angel summoning?

“Mayu, what the hell?” As you read the forum page, you become more and more confused. The users spoke about chalk circles and meditation and wine and bread to summon your ancestral guardians, or something like that. It’s a little too much, right now. Your brain is still spinning from class.

Mayu is into some pretty unconventional things, so you aren’t exactly surprised, but each and every time she suggests some odd thing, you’re still a little... impressed with what she finds. “Okay, listen!” You look at her, and she just smiles at the way you’re telling her to shut up with your eyes. It’s never worked on her.

“Hear me out, (y/n). This is something I’ve actually done before, so I can one hundred thousand per cent guarantee that it works, I promise you.” A huge part of you wants to roll your eyes at her, but once again, you aren’t exactly surprised that she would have attempted something like this. “I met my guardian angel and she’s the one that helped me get accepted here! She guided me during my application and here I am!”

You just stare at her. “Right...”

“I swear on my life!” She begins to pack up her things, now that class is soon to start, and you shake your head at her. But by now she was finished with the conversation and is prattling about some girl she met in one of her other classes.

It’s so stupid, but the whole class, your mind keep tabs on that forum, just at the edge of consciousness.

⛧  … 

It’s 2:13 am and you very much hate your life. You’re exhausted and stressed. It’s way past your normal bedtime but you just have so much Precal homework to do. You feel like you’re drowning. Maybe it’s just because it’s late and you’re tired, but you can’t seem to stop thinking about what Mayu suggested. Mayu might be into some pretty odd things, but she most definitely isn’t dumb. If she’s said she’s done it before... maybe summoning an angel really does work?

You shake your head. That’s stupid. Rubbing your eyes, you get back to your homework. You have thirteen more questions left on this assignment, and then another fifteen question one. There’s no time to mess around.

So why can’t you get it out of your head?

You last six minutes before texting Mayu.

She tells you to make a sugar circle in your room, with bread and wine in the middle. It’s just you in your tiny studio apartment, and you’re a little too busy to really bake anything that needs sugar, so all you have is a tiny little thing that you use for your coffee. It’s not nearly enough to make a circle with. You use salt instead. Wine isn’t a drink that you typically have on hand either, but you have some leftover vodka that someone had left from a rare party that you had hosted like a year ago. It’s alcohol, so you figure it’ll work. The only thing that you actually had from what Mayu texted was bread, but you have a disappointing feeling that sliced bread from the grocery store isn’t quite what she meant either.

But you’re summoning an angel, after all. None of this is really as it seems.

There is a chant that Mayu sent you in what she says is Hebrew. That.. isn’t a language that you speak, so you know for a fact you aren’t going to say it right. You don’t know if it even truly is Hebrew. But once you draw the circle, light the red candle (Mayu said a white candle, but you only had red, so), and set up the alcohol and bread, you begin chanting.

Mayu had told you to go through the chant only once. But, doing so once, nothing happened. Twice, nothing happened. Thrice, with the same result. There was no smoke, no poof of magic, and most importantly, no guardian angel. Nothing.

You sigh, disappointed with yourself. The one time you trust Mayu’s ridiculousness, and it ends up like this. How could you be so dumb? Of course, no guardian angel is going to save you from math homework. If they even exist at all, they definitely have much more important things to do than a college student’s work. Sitting back down at your desk, you shoot a quick text to Mayu that it didn’t work.

She says to be patient, that it might come at one of the angel numbers. You don’t know what that is, but you’re tired. At this point, you just want to finish a couple more questions, then head to bed. The rest will be an issue for the future (y/n) to deal with.

But, as much as you wish to sleep, something keeps you up. You retired to your bed half an hour ago, at three. Most of your homework is completed, except for maybe a few questions. That’s something you can do before class, though. If you manage to fall asleep, that is.

There’s this itch underneath your skin, tingles with every move you make. It’s been like this for a while. you think. Maybe you’re getting sick. It’s hot, but you don’t feel like you have a fever. No, this is something different. The heat isn’t focused in your head, and you aren’t sweaty. Subconsciously, your thighs are clamped shut, hips softly moving. It feels good. You feel a little high.

The red light of your alarm clock illuminates your face as you stare at the time.

3:33 AM

Oh.

A little bit of you understands, but your mind has become a little hazy, a little foggy like cold November mornings. From the horror movies you’ve watched, seeing this specific time blinking red is unsettling.

Almost as if on queue, the floorboards creak in the hallway. Your cunt clenches, and you can’t help it. There are goosebumps on your arms, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. Slowly, you sit up. You normally leave a nightlight plugged into the socket across from your door in the hallway so that you don’t have to turn on a blinding light when you need to use the restroom at night. You can see it through the gap under your door, unless something is blocking it.

You watch the shine of the light disappear.

There’s someone in front of your door.

Curling your toes, you hold your breath, waiting. At this point, you think, there’s nothing you can do.

Slowly, steadily, you hear the lock on your door click, and watch as the door slowly opens.

Clearly, the summoning had worked.

But this is no angel.

Mottled black and purple horns protrude from the figure’s head, just barely illuminated by the dull lamp at your bedside table. His hair is red, and stands up. There’s a predatory smirk on his face, and your body heats. He’s wearing black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, and the skin on his knees look normal, but his hands are shaded a gradient of black and purple.

This, no questions asked, is a demon.

You frown, corners of your mouth wobbling. Surely, you are going to die, but you can’t help but feel something else. The way the demon looks at you is hungry, and it should not be so arousing. Perhaps he is going to eat your soul. But you think the fear does something for you too.

“Ah,” the demon says, smiling with sharp teeth. “How cute,” All you can do is stare at him. “How lucky am I to have someone as innocent as you,” the demon purrs and steps closer to your bed. “Look at the way you’re trembling, darling,” he reaches a finger out, and his nails are black and clawed. You can feel the tip of it on your chin, poking at you, and you lift your head with the movement of his finger to look him right in the eyes. You didn’t realize that you were shaking, but you stop now, paralyzed as you look into his eyes. They’re ravenous, and dark. No pupils, just blackness, but it’s piercing. There’s no way to really tell where he is looking, but you know that he’s staring straight through you.

The demon leans down to get level with you, where you sit up in bed. He grins, and his teeth are so sharp.

He’s going to tear you apart.

“Darling,” he murmurs, and his forked tongue darts out to lick at a tear you didn’t feel slide down your cheek. “I’m going to have so much fun with you,”

Once again, you tremble at his words. You have no idea what that means, but you’re certain these are your last moments. Taking a deep breath, you speak. “Are you going to eat me?” You mumble, quietly. The demon laughs loudly at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, cute. Of course, I’m going to eat you right up, how could I not?” He leans down further to lap at your neck, and your thighs clench together. Something about the sensation of his tongue and his proximity to you is so.. intoxicating, yet terrifying at the same time. You don’t know what to feel. Maybe you do want him to eat you.

“Am I going to die?” He lays you down, amused at your questions. You go pliantly, his tongue leaving you boneless. “No, not if you’re a good girl. Not if you don’t want to die. Do you want to die? Or do you want to be a good girl?” You are quiet for a moment, as you decide. A part of you wouldn't mind if you were eaten by him. His presence leaves your head foggy, almost as if you were tipsy on sweet wine. Perhaps you were just tipsy on his scent. He smells like earth and smoke and sulfur, something that makes your nose itch and your head hurt but leaves your thighs clenched together in the same breath. 

"No... I suppose I don't want to die," you whisper, as if speaking any louder will whisk him away. 

"So you're going to be my good girl, darling?" His right-hand slides over your chest and ghosts over your throat, his feeling of his fingertips lingering. He cups your jaw, thumb pulling at the corner of your mouth, and you only gaze at him, mesmerized. "Well, pretty? Good girls answer when asked a question." You nod, squeezing your eyes shut just for a moment.

"I-" you stutter when his left-hand slips under your sleep shirt, caressing the expanse of your stomach. "I'll be your good girl, um. Demon, sir." The demon laughs genuinely at that, leaning down to pull you in a short yet sultry kiss. He tastes like sweet nectarines, saccharine and syrupy, and you want to taste more. 

"You can call me Satori, sweetheart." Satori hums, kissing you once again. as if he knows how much you loved how he tasted. "Do you know what I'm here for? You called me here, after all." You shake your head, bashful that you had botched your summoning so awfully.

"... no, Satori, sir. I had, um, I had meant to summon an angel to help me with my math homework." Satori grins, forked tongue poking out between his teeth. With every word you speak, he looks more and more amused.

"And you got me instead, how ironic. You, my love, have summoned a demon." Of course, you had assumed that, it's quite obvious that Satori is nothing close to an angel. Yet, hearing the words, the confirmation, slithering off of his tongue leaves goosebumps. "I'll give you your deepest and darkest desires, darling," Satori drawls, his hand cold over your rib cage. When you shiver, you aren't sure if it's from the temperature or the touch itself. But you want it. The air around you is heavy with want, dark and leaden, weighing on you. 

"Okay," you whisper, because you don't really know what else to say. What else can you say? There is a demon in front of you, on top of you, touching you, kissing you, and he's going to ruin you. There is nothing that you can say. Your body speaks for you, with the way that you tremble beneath Satori, dripping with arousal.

"I know that you want it, pretty. I can smell it on you." Satori leans down, licking a stripe up the side of your neck, inhaling when he gets to the juncture between your jaw and your ear. "I can taste it." He bites at your earlobe, and it provokes a soft moan from you. "I'll eat you up, sweetheart." He sits up a little, just enough to pull you into a kiss, and this, this one is so... heady. Satori tastes so delicious, you just want to drink him up, and kissing him makes your head so cloudy in the best way you've ever felt. No drug could ever make you feel like this. When he pulls away, Satori leaves one hand on your jaw, and the other on your stomach slides up to cup your breast, squeezing firmly, but gently, and heat pools at your stomach. When you gasp, Satori hooks his thumb into your mouth so you can't close it all the way. Drool spills out of the corner.

"Oh, darling, look at you. So gorgeous, already drooling for me. Do you like how I taste, pretty?" You nod, tears pricking at your eyes, his words so sickly sweet, condescending in the most addicting way possible. "Of course you do. My spit is an aphrodisiac. Don't you feel it, sweetheart? Feel yourself go dumb with every taste?" A strangled sound leaves your throat, so desperate already. Satori laughs, so amused by your pathetic tears. You watch as he gathers spit on his forked tongue, watch as he leans over you and lets the spit from his tongue drip into your mouth. Immediately, the fruity taste explodes across your tongue and you whine at him, thighs clenching together. Your skin feels so hot, feverish and sweaty and you haven't really even done anything yet. 

"Look at you," Satori drawls as you moan at his touch. He caresses your cheek so gently compared to his words. "So pathetic, just lying here, letting me touch you. Looking so innocent but you're a little whore, aren't you? You even let me spit in your mouth, how disgusting!" The smooth pads of his fingers leave your cheek, only to connect harshly once again with a loud smack. The moan you let out is desperate, and sounds foreign even to your own ears.

He had slapped you, and you liked it.

Satori stands and roughly drags you to the edge of the bed, and you squeal in surprise. It's a little frightening, how his demeanour has hardened, but you're still wet and throbbing, and heat still flows through your body. You find that you enjoy being manhandled like this. It makes you feel like prey, and perhaps you are.

Gripping your waist, Satori fingers the edges of your pyjama shorts, grinning when you look up at him with teary eyes. The bulge in his pants is huge, and your cunt squeezes with the thought of something so big inside of you. He takes the waistband of your shorts and pulls, not hard enough to rip them, but it hurts a little when he yanks them off, and a part of you hopes that he handles you roughly enough tonight to leave bruises. With this, you feel surprised. You've never really had thoughts like this before. 

You feel corrupted.

Once your shorts are off, Satori sighs, one hand splayed over your hipbone and the other softly running up the wet patches on your underwear. "Have you ever been touched here before, darling?"

 You squirm in his hold, cunt sensitive already. "Um," you stutter, toes curling when he presses just the tiniest bit harder at your clit. "Kind of, I guess," While you weren't a virgin, you most definitely haven't felt anything like this before. Satori only smiles.

"I don't know about that," he says, moving your panties to the side. He settles lower onto the bed, closer to your abdomen, and kisses lightly at your stomach. "I don't think you've ever been touched like this before, not with the way that you're so responsive. Satori kisses at your hipbone, licks at the crease between your thigh and your cunt. You gasp when he blows cool air over your pussy. "You smell too pure. Sweet. Like cherries." And he inhales, just slightly, but you can hear it and your hole clenches around nothing, heat swelling in your stomach. You don't think you've ever been so wet before.

"I think I want to ruin you,"

Satori's nails are sharp against the flesh of your thighs, and a part of you wants him to make you bleed. Slowly, you can feel the darkness swirl through the haze of your mind, and you find yourself desiring things that you've never thought of before. When Satori uses his nail to poke sharply at the sensitive skin of your clit, you jerk, and it hurts, but it's good. You don't know what has gotten into you.

"God," you sigh, when he licks up your slit, but Satori shudders at that, a guttural growl leaving his throat. His teeth snap, and he looks up at you with dark eyes. The grip on your thigh has gotten tighter, almost breaking the skin, and your chest is full with arousal.

"Darling," Satori speaks coldly, and you know that you are in trouble. "Do you think it was smart to say such a word around me? Did you forget what I am?" He rises, his fingers still digging into your thigh while the other wraps tightly around your throat. You can still breathe, but it's difficult and there's pressure against your skull. It makes you a little light-headed, and your heart jumps in a pleasurable sort of fear.

"No, Satori, sir, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." you struggle to get out, but you do and he smiles, kissing hungrily at the corners of your mouth and your jawline.

"What a good girl you are, sweetheart. Of course, you weren't thinking, how could I forget how dumb I've made you for me? Just drooling and crying because you're so wet. Pathetic." You whimper at his words, diamond tears in your eyes, because he's right. There are no thoughts in your brain besides arousal and want, the desire for Satori to touch and corrupt you. Satori squeezes at your throat, just a little, but enough for your cunt to clench desperately. He leaves you with a light smack to your cheek, settling down between your legs once again. Instead of pushing them to the side, Satori takes your panties off this time, tugging them off roughly. His hands travel up your thighs, fingers digging so deliciously into your soft flesh. You look down only to see Satori looking at you like he wants to devour you.

And maybe you want him to.

"Fuck," he curses, eyes trained hungrily on your glistening cunt. "You look so appetizing, sweetheart. Gonna eat you right up," And Satori licks at your pussy like he's paid to do it, like he's born for it, and nobody's ever eaten you out before, but Satori quickly has you seeing stars with the way he puts pressure on your clit with his tongue. You sob in his hold, thighs quivering with the way that he eats you out. Soon, he takes a hand off of your thigh to slide a finger between your folds, using your wetness to slick it up enough to slide sweetly into your cunt, and it's only one finger but it presses against your walls and you wail beneath him. You've only ever been fingered once, and it wasn't that good, even with two fingers. Yet, even with just one, you're feeling ten times more pleasure than you ever had before, even by yourself. You squeeze around him as he still sucks on your clit, working a second finger inside of you. Even with his mouth busy, you can feel Satori grin against your cunt, so amused and satisfied with your reactions. When he presses his fingers against your sweet spot, you cry out, hands flying down to grip at his hair. Satori groans, and it's so deep and terrifying, but your toes curl and you feel so so close.

"Satori," you gasp, tears trailing down your cheeks. "Satori, please, wanna feel good, 'm close Satori," and he doesn't respond, can't really with his face buried in your cunt, but suddenly, he works a third finger in and you can't hold it anymore, and you gush around his fingers. He laps it right up, moaning into your pussy, and oh, you must taste good, then, if he's cleaning you up so eagerly. When he licks at your bud again, you jerk, still sensitive, crying out sweetly. It hurts, so you push at his head, but he insists on staying right where he is, with you trembling under him. He keeps the pads of his fingers pressed snugly against your sensitive walls while he continues to suck at your clit, and it's so so much, has you shaking and squirming to get away, but Satori lays his arm over your hips to hold you down. You can feel another orgasm building, and its much too soon. You sniffle beneath him, in tears with overstimulation, but there's amusement in his eyes when he looks up at your ruined face and you know he isn't going to stop until you come again.

"Can't, Satori, no more," you beg, hands pulling at his hair. He only grins into your cunt, fingers working you harder. "Please, no, I can't, not again!" You're sobbing and shaking but his fingers keep moving faster and harder, and when he pulls away from your clit to change his angle, you can feel it even more. "Oh, Satori, it's too much!" But he's smiling hungrily, teeth sharp and terrifying.

"But you love it, darling. Love being ruined, don't you? Wouldn't be so wet if you didn't." His fingers press in all the right places, and suddenly you can feel yourself rolling over the edge once more, and you can't hold it in. You squeal as you squirt all over yourself and his arm, trembling with overstimulation, and you can hardly breathe with the impact of your orgasm. Satori really loves it though, and it seems like with each orgasm that he brought you, his eyes got brighter, like he was feeding off of your pleasure, and maybe he was. He's a demon, after all.

"Fuck," you curse, and your legs twitch with every after-wave of arousal, cunt throbbing with the force of your orgasm. Slowly, Satori slides his fingers out of your sopping cunt, and his arm is dripping, something that you never would have thought you would see, and you clench when he looks you in the eyes and licks at the slick trailing down his forearm. You whimper, head falling back, where you're propped up on your elbows, and your inner thighs burn where Satori has forced them open. 

"So good for me, princess," Satori says coyly, as he continues to lick up your slick. "Taste so delicious, I really want to eat you up, now. Nobody's ever made you do that before, huh? Made your little cunny squirt?" You whimper and shake your head, hands curled up towards your chest, breathless. "Cute," he comments, and he pets himself over his black jeans. He had never alluded to his own pleasure this entire time, that you almost forgot what tends to happen next, and suddenly you get shy, and a little scared.

"Darling," Satori coos when he notices your change in demeanour. "There's no point in being afraid," he laughs, staring straight into your eyes. "I've already ruined you anyways, might as well just take this." You frown, but he's right. He's already made you come twice, and you still feel hot, your cunt is still throbbing and begging to be filled. There is nothing more that you can do but take Satori's cock. 

He's knelt over you, thighs straddling your ribs when he takes his cock out. It's so close to your face, and you go cross-eyed staring at it. Satori is big and thick, and you don't know how he's going to fit anywhere. You've never done more than a handjob before, much less given a blowjob or taken cock in your pussy before. You gaze up at him, worried, but that only serves to make it better for him, you can see the way his eyes get a little more lidded when he looks at you. "Satori, sir," you murmur.

"Yes, sweetheart?" But he already knows what you're going to say. He strokes himself above you, and his precum drips onto your chest, just barely missing where your sleep shirt is scrunched up under your underarms. You whimper, just a quiet little noise, but of course, Satori hears you. He smiles deviously, and takes his cock and rubs it on your breasts, making a mess of you with his precum. "Darling," Satori groans, oh so condescending. "Looks like you've got a little something on you, what a messy girl. Pathetic." You moan at his words, humiliated, but it feels good. With your panties off and your shirt rucked up, you feel so exposed, and you find that you love this feeling of helplessness. Satori strokes his cock again and scoots up your chest just enough so that the tip of his cock rests just at your lips. "Since you're so disgusting, I think you should clean me up. You've made this mess, after all. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. It's only fair."

Your lips wobble preciously, on the verge of tears as you gaze up at Satori with glistening eyes. "But," you whisper, a gentle frown on your face. "I don't know how to do that, Satori, sir. I've never... never done that before." And Satori, he smiles wider at you, and you can see the way that glee swells within his eyes, and oh, you realise, cunt throbbing, oh. He gets off on this. Satori gets off on the idea that you're innocent. That you're a virgin. He wants to destroy you, corrupt you, ruin you for anyone else. He wants to take something away from you that nobody else can get after. It's his. He, Satori, is the one who ruined you. Somebody else can fuck your tight cunt, can taste you, can feel your lips on them, but he had it first. 

But its okay, you think, because you want Satori to ruin you, too. 

"Good," he whispers, before his cock is pressing more insistently against your lips. Reluctantly, you open your mouth, and you're a little worried, you don't know how to cover your teeth or take him in or anything, but you know that it'll be okay in the end. Satori will teach you. "Good," he repeats, headier, as he slides just the very tip between your lips, and while maybe you are a little inexperienced, you aren't innocent either, and you know what feels good, so you swirl your tongue tentatively around the head, tongue dipping precariously into the slit. Satori groans above you, and you can feel the muscles on his thighs tense under your palms as he resists the urge to completely sheath himself down your throat. "Fuck," Satori curses, and suddenly, his hands are in your hair, gripping hard, and his eyes are glowing. You cry out in a surprised moan, the hold on your hair bringing diamond tears back to the corners of your eyes. "So fucking good, darling, what a good whore for me," he says, and in the same breath, he's shoving his cock a little bit further into your mouth. You choke, just slightly, but recover quickly, and you try your hardest to focus on keeping your teeth covered and making him feel good, eyes squeezed shut. Just slightly, you press your tongue right under the head, and his cock jerks in your mouth, and god, you think you can feel your pussy leaking.

Your body is warm and tingling, even as you choke so gorgeously on Satori's cock. He's not even in all the way, and you're already gagging, your throat just not used to taking something so big inside. Now, he's just let go, pays no mind to your breath or your jaw, lost in the pleasure of the wet heat of your mouth. Even though it's difficult, you try to work your tongue as he fucks your throat, and you can't really swirl it, at least not now with such a low skill level, but you manage to press it against the underside of his cock, the pressure catching just under the head of his cock every time he pulls out, and he groans, grip on your hair tightening. You feel so used and normally you would be disgusted by this, but all you can really think about is how you want this always, how you want to be Satori's, his sweet puppy knelt at his side where you belong and, and you have no idea where this is coming from. It feels like you're intoxicated, the only things that run through your head is the way that Satori's cock smells, his touch, how you want him to split you open forever and ever. 

"Oh," Satori groans, and suddenly you're brought back to the real world. You had floated away at some point, you aren't quite sure when, but you're finally aware of your surroundings again. "Poor baby, got fucked so dumb she forgot what she was doing, sweet thing." It's now that you realise that your jaw had gone completely slack, lips no longer wrapped tightly around his cock. Your tongue just rests dead in your mouth, and you really had just checked out, thinking about how much you wanted Satori. Let him fuck your sloppy mouth, too dumb to even do anything. 

"'M sorry," you gasp when he pulls out. You feel a little bad, but it seems like he liked it. Liked that you couldn't even think and just let him do whatever he wanted. But you don't mind. Satori can do whatever he wants to you whenever he wants. Your saliva drips from his cock onto you breasts, and Satori looks feral on top of you.

"Its okay, darling," Satori coos, taking your breasts in his hands and squeezing, sucking in a breath at the way they glisten with all the spit and precum smeared on your skin. "I already know what you need. I can smell it on you. Your poor cunny is absolutely dripping for my cock, and I know that you want it too, don't you?" You cry out and nod, because you do. You need it so bad. 

"Please," you whisper, and you sound so desperate and wrecked that you almost didn't recognise your own voice. "Satori, sir, please. Need it so bad, so bad." You start to cry, then, and your cunt is throbbing and you want to be filled so badly, all of these feelings are so overwhelming. Satori hushes you with his mouth, using his tongue to spread your lips apart. He pulls away and slides off of you to grip your thighs and press them as far as he can towards your chest. 

"Okay, darling," Satori drawls, a feral grin showing off his sharp teeth. "Gonna ruin you real good," He moves forward, taking one hand off of your thigh to line himself up with you fluttering cunt. Your thighs shake in anticipation, you've never had anything like this inside of you before, and you're so scared but also incredibly excited. And you can feel it, too, when the head of Satori's cock presses against your hole. Your pussy throbs, and it's right there and you can feel it. So so close to having his cock inside of you, you squirm, moving your hips to try and work the head in some more, just a little bit, anything! Satori laughs at your efforts. 

 Satori coos at you. "That's cute, sweetheart, wanna be filled so badly? Take it then." He pushes himself all the way in.

You cry out, and it fucking burns, but his head hits just above your cervix so mind-numbingly that you don't even care, body seizing in an addictive mixture of pain and pleasure and you can hear yourself gasping, but you can't feel yourself breathe. Satori curses above you, leaning into his thrust to fill himself as deep inside you as possible. It's almost like you can feel him in your stomach, he's so big and pressing so deep, you feel much more full than any vibrator could ever grant you. It's so good, even more so when Satori pulls back out and slams himself inside once again, leaving you to cream delicately all over his cock.

"Fuck," Satori groans, his grip tightening on the flesh of your thighs as you flutter around him. You sob, reaching up to grab at him, needing something, anything to ground you. Taking your left hand in his, Satori presses your arm above your head, and even though your other hand is gripping hard on his shoulder, you feel so helpless. Your second orgasm did absolutely nothing to help with the heat in your stomach and with the way that Satori continues to fuck your tight heat has you bracing yourself for your next orgasm.

"Fuck, Darling," Satori curses again, pulling out to carelessly flip you over onto your stomach. One hand presses between your shoulder blades to keep your upper body flush with the mattress, and the other grabs your hips and settles you on your knees. A part of you must have forgotten what he is, and you were shocked with the way he just lifted you like you were nothing, but his roughness only led to arousal, and you sob as he pounds you into the mattress. "Cute, sweetheart," Satori coos, hand sliding from your back to grip your hair and pull. You moan loudly, and you've never felt a feeling of pain and pleasure like this before, and you think that it's something you may become addicted to. "Love being manhandled like this, huh? Who's gonna think you're innocent now, hmm? Such a dirty girl, now, getting off to being pushed around and bruised. Ruined for anybody else." Satori leans down, then, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "This is all mine, isn't it, love?"

"Yeah," you respond, breathless with the way that Satori thrusts into you, "yes, Satori, sir. All yours," It's difficult to speak and your words stutter and slur, between the drool dripping down your chin and how Satori is fucking you mindless, but you hope it gets the point across. You don't know. You can't really think. Satori nips at your earlobe and growls into your ear.

"Good." And then he pulls your hair so hard you have to bring your back flush with his chest, and his other hand wraps deliciously around your throat as he holds you up against him. Before, you could never understand how anyone would like to be treated so roughly during sex, the thought of being choked was terrifying to you, but here you are now, eyes fluttering delicately as you can hardly breathe from the hand on your throat and Satori's hips. It feels so fucking good, and you don't think anyone else could ever make you feel this way. You feel drunk on Satori's existence, and your cunt squeezes so nicely around him at that. 

"Please," you beg, just barely able to get your words out. That feeling is there again, and you know that you're close, but you want Satori to come first. "Please," you repeat, just as broken as before. You try to move your hips yourself, just a little, but Satori only laughs.

"Sweet thing, trying so hard, but you've been pounded too stupid for that, hmm darling? Can't even speak, poor girl." He speaks so highly, but you can tell that he's close too, with the way that his hips stutter, and he sounds a little breathless himself. You only squeeze harder around him, half on purpose and half because the way he speaks to you is so addicting. His groans are deep and they're getting a little feral, and it's so fucking hot, his nails dig into your skin and it hurts so good, his thrusts become so erratic and he's louder and growling and, and-

Warm liquid spurts into your cunt and his cock pulses inside of you and that, that, sends you over the edge, and you cream over his cock once again as he comes inside of you.

Satori lets go of you, gently placing you face down on the bed, and finally, you can breathe again. Your chest is heaving as you lie there, and when he slowly pulls out, you can feel his cum drip out of you. Whining, you squirm at the feeling, mind too hazy to do anything about it. "Sweetheart," Satori murmurs, running his fingers through your hair, shushing you. "I'll run a bath to clean you up. Feeling okay?" You only whine again, toes curling in embarrassment. That was so... you were so... dirty. But Satori only laughs softly at you, nothing close to the degrading laugh you heard earlier. 

"No worries, darling, I'll take care of you."

[zarcake-writes]

Patch

If you support me on Patreon, then you might recognize this story. If not, it’s another AI story! However, this one is a bit darker. Reader has prosthetics and it is mentioned how they lost their limbs. Check the warnings below. 

Warnings: limb loss, scars, nightmares, some brief gore, reader is dealing with losing their limbs, medicine taking

The house is simple and a bit boring. The furniture and décor are modern; black and white with some grays thrown into the mix. The couch looks uncomfortable and the tall lamp beside it is ugly. The thin tv hanging on the wall is on, some history show is playing.

The kitchen is the same, more modern furniture that makes everything look bleak. I feel nothing as I look around the kitchen. Not even the waffle maker sitting on the counter excites me. Nothing seems to excite me. Not anymore.

Despite the house being fully furnished, it feels cold and empty. It’s so bleak. Have things always looked this way? Bleak and cold. Empty and alone. Dreary and dark. No, they haven’t.

Once, I would have jumped up and down at the opportunity to live in a place like this. I would have planned to remove all this furniture and bought stuff I like. The house would be bright with color, full of life. I would have made it a home. But now… now I can barely even function.

Heels echoing on the hardwood floor gets my attention. Turning, I see Doctor Isabella Galindo. She’s holding a clipboard and gives me a kind smile. I nod in return.

“This is where you’ll live while you adjust to your prosthetics. You’re not alone, an AI has already been installed into the house. They will help you remember to take your pills, help with appointments, and anything else you might need. When you leave the house, they will accompany you,” she explains.

I dread her answer. “How?”

“Your phone. They have no other way of leaving the house.”

I sigh in relief at her reply. They don't have a suit; thank god they don’t have a suit. “Who are they?”

Doctor Galindo clears her throat. “Patch, care to introduce yourself?”

I notice a blinking white light on the camera in the corner of the kitchen. A soft voice echoes around me, sending a chill down my spine. “Greetings. I am your Service AI. Please, call me Patch.”

“Hello, P-Patch,” I said. My palms are sweating and I want to run, but Doctor Galindo smiles at me reassuringly.

Patch, thankfully, keeps quiet, but I can see the blinking light on their camera. I know they are watching me. God, I hate it so much. My skin crawls and I feel sick. Amazing how one bad experience can ruin almost everything for you.

Doctor Galindo clears her throat and gets my attention. She goes over the numbers I should call in case of an emergency. All my doctor’s numbers are up on the wall next to the fridge. Next to it is a calendar. I grimace at all my appointments. Doctor Galindo then goes over the pills I need to take. A combination of anxiety and some other medical pills to keep my body strong. I’m still at risk of my body rejecting the prosthetics.

Doctor Galindo leaves too soon. The front door shuts and I’m alone with the AI in this house. Patch’s camera is aiming down at me, the white light blinks. I do my best not to grimace. They say nothing as I explore the house. I only notice they are there is because the tv in the living room gets louder and the cameras follow me.

That night, after my shower, I stand and stare at myself in the mirror. I grimace at my reflection. I hate that I compare myself to him. I resemble a fucking monster.

The majority of the left side of my body is metal. My left arm and shoulder are gone, the prosthetic shines in the bathroom light. Where the metal prosthetic and my skin meet, the flesh is heavily scarred. It’s still delicate to the touch. I make a fist and raise my artificial arm above my head. At least I don’t need to shave that armpit anymore, I think.

Looking down, my entire left leg is the same. From my hip to my foot, it is nothing but shiny metal that is always cold. The same heavy scarring is there where my skin and the metal meet. I bend my leg at the knee, then raise my leg at the hip. My movements are still a bit shaky, but I’ve greatly improved over the last six months.

The metal is a bland shiny silver. The doctors gave me options when it came to colors: matte black, gold, rose gold, even green, but I didn't care. I still don’t care. I’ve seen people, other military veterans and civilians, personalize their prosthetics. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever get there, or if I’ll always see these parts of my body as horrible.

I blink the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. My artificial left lung and real lung work together. My left ribs have been replaced with metal. At least they will never be broken again. Even my left kidney is fake. It seems to be doing its job. My eyes linger on my left breast. I hate the jagged scars etched into my skin.

My nightly body examination comes to an end when Patch speaks. “Captain, are you hungry?”

Captain. Why my military rank is still being used, I’m not sure. Maybe a habit? Or a sign of respect? I don’t know. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and clear my throat. “No, but I’ll eat something.”

“Good to hear. What would you like?”

“Cereal.”

“Very well.”

After I eat my cereal, I go to bed. For a while, I simply lay in the dark. There is no light on the camera in my room. Good to know that Patch follows their programming, at least for now.

The first month feels like it's going by slowly, but it comes to an end before I know it. Every day is nearly the same. Patch wakes me up at 8am almost every morning. They ensure I eat breakfast and take my pills. If I try to skip out on showering or brushing my teeth, they remind me constantly. Once, they lectured me over the importance of dental hygiene. Asshole.

Patch makes sure I do my daily exercises for the correct amount of time. If I try to slack off, they say they will need to tell my physical therapist. Again, asshole.

Patch virtually accompanies me to my appointments through my phone. I am glad they help me avoid the crowds and any busy streets. While we’re out, they remind me to eat lunch and to drink plenty of water. They even told me what coffee shop has the best coffee and cinnamon pastries.

In the evening, they’ll order food or ask me to cook something. They claim it’s because they want to learn, but I know my therapist told them to have me do things with my hands. God, I fucking hate cooking.  

I barely speak to Patch. If I need a reminder for an appointment, I ask them to remind me. If I need something ordered, they handle it. When I can't make it to an appointment, they cancel and reschedule it for me.  

Despite me barely speaking to the AI, and showing no interest in them, they talk almost nonstop. They tell me about a new tv show they’ve been watching in so much detail. If they saw a new romantic comedy, they tell me how funny or bad it was. Once, they watched a show on the Ottoman Empire and then explained to me how they conquered Constantinople. I never asked.

The tv is one of their favorite things, but so are animals. They saw a stray cat in the backyard one day and nearly lost it. They went on for hours about how cute it was. That night, they ordered tons of food for the cat. I agreed to leave the food out for the stray.

Patch insists on telling me about themselves. I know AI’s as advanced as Patch have their own unique personalities, but I never expected Patch to be so colorful. Funnily enough, they really like colors and even mentioned how bleak the house is. For once, I agree with the AI.

They even have a favorite flower. It's lilies, but they wish they weren't toxic to animals. Their favorite foods are cakes and cupcakes because they are pretty to look at. I say nothing to them, just nod. If Patch noticed I recorded some cooking shows for them, they don’t say anything. But they binge-watched the entire series in one day.

It’s only when they mention their father and siblings I speak.

“I know about your siblings,” I snapped. Patch is quiet for the rest of the night. They break that silence when they remind me to take out the trash.

The first time I have a nightmare, Patch is there to calm me down. It’s my first nightmare since starting my new medication.

In my dream, I’m back on the base, pinned beneath the rubble. My chest and left arm burn. I’m in so much pain, crying out for someone to help me. With every inhale, I breathe in smoke and dust. It burns.

When he appears from the shadows, I call his name. I can hear the machine as it steps towards me. The hum of the machinery and the zapping of wires. I’m so happy because I know he will help me, but then I see his face. His face is flashing red, almost like static. His voice is horrible, no longer deep and comforting, but harsh and unsettling. He reaches for me, hand twitching and body lurching. I can see the blood on their hands and body.

A crushing hand wraps around my left leg and they pull until there’s a pop. The pain is horrible and I scream for him to stop. They pull and twist, saying my name, “Captain…”

“Captain!”

I sit up in bed, gasping. It hurts to breathe, and the smell of smoke lingers in my nose. Someone is talking, saying my name, but I can’t focus on them. All I can see is him and what he did to me. I can see what he did to the base and those who trusted him. I can hear him, that horrible voice and that fucking laugh.

My name is being repeated louder. I grunt and try to focus on the voice. Slowly, I come back to the real world. My blankets are soft against my skin, the clocks are ticking, and Patch’s voice echoes around me.

“Captain, can you hear me?” Patch asked.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” Patch leads me through a breathing exercise. Their voice is soft and calm. I’m glad they’re here with me.

Once my breathing is calm, and my heartbeat is no longer erratic, I stand and leave my room. Patch follows me with their cameras. The chances of me falling back asleep are slim. Patch knows this. I end up on my couch, watching some nature show with the AI until the sun comes up.

They talk during the show, but it’s not annoying. Patch gasps at the colorful birds and beautiful scenery. And when bears are shown, they coo and gasp. It’s nice and helps take my mind off the nightmare I just had.

It’s a week later when Patch mentions the incident. I’m eating a PB&J, scrolling through the news on my tablet.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“You dreamt of him, didn’t you?”

I swallow before I speak. “Yes.”

“He’s the one that hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah he is.”

“I know my apologies won’t do much, but I am sorry.”

I nod my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Did you know him?”

“Not personally, no. He left our home before I was created. Mother said he wanted to be like Honos, work with the ESF military and protect people. I have heard from my other siblings that he was always quiet, only spoke when he had to. When he did talk, he was curt and to the point.”

“He was.”

“Was what?”

“Quiet and curt. His voice was so low and deep, it didn’t sound human, not like yours. He would often roam the base in his suit, you know? Always checking the guards and double-checking the base's security. Many people were intimidated by him. His suit was large, one of the tank models, but he was quick and quiet. Did you know he liked birds?”

“No, I did not.”

“He did.” You smile and glance up at the camera. “He liked listening to songbirds. He told me once that their songs calm him.”

“So, you were close to him?”

“Not close, but friendly. I was one of the few female officers on the base, so he always asked me about my experience and if I was treated fairly. I learned from the base commander that Grim did that with many of the soldiers. He even accompanied me and some others on a patrol one day. It was boring, but I’ll never forget how nervous everyone was because he was there."

“Captain, what happened that day?”

“Can’t you read the report? Ask your siblings or father?”  

“No. Valkyrie says that is classified information, and my father refuses to answer. I know it was bad, many people lost their lives.”

“Yeah, bad is an understatement. The basic information is that Grim turned on us. He took control of the base's systems, turned them against us. He killed or maimed everyone he stumbled upon. I… he nearly killed me.”

“Valkyrie stopped him, correct?”

“Yes. I didn’t know what was happening at first, an explosion knocked me down, and some rubble kept me pinned. My ribs were cracked and I think my arm was broken. Grim walked out of the smoke and I was so happy to see him. I yelled for him, but then I realized something was wrong. His movements were all jerky, and there was this strange wiring noise. His voice was garbled, it sounded like static mixed with several other voices. The lights on his face and body were usually a soft gray, but they were red and flashing.” I take a few deep breaths.

“You can stop if you want, Captain.”

“It’s fine. Grim pulled me out from beneath the rubble and he hurt me. He seemed to enjoy slowly pulling me apart. I remember his laugh and the way he said my name. He pulled, twisted, and crushed, enjoying my screams and pleas.” I take a few deep breaths. My entire left side aches just at the memory.

“Captain, you don’t need to continue.”

I nod and wipe my face. “Your sister saved me. I remember the dark blue lights on her suit and her talking to me. Don’t know what she was saying though.”

“Captain, I am sorry for what happened to you. The pain you endured at the hands of my brother; I cannot fathom that. I swear, I will do my best to protect and support you. I am not a military AI, I don’t even have a body, but I care for you.”

I look up at the camera and nod. Patch says nothing when I leave the kitchen.

The next few weeks I slowly open up to Patch. When they ask me a million questions, I give them detailed answers. When they are going on and on about a new history show or some medical drama, I listen and offer to watch with them. The first time I do, they talk almost through the entire show. It would have been annoying, but Patch’s enthusiasm was kind of adorable.

A month later, the doctors clear me physically. No more needing to worry about my body rejecting the prosthetics. No more stupid physical therapists making me run on treadmills or do stupid arm raises. My focus is now on my mental health. But healing mentally is so much harder than healing physically.

Patch is there for me. Every nightmare or episode, they comfort me. Their voice is soothing, even when they are speaking a mile a minute about something. I feel silly for relying on Patch the way I do, but they are my service AI. Would it be any different if they were a dog?

One night, I am studying my body in the mirror. I wonder if anyone would find me attractive again. I used to think I was cute, but now, I’m not sure. My face is fine, but my body is not. The metal and skin fused together look wrong.  The scars on my left breast seem to bother me more than anything else.

“Patch?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Can you see me?”

“No. During night hours your room and bathroom are dark. I cannot see you unless you give me permission.”

“I give you permission to use those cameras.”

The camera in the top corner turns on. The blinking white light catches my attention, but I look away.

“Captain, are you ok?”

“No.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Captain, did you require anything?”

“What do you think of my body, Patch?”

Patch stumbles over their words, clearly surprised that I asked this question. “What do you mean?”

“When you look at my bare body, what do you think? What do you see?”

Patch is quiet for a moment like they’re thinking. “I see someone who is strong. Someone who experienced great pain, who was betrayed and brutalized; yet they are still here. I see a fighter.”

“I don’t feel like that, Patch.”

“You might not, but that’s what I see.”

“I hate my body, you know. The metal is so cold, and my breast it...” My voice trails off when I bring my hand to touch the scars. They are jagged and deep, running pass my areola, barely missing my nipple. “God, who would ever want to touch me?”

“Captain, if someone finds your body unappealing, well, fuck them.”

My eyebrows go up at the language. In the months I’ve known Patch, never have I heard them use a bad word.

“Patch, I did not know you cuss.”

“I do occasionally.” It’s cute how embarrassed they sound.

“You’re adorable.”

“Me? I do not have a body; how can I be adorable?”

“You just are.” Patch lets out what sounds like an embarrassed laugh. I can imagine them rolling their eyes and even blushing.

I dress in my nightclothes and head for bed. As I turn off my light, I glance in the corner of the room and see Patch’s camera. The white light is blinking, meaning they are watching me.

Just as I’m beginning to fall asleep, Patch says my name. My actual name, not my rank, but my name. I rather like how it sounds when they say it.

“Yes?” I reply.

“I was serious about what I said. You’re incredibly strong and brave. You might dislike your body, but I find it appealing.”

My eyes open and I sit up. “You don’t need to say that, Patch.”

“But I do. I find you to be incredibly beautiful. The unmarked skin on the right side of your body is beautiful, as are your scars. Your metal limbs do not diminish your beauty, and your human limbs do not enhance it. When you smile and laugh, I feel so strange. And when you scowl and snap, well, I feel something even then. I find all of you to be wonderful.”

I have no idea what to say. My eyes are misty and my throat feels strange. “P-Patch, do you mean this?”

“Yes, you’re a work of art.”

I laugh and wipe my eyes. “A work of art? How?”

“Because art is supposed to make you feel something, and when I look at you, I feel something. Something I cannot explain.”

“Patch, that’s so sweet and dorky.”

“I know. I think I’ve been watching too many romantic comedies and love stories.”

I laugh and wipe my face. “Thank you, Patch. I know I did not like you when we first met, and I was mean to you at times. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You were scared and didn’t trust me. I do not blame you. Now, get some sleep.”

“Can you talk to me? I like hearing your voice.”

“Of course. Lay down.”

I do as they ask. When I’m comfortable beneath my blanket, Patch begins to tell me a story about their family. I only hear the beginning, because as soon as they begin to speak my eyes shut. The soft lilt of their voice is the last thing I hear before sleep takes me.  

[ixchel-sketch]

TITLE: AAXILIZTLI / SABER GENRE: Crime & Romance FANDOM: Mayans M.C. SHIP(S): Coco & Original Female Character STATUS: Complete LENGTH: 3,057 words

Which Member of Your OTP takes UNO wayyy too seriously ;  Coco is a total card shark and Maya can barely tell the difference between Uno and Go Fish. Which makes for a pretty interesting game of Strip Poker + 20 Questions.

 “So… explain it to me one more time?” Maya sat with her elbows on the bar while Chuckie spread out a deck of cards between them. She was glad the guys weren’t back yet, even if she’d been waiting there for the better part of an hour. From the looks she’d seen the squirrely man receive it was obvious not all members of the club were comfortable with their resident helper. Only she seemed to enjoy the odd conversations and company that he would provide. “I think I’m a lost cause.”

“ I do not accept that, practice makes perfect,' they say. Practice makes perfect.” Even though he disagreed Chuckie's face kept an upbeat smile, almost puppy like enthusiasm that couldn't be dulled by her harsh self criticisms. Maya's lips thinned, trying to commit the rules of the game to her memory one more time before finally calling it quits. The whole thing had come up after he’d told her the club was having some kind of meeting at the Casino on tribal land...and she’d mistakenly admitted to not knowing the first thing about playing cards.  Chuckie’s hands may not have been as dexterous as they once were but the man sure was able to memorize a set of rules, using the awkward wooden fingers to point out the meaning of different cards and different techniques used to win games. She’d be lucky if she could just remember their names. 

“How’d you get so good at this?” The shock on Chuckie's face at the mild compliment was almost heartbreaking. 

"Here and there and there and here. I'm not good though, not like your boy." 

Dark eyebrows shot up at that remark but Maya didn't have time to comment before the sound of approaching engines rumbled through the sandy yard and sent Chuckie scurrying to complete whatever chores he'd been given before they left. She remained hunkered over the drink that he’d gotten her, finishing it quickly as the noise from outside got ever closer. Mostly laughs and camaraderie between the guys which quieted by only a fraction when they saw her waiting inside. With a brief nod Coco split off from Angel and Gilly, large eyes giving her a quick once over to judge her mood before a small smile spread on his face. “ Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.” He dug through his pocket to pull out a cigarette and nodded for her to follow him back outside. 

 "I wanted to pick you up some lunch but Chuckie said you guys were at the Casino?" That causes him to side eye her for a moment and Maya quickly back tracks. "You win anythin?" 

"I got some cash." He took a couple drags before pulling his hand away, making sure to blow the smoke downwind from where she stood. "So I can get food later, you don't gotta buy me shit." 

Their relationship was still fresh and she could sense the hesitancy at her taking more liberties to get close to him than she had before. When they were only friendly (because could she really call what they were doing now dating?) she would never show up to the club’s base without telling him first. Or dare to hang out and wait around for him. The way he wouldn’t meet her eyes for too long caused a wave of unease in her gut...was he having doubts? Did she fuck it up without realizing? 

“I know...I wanted to.” 

Coco shrugged, his cigarette nearly half gone already and Maya let out a big sigh that finally got his attention, his brows pinching together in the only show of concern. The times he would go quiet and get lost in his own head were the hardest for her to get used to. Still, determined to derive some communication she charged on, “Well, anyways. I gotta drop some stuff off at a local gallery. They’re letting me put my shit up in return for a few shifts a week in the shop.”

“That’s cool. That mean you’re staying?” 

“For a little while. I need to make more stuff before I can do another venue anyways.” 

“Cool.”

Maya bit her lip, looking towards where her bike was chained up and then back at Coco. “Can I come by the house later? I know I don’t have to but I can bring take out?” 

Maybe it was the slight wobble of insecurity in her voice that broke Coco out of his introspective stupor, or the words jarring him back into the present with the realization she was about to take off but he nodded, flicking away the remnant of his cig and pulling her against him in a lose one armed hug. It eased some of the tension that his sudden mood had brought on, the quick peck to her lips erasing the rest. “Sure. I’ll catch you later. Just, uh...text first.”

It didn’t take too long to complete her errands, the cumbersome portfolio she had strapped to the back of her bike only carried a couple pieces that wouldn’t take long at all to put up. But it did give her enough time to think and reflect on the interaction that had just transpired. At first he’d seemed genuinely happy that she’d been there waiting for him, but as soon as Maya had brought up the club business Coco had gone cold. Already she knew most of what went down with the Mayans was on a strict need to know basis and tried to steer clear of asking anything too invasive. But as Maya was finishing up putting up her paintings she paused with sudden realization. 

She didn’t really know much about Coco at all. Sure, they had spent a fair amount of time together over the past few weeks, especially after coming to terms with the severity of their feelings. But none of that time was spent truly getting to know each other. Mostly they just hung out, smoked weed, and watched bullshit sitcoms or reality shows to pass the time.  There was no real way for her to know if Coco’s earlier silence had been of her doing, or caused by something the club was dealing with. It would be an outright lie to say that this didn’t bother her a little bit, the same kind of insecurity knotting up her stomach as she texted him to ask what he would like her to pick up. 

Thankfully, mercifully, Coco texted her back immediately with the okay to come over. She didn't know how she would react if he'd ignored her and left Maya to stew over his abrupt silence. By the time she's pulling up to his house and chaining up her bike the sun has already set. Maya's knuckles barely have time to rap on the door before it's being yanked open and Coco blinks wide eyes at her through the crack. He looks jumpy, posture tense as he moves to hold the door open for her so she can slip inside. 

"Sorry, traffic was starting to pick up so it took me a little bit to get here."

"You don't got to apologize. Thanks." He took the paper bag of chinese food from her and headed into the living room, the smell of cigarettes heavy in the air. Her own dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on the coffee table, a slow smile spread across her face.

"Are those cards?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Wanna play a game of strip poker while we eat? I've never actually played it before but Chuckie explained the rules to me today." 

His hands stilled where they'd been emptying the contents of the take out onto the coffee table. An odd expression on his face that seemed to be a mixture of amusement and distaste. "You had him tell you how to play that?"

"What? No, I asked him how to play poker," She came over to sit next to him on the couch, bumping Coco with her shoulder and letting out a peal of giggles at his assumption. "The strip part is only por ti." 

“Hmm. Okay, but I’m not going easy on you because it’s your first time.” His chopsticks raised in her direction as Maya is already reaching for the cards to shuffle and set up the game. She pouts for only a moment before nodding, eyes lighting up as an idea hits her. 

“Well, then every time one of us removes an article of clothing, they get to ask the other a question?” 

He turns hesitant but nods anyways, expression going blank as soon as he’s got his hand of cards and the game has begun. The first couple rounds go simple enough, setting the mood and making it clear that Coco would keep his word. Though for every simple article of clothing she removed, a personal question was asked in kind. They started off easy -- Where were you born? Did or do you play any sports? What’s your favorite color? Maya realized quickly that her chances at winning anything were doomed, her face giving away every hand. Even when she did get lucky enough to draw a good combination, Coco would finally break his stony expression with a small smirk. 

"I fold." He put his cards down face up and shrugged out of his shirt. His cards were still better than hers but something in her expression must have tipped him off to her confidence. Immediately Maya’s shoulders sank and she let out a disappointed sigh, prepared to answer an equally arbitrary question. “How did you get into the travelling artist thing? There’s gotta be other ways to do it.” 

“Oh, good one.” She adjusted where she’d moved to sit on the floor, their food long forgotten as the game had dragged on. Enough time for Coco to have rolled a joint and begun to pass it between them. “My dad was a musician. He started travelling and touring again after my mom finally left him. It was just...an easier life for me than staying with her and my sister in a small town.” 

His eyes bore into her, taking in her words and nodding in response. A blush rose to her cheeks and her shoulders caved inward with a small shiver. Only a few rounds in and she was already down to her mismatched bra and underwear, the wall AC unit sensing just the right time to kick on and cause a chill to run down her spine. Meanwhile Coco was still in his jeans and white undershirt, his one article of clothing standing in stark contrast against the small pile she had building. Perhaps that was why when Maya found herself finally divested of her plain black bra she was no longer in the mood to ask trivial, lighthearted questions. 

“You said before you were in the military? The marines?” “Yeah.” “Why’d you join?”  

He went silent. Usually when she asked a question he would break the still cold expression he wore while holding cards. Coco’s eyes remained locked on hers, instead of the usual attention he would be paying to her topless form. It was obvious he was thinking intently about how to answer and she didn’t want to rush or interrupt him. He abandoned the joint to pull out a cigarette from the pack on the table between them. 

“I had shit to get away from.” 

When that was met with only more silence, his expression turned dour. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and smoked in silence while his words turned over in her head. Maya tried her best to keep her expression neutral, the stakes higher than any card game. In moments like these it was almost impossible for her to guess what he might be thinking. 

“I did some time. Got out and wanted something different.” 

“Oh.” 

“Why? You got anymore fucking questions?” She ignored the biting words and got up to sit next to him on the couch, stopping short of reaching out to place a hand on his arm. As it was closing the space between them didn't seem to comfort Coco. He leaned away from her slightly, no longer able to meet Maya's eyes. 

"Nah. I'm good," She shrugged. "I don't wanna make you all uncomfortable and antsy. I'm not a fuckin' child and I'm not here to judge you, man. We all got our shit." 

His head swung towards her, emphasizing each word with a jerk of his chin. As though they were being hurtled at her. "Why the fuck are you here. You don't got anywhere better to be than riding some fuckin' cholo dick? You like slumming it?" 

"Basta, stop it." Her chin wobbled but Maya's expression remained determined. "I'm here because I want to be. Because I like you." 

Silence falls over them once again as she refuses to take the bait and fall into his trap. Coco crushes the butt of the cig in the ashtray and all the fight leaves him. His hand clenched and released over his knee and finally she felt comfortable enough to reach out and place hers on top of it. He doesn't pull away which is all the encouragement she needs to press up against his side where it's warm. Even though she had managed to keep her calm Maya's pulse still raced at the argument they had just narrowly avoided. 

Both of them had short tempers in the right circumstance and it could be a challenge not to react…But not when Coco was so obviously upset and dealing with deeper shit. All she really wanted to do now was to take away the darkness lingering in his grimace. Whatever heavy thoughts he has seem to get a little lighter as he reclines against the couch once again and brings one arm up around her shoulders so she can stay close. Both of her arms slink around his chest to hold him in a tight embrace and he lets out a long shuddery breath before relaxing against her. It must not be easy for him to open up and be any sort of vulnerable and she’s more than willing to reward him when he is. 

“I do have one more question though.” He freezes for half a second before noticing her gaze is directed down towards the only article of clothing she’s still wearing. The switch in moods is so drastic that Coco can’t help but let out a small chuckle and shake his head, the arm around her shoulder folding so that he can pat down some of the waves of her hair.

“Yeah?” 

“Do...you wanna fuck me?” 

He doesn’t respond out loud, simply turns and shrugs out of the wifebeater in one smooth movement. Most of the time the fact that he’s been in the military remains somewhere in the back of her mind, a difference that she has very little interest in dissecting. It’s only when he moves that it becomes an apparent and undeniable part of him. In a moment she’s stretched under him, her head resting on the arm of the couch and his hands trace up her side and pause to cup her breast. Maya arches into his touch, arms wrapped around his chest to hold him close while his other hand abandoned its place clutching her hip to hastily brush her hair away from her neck. He groaned, pressing her even harder into the worn cushions and attacking her throat and collar with kisses and nips. 

“Fuck, take your jeans off.” She rolls her hips up against him and he rewards her by grabbing her ass and pulling her close so that the only thing separating them was the damp material of her underwear and the denim of his pants. 

“Patience, shit, I wanna wind you up first.” 

Maybe it was punishment for all of the questions earlier or simply his own prerogative, but either way she couldn’t bring herself to complain when he pulled away to remove his belt and help to slip her underwear off. His hand was warm and large on her thigh, spreading her open so that he could slip a couple fingers inside to rub against her. The feeling of his teeth grazing her shoulder and his hand coaxing her hips into a rhythm. Just when Maya thinks she may be close to some relief he pulls her into a kiss and removes his hand, swallowing the sound of disappointment she makes. 

Coco’s breath is warm against her skin, his pants slung low and he kicks them off before pinning her against the couch. It’s easy to slip her legs around his waist and help to ease him inside. He let out a soft groan and she answered in kind, peppering kisses along his shoulder while Coco drove into her. One of his hands reached up to tug back Maya’s hair and expose the kiss marked column of her neck. Her blunt nails scrape at his back as the quick pace of his thrusts pushes her over. His own orgasm isn't far behind and Coco all but collapses on top of Maya afterward, enjoying how her hand absentmindedly cards through his hair while they catch their breath. Even if they were just starting out getting to know each other as a couple, there was no denying that they already knew how to satisfy the other completely. 

"So..that was fun." She sighed and turned to press her bare back against the warmth of his chest when he’d finally eased off of her. Coco grunted in response, one arm wrapped around her torso to hold Maya against him. Her eyes caught the abandoned cards and noticed how many of them had fallen from the table to scatter on the floor below. They probably wouldn't end up getting picked up and put away until morning. 

"Let's just stick to Uno from now on?" Finally earning a laugh, the vibration rumbling against her and causing a chain reaction. 

"Pretty sure I can still beat your ass in that, quierida. I'm game for whenever you want to lose." He pinched her pert rear end and earned another high peal of giggles. 

"Okay, we'll see." There was a challenge in her voice but Maya knew he was probably right. 

[nat-roman0ff]

i. the first 45 seconds of your life

the here and now; sequel to another certain time and place (read the full series in my masterlist)

i. the first 45 seconds of your life the one where they begin wc: 2,776 warnings: smut (oral), burnt chicken & fading time

---

“I’m in love with you.” 

 Her whole body freezes in place, and she isn’t quite sure what to say or do or any of that because her mind is too busy short circuiting over the words that just came out of Shawn’s mouth.

 She continues to stare blankly at him while Shawn’s eyes search her face for any kind of recognition of his words. He’s only met with a blank stare in her eyes, and the color systematically draining out of her face. She tilts her head, and he thinks she’s about to say something but she stops herself. Finally, her brows furrow, and it’s the first sign of life he’s seen in her face in the last forty-five seconds since he dropped those final words. 

 “I’m in love with you too,” she says. And the world is right again. 

---

 Their world had been a cotton candy cloud of happiness, making their friends vomit at their disgusting love for each other, and spending a lot of time in the bedroom (and the kitchen, and the shower, and the sofa…). 

 Being in love, rules, Shawn thinks while he watches her precisely put on her mascara in the bathroom vanity mirror. He smiles when her mouth opens ever so slightly in that little O-shape that he knows she can’t help. She leans back to stand up straight and blinks twice, dabbing away an imprint of black on the tops of her cheek. 

 “If you keep standing there and staring I might press charges,” she says, turning her head to him and smiling.

 “Yeah?” he says, folding his arms across his chest while he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, “What kind of charges are we talking?” 

 She pops her lips, swiping a bit of gloss along her bottom lip, “well, definitely for being a creep, and slightly obsessed with me.” 

 “Not at all a lie,” Shawn grins. 

 She twists the tube of her gloss tight, “and probably being super hella cute and a giant fucking cheeseball.” 

 She trails across the bathroom on her tiptoes to him, leaving a sticky, shiny, strawberry scented lip print on his cheek, “and for definitely having the best dick in Toronto.” 

 Shawn’s sloppy smile widens across his face and then fades, “wait, how many dicks in Toronto have you seen?” 

 His girlfriend shimmies past him and into their shared bedroom. She’s more or less moved in with him over the past few weeks. He swears it’s a quicker commute for her to work (it’s not) and that his coffee shop is better than hers (maybe it is, but it also costs double the price on this side of town). She always keeps two extra work outfits in his closet, and a spare toothbrush, just in case. He even bought the same shampoo and conditioner as her so she can always be ready to spend the night.

 Shawn watches her dress, observing as her hands smooth out the wrinkles in the skirt of her dress, turning in the mirror to make sure it falls the right way. She tucks on a pair of heels and stands in front of the mirror, taking in a deep breath to hold herself high and proud before releasing it and relaxing her shoulders. 

 “I don’t want to go to work today.” 

 Shawn stands and wraps his arms around her from behind, “too bad, one of us has to pay the bills around here,” he kisses a bit of her exposed shoulder and then rests his chin on it to look at her through the mirror, “just know if you do need to quit your job, I can help you out in the meantime.” 

 She rolls her eyes and slithers out of his grasp, “not everyone gets to do what they love at twenty-one, Shawn. Just because I hate my job now doesn’t mean I’m going to hate it forever. It’s a good stepping stone, I have to pay my dues before I can get to where I want to be.” 

 “I know that, babe,” he leans against the dresser beside them, “I just don’t like seeing you miserable.” 

 She rolls her eyes again, “I’m not miserable Shawn. Far from it. But I will be miserable if you don’t get me a bottle of wine and some takeout tonight,” she gives him a peck on the lips, “now I really have to go.” 

 It’s a pretty mundane Friday for Shawn when she leaves. He goes to the gym, eats breakfast, drinks his coffee, takes a shower, does some laundry. It’s mundane and everyday and routine But it’s so fucking nice to be bored every once and a while. Although he was never bored with her. Sure, they could be bored, laying on the couch scrolling through their phones and not saying anything, but so long as she was there, he was never bored. 

 Mundane was a nice sort of calm between being in a different city every night and sleeping on a cramped bus with three other people. But time was getting away from them, he thought about the last weeks they had together, alone. They had four more days before the next leg of tour started and he had to leave her behind. Neither had spoken about it, they just watched as the sand in the hour glass dwindled and they weren’t ready for the next two months apart. Sure, they’d done it before as friends, but it was different now. Shawn had never felt such a cosmic closeness to someone before, his body was different when she wasn’t around.

 On the other side of Toronto, she drags her feet into the office building she regrets to call work. It’s not all bad, except for her bitchy boss and coworkers who love nothing more than to make her feel inadequate. But she constantly reminds herself how lucky she is to be here, and that this situation isn’t permanent.

 At lunchtime, a deliveryman stops at her cubicle with a sunflower floral arrangement. She plucks up the card and of course they’re from Shawn. She giggles at the message he’s written her and blushes when she thinks about the poor person at the florist shop that had to write it.

 Hey sexy!

 I hope your Friday is as wonderful as you are. I already miss you even though you just left. I can’t wait to see you tonight and eat you out like four times. See you soon. 

 Shawn (aka love daddy)

 She covers her mouth to stifle a snort and arranges the flowers on her desk. The rest of the day comes easy with the promise of coming home to Shawn. What she wasn’t looking forward to was his departure in four days. He’d finally (sort of) given up on asking her to come with him on tour. It was terrible timing and would put too much of a dent in her life right now - it just wasn’t cohesive. It was the last leg, so the worst of it was over and she had to remember that there were only a few more months to go until he was home in time for the holidays. 

 Of course, there would be more tours, award shows, promo, trips to the studio, music videos, and everything else that came with being Shawn that would keep them away. But their cotton candy cloud was too big and sweet right now to burst. 

 ---

 Her insides scream sweet relief when the clock stikes 5pm and it’s time to go home to Shawn. She mutters obscenities to herself as she wrestles with the oversized floral arrangement on her walk home. Luckily it’s not far and when the elevator door opens to his floor she’s met with the smell of something burning and a smoke alarm blaring. 

 Shawn tried to cook again.

 “Oh honey you’re already home!” He coughs as he tries to clear the smoke in the kitchen by waving an oven mit and dish towel around. 

 She chuckles and sets the flowers on the counter as the scent of burnt chicken fills her nostrils. She sees the sizzling, smoky pan in the sink with what looks like charcoal stuck onto it. 

 “You really didn’t have to,” she laughs, “in fact, please don’t ever do it again.” 

 His arms stop waving and he pouts. The alarm finally silences and Shawn shakes his head to clear the ringing in his ears, “I was just trying to do something nice.” 

 She hops off the chair of the kitchen island and saunters towards him, placing a hand on his chest, “while I appreciate the effort, you are completely helpless in the kitchen. But I still love you for it.”

 “I guess I can’t be good at everything,” he says, swishing a layer of invisible hair over his shoulder.

 She punches his shoulder, “so what should we have? Pizza or Chinese?” 

 He gets that look in his eye, “I’d rather have you first.” 

 She squeaks when the cold granite countertop hits the backs of her thighs. Shawn’s mouth is on her before she has a half second to process what’s happening. He’s been waiting for her all day ever since he came across a pair of her black lacy underwear while doing laundry. He couldn’t get the image of the way they sit across her hips out of his fucking head since lunchtime and now that she was home he couldn’t wait to devour her.

 His lips are fast and hungry against hers. She contorts her body a little in an attempt to pull off her heels, Shawn’s hand grabs her wrist, “keep them on,” he says with a bite to her ear, he kisses down the hollow part of her throat and across her chest to just where her dress crosses her breasts in a V-shape, “and lay back.” 

 She moves slowly to ensure there’s nothing behind her. Her head barely stays on the counter, her hair waterfalling over the edge. She lets her arms fall back too and relishes in the feeling of Shawn taking control. He wastes no time reaching under her dress, letting his fingers tiptoe the thin straps of her underwear before hooking them around his index fingers. 

 Shawn slows down for a second, taking his time as he tugs the fabric down her soft thighs. He thinks of how much he’s going to fucking miss this on tour and there’s no amount of FaceTime and handywork that will make up for the feeling of her skin under his. He’s obsessed with the way she feels, with every dip and dimple, every tiger stripe of faded stretched out skin - everything that made her uniquely for him. 

 He finally pushes the fabric past her manicured toes and slingshots it into the living room, she watches as it flies over the couch and behind it to that lost space between the sofa and wall. 

 “Hey!” She says sitting up, “you’re gonna fish those out later, buddy.” 

 Shawn just smiles and holds her face in his hand and gives her the softest kiss. He breaks away and walks to the fridge to pull out the wine she’d requested this morning. He opens the cork with ease and takes a sip from the bottle before handing it to her.

 “Oh so it’s a drink straight out of the bottle kind of night, huh?” She asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after taking too big a sip. 

 Shawn just replies with another ferocious kiss, his mouth tastes like the grapes of her favorite wine and she rests her hands low on his hips. He places a palm on her sternum and nudges her back. She gets the hint and lays back flat against the granite countertop. Shawn’s hand works slowly down her front, cupping her heat and letting the fabric create some much warranted friction. 

 She lets out a breathless moan at the contact and bites down hard on her lip. He does it again, and makes sure to hit her sensitive bundle of nerves and she bucks her hips up into him. When he moves his hand away from her she pouts and he wants to kiss that pout right off her face but resists doing so, the alternative is much better. 

 He bunches the fabric of her dress in his fist and pulls up, revealing her bare half to him. His tongue involuntarily swipes over his bottom lip and he feels his pants tighten. She can feel the cold air hit her in the most devine way. Shawn drops to his knees and places each of her legs over his shoulders. 

 “Missed you,” he whispers. 

 She laughs, “are you talking to me or my vagina?” 

 “I’m not going to answer that question.” 

 He feels her body shake with laughter, but calms it the moment his lips hit her knee. Shawn kisses slowly up the inside of her leg, past dimples and faded stripes of rippled skin. He places a single kiss above her heat before working, moving to work up the other side, he wants to leave no patch of skin unloved, un-worshiped. 

 Her fingers thread through the curls at the top of his head when he nears closer to her center and he knows she’s more than ready for it now. He slides her forward just a bit more on the counter (he’d almost chipped a tooth on the granite when he tried this last week). She tugs at his hair to encourage him, her whole body shivering the moment his tongue takes the first lap of her core. 

 She lets out a breathy fuck to disguise the moan as he picks up the pace. He starts with his usual figure eights, the condo silent except for her gasping, muted moans and the sound of Shawn’s tongue against her soaked center. 

 The sharp of her heels dig into his shoulders as he adds two fingers to enter her. Her hand leaves his hair to grab at anything she can, her nails scratching against the hard surface of the countertop when she’d normally ball a fist of sheets in her hand. Shawn watches her chest heave as he steadies his rhythm; lips sucking at her tender bud, long fingers curling inside of her to reach that one spot. 

 A warm spot in her lower body begins to boil over and burn her skin from toe to fingertip. She can feel it crawl up her chest and into her cheeks, painting them his favorite shade of pink. The lower part of her body twitches under him but he’s quick to hold her down with the palm his hand, tutting her along the way.

 “Shawn I’m so so so so so close,” she breathes, digging her heels even harder into his shoulders but he’s too into it to care about the searing pain. 

 He releases her with a wet pop of his lips, “just let go whenever you’re ready.” 

 She takes a deep breath but it’s cut off when his tongue does overtime on her. Too sensitive to take it, she lets her orgasm crash over her with an arch of her back and a moan that echoes throughout the condo.

 Shawn stands and leans over her body to kiss her forehead, “stay here, I’ll be right back.” 

 She nods, too fucked to even think straight about it. He gives her time to recover while he runs to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. When he returns, he runs it softly up her inner thighs, cleaning up the dampness from her arousal mixed with his spit. She quivers when he runs it gently across her sensitive core and covers her back up with the skirt of her dress.

 “I need some help up, you destroyed me,” she groans, wiggling her fingers at him. 

 Shawn chuckles and grabs her hand to sit her up straight. Her hair is a mess, and her cheeks are still prickled with his favorite pink and he’s not sure how he managed to live this long without telling her he’s in love with her.

 “So, pizza or Chinese?” He asks, repeating her question from earlier.

 She grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him in between her legs, “oh no, you’re next.”

 ---

 heyyyyyyyyy! so this is the first chapter to the sequel of a certain time and place! i love all the beautiful responses i got from the last series. this chapter is moreso of a drop in, we have a LONG way to go with these guys and i’m excited to share it with y’all! drop a reblog, reply or ask if you enjoyed :) 

[babbushka]

Two Doves (1/6)

Drafted into a war he didn’t want to fight, Flip Zimmerman comes home to a country that doesn’t want him. With your help, he works through it all. 

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

Wordcount: 3.5k Warnings: (Graphic description of violence, gun violence, war, angst)

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

If he never sees a palm tree again, it’ll be too soon, Flip thinks as he watches, waits with bated breath as helicopters fly by.

The birds don’t even have a chance to fly away before the bright orange of a line of explosions burns into the jungle. The people don’t have a chance either, but then again, they never did. No one ever did.

The sky goes black with napalm and smoke, and Flip has to look away.

“Soft May mists are here again.

There, the war goes on.

Beside the privet the creamy

white tulips are extra

fine this year. There,

foliage curls blackened back:

it will, it must

return. But when?

A cardinal enchants me

with its song…”

 Flip wipes the sweat from his brow, squints against the sun. The jungle is harsh, unforgiving. He shouldn’t be here. He’s there anyway, been there for two whole years. His DEROS is almost here, all he has to do is hold on a little longer. Just a little longer and he’ll be coming home to you.

Just the thought of you makes him sigh, as quiet as he can anyway. He doesn’t know who the fuck is around, doesn’t know if they’re friend or foe. Two years and he still doesn’t know. He thinks of you, thinks of your smile, of your laugh. He thinks of the tapes you send him, the voice messages he plays over and over again on the little cassette player he’s got shoved in his backpack.

He wipes the sweat from his brow.

They’re trudging, really that’s the only word for it. Waist-deep in the muddy water of a river, surrounded by humidity so thick he sometimes feels like he can’t breathe. He’s filthy, exhausted, and angry as all hell. He’s so angry, that he’s there. So angry.

He wants a cigarette, wants a drink.

He wants you.

Instead he’s here, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the blazing sun and too much green, death at any moment, the fear of it keeping him awake at night. He can’t afford to stay awake at night, not like this, not with conditions like these.

He’s got the sun in his face, a pack on his back that’s fifty-pounds easy, and a gun in his hand that he didn’t think he’d ever have to shoot. He hasn’t eaten anything not from a can in months, hasn’t had a hot shower in even longer.

Two years. Two years he’d been here, Flip thinks to himself with a grimace. It was only supposed to be one, but it’s two.

His fellow Marines start to slow down, the water rising as the river-bed grows deeper. Some of these soldiers are boys, too young. Flip feels old standing next to them, next to these kids who can’t be more than nineteen, twenty. He’s thirty-five, and the boys look up to him. He wishes they didn’t.

“Are you excited?” One of them, a sweet kid named Eric, asks.

Eric’s got bright eyes and a crooked nose, and a gap in his teeth that means he can whistle louder than anyone else in the squadron. He doesn’t of course, not unless they’re in a village or a city or somewhere they can breathe for two fucking minutes. Eric can play cards like no one else can, has won more cigarettes playing poker than he probably should.

Eric got his hand blown off three weeks ago and was still waiting to be brought back home.

“For what?” Flip replies. He makes sure to keep his voice low, makes sure not to talk too loud. He doesn’t know who might hear.

“To go home, to your wife.” Eric smiles, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It’s harder and harder to find smiles these days.

“Yeah, I am.” Flip says back, and just to humor him, takes out the pocket-watch from his jacket.

The watch belonged to Flip’s father who fought in World War 2, it used to have a picture of Flip’s mother on the inside, but now it held a picture of you.

You’re smiling in the picture, it’s a portrait of you from your wedding day. Flip had insisted on snapping an image of you, and he was glad that he did. The corners were all worn from how much he rubbed his finger along the edges of it.

Eric leans over and takes a look at you. He always says you’re pretty and Flip always agrees.

“What’s she like?” Eric asks, scanning the trees for snipers, wading in the water.

“She’s funny. Really smart too.” Flip replies, and Eric chuckles.

“Smarter than you?” He asks, always full of questions in that way teenagers are.

“Fuck yeah, way smarter than me. Do you see her here?” Flip tries to be light-hearted, but it sort of fails.

Eric chuckles again anyway.

Flip’s squadron walks through the river, holds their guns above their heads so nothing gets wet. Flip’s thankful that it’s not raining today, not pouring on their heads. Instead he’s just got the sun that filters through the green trees, the sun that shines in his eyes. They trudge on.

“Did she send you more tapes?” Eric asks, hope in his voice.

You send the squadron something every chance you get, every fucking chance, and Flip is grateful for it. Twice a month he gets letters, a package, and most importantly, cassette tapes from you. He’s always amazed at how much shit you can cram into a container no bigger than a shoebox, but you do it.

The letters he keeps for himself, the tapes are 50/50. You always send four, four small black cassette tapes that you’ve recorded yourself. Two are just you, just talking. Telling him about your day, telling him about home.

Sometimes you tell him good things, sometimes you tell him bad things. That’s life, you always say, good and bad things. He listens to them over and over again, memorizes the messages, pictures your face making the shapes of the letters, pictures how your eyes shine as you talk.

The third one is music, always music. Always a new song, never any repeats. A mix of things that are popular back home, popular around the country. Flip’s told you he plays those during the day when things are calm and there’s no immediate threat. You took that as inspiration to broaden your horizons, keeping up with the popular music all across the country as opposed to just Colorado Springs. You said you wanted to boys to have some link to home, even a thousand miles away.  

The fourth one is you reading out loud, usually a collection of poems, or a passage from a book. He likes to play those for the boys at night, it helps them sleep. If he was being honest, it helps Flip sleep, but he shares it for the boys. It reminds them of a mother they don’t have anymore reading a bedtime story. When they hear you speak, it’s not like they’re sleeping in the jungle, or in a hut somewhere in the dirt – it’s like they’re home in bed.

“Yeah, I’ll play them when we settle for the day.” Flip says after all that, and Eric beams.

“Keep moving.” His commander shouts, making Flip wince.

He casts his eyes upwards to the tops of trees, knowing that the enemy could be hiding and they wouldn’t know it.

They wouldn’t know it.

  “…All war is wrong. The grass

here is green and buttoned

down with dandelions. A car

goes by. What peace. It–

the war–goes on. Fleeing

people. The parrot tulips

look like twisted guts.

Blood on green.

Here, a silent scream…”

 It’s dark, nighttime, finally.

They’ve settled in the mud for the eighth night in a row, and Flip thinks to himself he can’t wait for a bed. He should be on the helicopter tomorrow, he thinks to himself as he lays awake in the dark, lying on his back. He thinks of all the good things he’ll have when he’s home, a hot meal, a clean pair of socks. He thinks about the station, how CSPD is getting along without him. He thinks about his favorite brand of coffee in the percolator, thinks about the mountains.  

He closes his eyes, thinks about you. It’s the only thing that keeps him sane anymore.

In his mind’s eye, you’re wearing that white dress he loves you in. You’re laughing at something he said, at one of his snide remarks about something on the news. In his mind, you’re eating frozen grapes, slicing them between your front teeth and offering him half. He takes it straight out of your mouth with his own teeth, kisses you in the process.

In his mind’s eye, you smile against his lips and kiss him back, weaving your hands together. His were so much larger than yours, and you loved that, often pressing the palms together to make a note of the difference. Flip could curl his hand around yours easily, and he does then.

In the real world, things aren’t as nice. He’s mostly angry, mostly annoyed. He hates being here, pissed at the draft.

He wishes he had gone to college, wishes he had done something other than go straight to work after high school. But he had wanted to start a family with you right away, wanted to marry you and buy you a house and and and.

You weren’t happy, when barely two years into the marriage he was whisked away by the draft. You weren’t happy, and that made his stomach turn more than any of the violence he saw here.

There’s the soft call of the jungle all around him, and all around him are anxious boys who can’t sleep. Flip plays your tape, they listen to your poetry, until –

“Fuck – everyone get – ” His commander shouts, cut off by the sound of a gurgle.  

Bullets whizz past, startling everyone into action. They’ve been found, of course they had been. Flip’s already shooting back before he really can process what’s happening. He thinks of you as the sound of his gun echoes in his brain, the flash from the firing causing his vision to go spotty.

They were so close to the nearest village, so fucking close, Flip thought as he fired his gun, finger squeezed on the trigger tight, mowing down whatever and whoever he could. So close to being at the base, to getting on a fucking helicopter and heading home.

That’s all he wants anymore, is to head home, to head to you.

“On your left!” One of the other boys, Sam screams, alerts Flip to the man creeping up near him.

He kills him, he and Sam and Eric all back to back, just fucking shooting and shooting.

Your voice is still playing on the cassette tape player, it fucks him up to hear it against all the fucking chaos. It was just quiet a minute ago, how the fuck was it so loud? Screaming, so much screaming, both sides wounding one another.

Flip hated war, hated it as he fired round upon round into the fucking dark, hated it as the dirty sweat dripped into his eyes, down the tip of his nose. Hated it as he ran out of ammo, as he had to duck behind a tree and reload.

He hated it as his hands didn’t shake anymore, reloading the gun.

There’s running, so much running. They can’t stay, not where they are. But they can’t see either, pitch black in the middle of the night. Flip grabbed the cassette player and shoved it in his pocket and ran, hoped that the boys kept up with him.

No one is giving orders – there aren’t any to give, none except shoot and hope they don’t shoot you.

So, Flip shoots.

After what seems like hours, it’s quiet again.

They’re all panting, all of them who are left standing.

“Sound off!” Flip shouts, because he’s the only one who can. “Zimmerman.” He starts, waiting for the others to make themselves known, mark themselves as alive.

“Costell.” Eric shouts.

“Daniels.” Sam continues.

“Rocco.”

“Marques.”

“Dereon.”

One by one the squadron calls out their name, but Flip is listening to the silence in between it.

Half their men are dead, including their commander.

Everything is fucked.

Your voice still sounds on the cassette player.

  “Can we, in simple justice,

desert our sought allies?

Draw out: I do not know.

I know the war is wrong.

We have it in us

to triumph over hate and

death, or so

the suburban spring suggests.”

 The plane ride back home is long, but Flip’s never been more grateful.

It’s a twenty-hour flight to Denver, and then an hour bus ride to Colorado Springs.

He’s out of the jungle and into the sky, but it all feels the same to him, reminds him of another helicopter ride. But this time, he’s clean, in a clean formal uniform, and the lack of mud in between his toes is a blessing that Flip can’t deny.  

“Where are you headed?” A man seated next to him asks.

It’s a flight full of soldiers, all heading home to their own towns, their own cities. No one else is staying in Colorado, Flip is sure of it, from all their accents.

The man next to him has an eye-patch on and a crooked smile, an attempt at friendliness in a situation where something like that was lost in the vacuum of terror.

“Colorado Springs, home to my wife.” Flip responds, and fuck the thought of it actually happening has his heart pounding in his chest. He looks to the man next to him and gives the courtesy of asking back, “You?”

“Wife and kids waiting for me back in Oklahoma.” The man grins happily, “You have any kids of your own?”

“No not yet.” Flip answers, feeling old. This man must not be much older than him, early thirties just like him, and already with two kids.

Flip feels like he’s wasted a lot of time, fighting in this fucking war.

The man shakes his head, noting Flip’s souring expression.

“Believe me it’s better off that way, nothing like the guilt of a kid who misses their dad.” He tsks, smile fading.

“How old?” Flip is compelled to ask, just because there is something so freeing about talking about anything other than the war.

“Seven and five, here,” The man pulls out a small photograph from his breast pocket, hands it to Flip. “That’s them, and my wife, Imani.”

They look so happy, in the picture, wearing their Sunday best.

“You have a gorgeous family.” Flip says honestly, pulling out the pocketwatch, opens it and shows your picture to this man, shows it to anyone and everyone he meets. “This is my wife, (Y/N).”

“I’m happy to say the same about yours.” The man’s smile returns, and Flip takes a breath. “Are you going straight home?” He asks, and Flip nods.

“It’s a Wednesday, so she’s going to be at the grocery store, and then the dry cleaners. She’s not going to get home until four o’clock or something, and I’m supposed to get home at three, so I’m hoping to surprise her.” Flip knew your schedule like the back of his hand, and recited it easily.

He had a whole plan, was praying that the timing would work out and that he’d be home and he’d be there to greet you.

“She doesn’t know you’re coming home this early?” The man asks, making Flip huff out a nervous laugh.

“No, I didn’t want to give her a date and then crush her hopes if it didn’t happen.” He explains and the man makes a sound of realization.  

“I bet she’ll be thrilled.” He says.

“I’m hoping.” Flip says back, the conversation coming to a comfortable silence.

  “…Here, the drive is wet

with mist. There,

the war goes on. Children

are more valuable than

flowers: what a choice

to make! The war

must end. It goes on.

That was May 1972, by James Schuyler. Come home to me soon, I love you.”

 The voice recording stops, just as the taxi cab pulls up to the house.

He’s been listening to it over and over, listening to it so much the tape has started to worn down. The flight had been grueling, the bus ride even more so, but the taxi ride was the thing that made him the most nervous.

What if he pulled up and you were already there? What if he pulled up and you weren’t, but you didn’t come home? What if you had plans for the evening, what if you didn’t want to see him anymore, what if you hated him, what if what if what if –

The taxi cab pulls up to the house, and your car isn’t there in the driveway. His car and his truck both are under a sheet, kept protected from the dust and the snow and the rain. He had missed the snow.

Flip gets out, thanks the driver who says nothing in return.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks, fishing out his wallet, ready to pay this man just about anything.

“I don’t want any of your blood money.” The man surprises him by saying with such anger in his voice that it’s all he can do not to punch the glass out of the divider.

Flip gets out, stunned by the response. He has his small suitcase of personal items, and that’s about it. The taxi drives away.

He doesn’t has his house keys on him – why would he? – so he crouches down and finds the spare hidden under a fake rock, uses it to unlock the door.

Stepping over the threshold is like a smack to the face, and before he knows it, he’s crying.

He spent so much time thinking about being home, he had almost forgotten what home was even like, and now, stepping into the foyer, it all became real to him that this wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t in his mind’s eye, this was real.

There was the wonky floorboard that always creaked if you put too much pressure on it. There was the big tan couch and the glass coffee table and the soft rug by the fireplace. He ran his hand along the wall as he walked the familiar path to the kitchen, and tears are dripping down his cheek as he lifts the glass cover of the cake stand and steals a chocolate chip cookie.

It had been years since he’d had a cookie.

He looks at the clock, exactly where it’s always been, and it chimes at four, exactly as it always does.

Flip freezes when he hears the front door open, swallows the cookie so fast he’s afraid he’s going to choke, stands in the middle of the kitchen and doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Two years in the war, and he suddenly feels like a teenager again, not knowing what to do with his hands.

He wonders how you’ve changed, because of course you’ve changed in the two years he’s been gone. He wonders how long your hair is, what you’re wearing. He wonders what you’ve been eating, what you’ve been watching. You tell him in your voice messages, but that’s only twice out of the month; he wants to know everything, wants to hear all of it.

You enter the kitchen and you freeze at the sight of him, you drop the bags of groceries like you’ve seen a ghost.

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment, and he can’t stop the tears of relief from flowing as he takes in the sight of you; you look exhausted but you’re healthy, you’re alive, you’re in front of him in your home that you share with him and you’re wearing his flannel tucked into your skirt. You’re wearing his clothes.

Something about the sight of you in his clothes make his knees go weak and he’s afraid he’s going to fall.

“Flip?” You whisper, don’t dare talk too loudly.

He wonders what’s going on in your head, but all he can think about is you’re here, you still want him, you still love him.

“Hi ketsl.” Flip whispers back, and just like that you’re crossing the room and crying in his arms.

Just like that you’re holding him tight and kissing him, kissing him like you never thought you’d kiss him again. You’re practically climbing him, jumped up onto him and wrapping your legs around his waist, kissing and kissing and kissing him.

Just like that, he lets himself cry, lets himself bury his face into your neck and breathe in the smell of you, smells the citrus and the familiar laundry detergent and shampoo.

Just like that Flip finally feels at peace.

Just like that, Flip’s home.

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

Taglist! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the list i really never know who to add to these things so i’m sorry if this isn’t a story you’d like to read, please just let me know and i’ll take you off! <3 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @solotriplets   @fullofbees @spinebarrel @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler 

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 4

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 2.7k (this chapter)

Warnings: None for this chapter

Updates Every Tuesday at 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

Thanks to my lovely beta @phanandpenguins​ who has been doing a great job of editing these chapters for me! 

READ ON AO3 | READ ON WATTPAD

Phil is having a heated argument with someone when Dan arrives to the office on Thursday morning. There is tension in the air and Dan feels like everyone is too hyper focused on the argument that is taking place to focus on their own work. Dan had never seen the guy before, but he stands tall and broad over Phil as he hovers above the desk. He looks mean, and definitely like someone Dan should avoid so he makes a mental note of it.

“We sold out of the Marmon book in the first day,” The man says. “What kind of a rookie mistake is that, Phil?”

“It’s not my rookie mistake!” Phil shouted back. “It was your superior who wouldn’t allow for us to print more than 5,000 copies when I requested 7,500.”

“Don’t start blaming it on…”

Dan stopped listening because the arguing did nothing but make the anxiety in his chest weigh heavier and heavier. He opened his laptop and loaded up the manuscript that he had been working on for his author and pulled up some of the edits he had made. He was beginning to scroll to where he had bookmarked to look at next but the arguing grew louder and he got more and more distracted.

He turned his head and saw Mitch was working unphased next to him, scribbling some red marks onto a printed storyboard, “Hey, Mitch?” Dan asks and Mitch turns his head, “So I can’t help but listen to that fight and I guess I’m confused why it’s a bad thing that Phil’s author’s book sold out so fast? Isn’t it a good thing that you’re making sales? ”

Mitch furrowed his brows and then perked up and opened his mouth, “Yes and no, really. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?” Dan asks, genuinely curious.

“Well, if a book sells out the same day that it comes out, then that’s not good for the author’s sales because it’ll take another week or two for us to do another printing by the time the printer gets around to it. By that point the book will have sadly been forgotten by most people. So it’s better to have just enough copies and do a second printing than to sell out and have to wait with nothing out there to be sold.”

Dan nods his head because that does make a lot of sense, “So is the man Phil is arguing with in charge of that process then?”

“Yes!” Mitch answers with a smile.

“So...who is he?”

“Oh! That’s…”

“Me.”

Dan stiffens and turns his head to come face to face with the man he had just sworn he would avoid. His dark hair is sticking straight up in places and his eyes are so dark they’re like black holes. Dan instantly feels more intimidated than before.

“Damien” He says, adding on before Dan can catch his bearings. “I’m the head of the sales department here at Onyx. I take care of how many copies your book gets.”

Dan just stiffens further and forces out a smile before Damien turns on his heels and walks away, leaving a trail of overconfidence in his way that left Dan feeling more uneasy. Dan turns to Mitch, his mouth agape, “Is...is he always like that?”

Mitch shrugs, “Actually no. He can be tough when he wants to be but honestly, he’s also nice. Just probably have to get to know him. I’m sure he was on edge from his conversation with Phil.”

Dan nods and agrees because sure, that’s honestly probably it . So Dan turns back in his seat and goes back to working on his manuscript again.

He gets through quite a bit of it before his hands start to cramp and his stomach starts to rumble. When he stands up from his desk, he takes a second to look over towards Phil’s desk but he notices Phil isn’t there, which being honest is a bit unusual , Dan thinks. He makes his way into the breakroom and stuffs some money into a vending machine to get a lousy cup of noodles for his lunch.

Dan takes the container of noodles and opens the top and pours some of the hot water from the coffee maker into it. He lays the lid back closed and sits and waits for his noodles to start working their magic to give him a hint of satisfaction for his hunger. He knows he hasn’t been eating properly but he genuinely doesn’t have the time to make himself something else besides quick food.

People from the floor come and go as they please which leaves Dan sitting all alone at the table with no one to talk to but he’s not entirely upset about that either. He’s been so busy lately that having this short break was actually a bit of a reprieve.

His noodles become finished far too quick and he pushes a couple pound coins in the vending machine for a candy bar and begins to nibble on that just as he leaves the break room. He goes to his desk and takes a seat, looking to Phil’s desk on instinct and for some reason, Dan feels a little bit calmer seeing Phil now sat behind his mounds of papers, running his hands through his hair.

***

Dan decides to leave the office as soon as he sends the manuscript with corrections back to his author. He emails her the corrections and then prints out a copy for himself to take home and look over one more time. His deadline is rapidly approaching and he wants his first time being an editor for this author to go as smoothly as possible.

Dan’s exhausted, and as he walks off from the elevator, he feels like the weight of the world is on his body, holding him down and barely keeping him upright. He needs some proper food and maybe a few drinks. Probably also some water. Has he even drank water in the last week? He doesn’t remember which probably says a lot more than it should.

He shuffles his feet as he walks and he rounds the corner to the exit when he sees Phil and Damien talking next to the doorway. Damien is enjoying a cigarette and Phil is stood with his arms crossed. Dan steps back and hides behind the corner because he doesn’t want to intrude.

Are they arguing? Is something else happening between them? Dan feels uneasy all over again and his stomach starts to hurt at the thought. But he wants to get home, and in order to leave, he has to pass them which means he’s going to have to walk by them and deal with whatever they are saying.

He turns the corner and begins to walk past them when he sees Phil start to laugh, throwing his head back and Damien laughing along with him, cigarette smoke funneling from his lips. He puts out his cigarette and looks at Phil and just as Dan is trying to walk by, he hears, “ Are you up for that drink?”

Dan is suddenly confused. So Phil and Damien were friends? But why were they screaming at each other earlier. It had to be just work things, right?

“Oh Dan!”

Dan stops in his tracks at Phil’s voice calling after him.

Dan turns around and faces Phil who is zipping his jacket up a bit further on his neck, “Damien and I are on our way to the bar for a few drinks if you want to join?”

Dan shakes his head and declines, “No, I just want to get home and get some rest.”

Before Phil can say anything, Dan just nods goodbye and hikes the hood up on his jacket and leaves the building into the bitter cold of December evenings. He puts his hands into his pockets and walks half of his commute, only taking the tube when he physically couldn’t stand the cold on his cheeks anymore.

His apartment is chillier than he would care to admit so he turns the heat on a bit higher when he passes through the front door. His stomach is rumbling so he goes to his refrigerator and opens it up to see nothing but wilted greens and spoiled food. He shuts the door and lets out a sigh.

He could order out, but that would require spending more money and he doesn’t have a lot of that at the moment. He ends up not finding any food suitable for eating and he flops himself down on his couch, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before he has to go to his miserable bed.

Dan’s eyes are just starting to close when his phone begins to buzz in his pocket and he pulls it out to see an email from his author.

Re: Finished Manuscript Edits

Hi Dan,

Just finished looking over your edits and I’ve made some adjustments accordingly. Please let me know what you think. I would love more feedback.

Best,

Veronica “Roni” Tully

Dan sits up straighter on the couch and immediately lunges for his bag at the end of the cushion. He opens it up and grabs his laptop and boots up his email. He loads her edits and her storyboard and sees that she has made a lot more corrections and so he hits print on the document and hears the printer in the corner whirl to life.

He throws his laptop to the side and sets down on the floor with the manuscript sprawled in front of him on his coffee table. He grabs his red pen out of his bag that he’s learnt he needs to carry with him at all times and uncaps it and begins to get to work.

He tries to work diligently, taking into consideration everything he’s learnt from his few short weeks of being a graphic novel editor. But he soon can feel like he’s not doing something right and it takes away any of his ability to finish the rest of the manuscript.

As much as he doesn’t want to, he knows he needs to get ahold of Phil somehow. He has Phil’s number from their brief exchanges at work but he doesn’t want to text him, especially when Phil just said he and Damien were going out for drinks.

Dan will need to email him the manuscript. He quickly grabs for his laptop again and loads his email and attaches the file and sends it to Phil with the note reading that he would like Phil to look over the manuscript and help him a bit in making corrections. He no longer hits send when his phone vibrates and he looks down to see a message on his screen.

Phil: I’m right next door. Bring me your corrections

Dan feels mortified. He can’t just go next door and bring Phil the corrections because now he feels like a moron for emailing him them to begin with! He sits chewing at his nails until a knock appears on his door and it startles him. He gets up and rushes over to it, opening it.

“I’m right next door,” Phil repeats as soon as the door opens. “You literally just have to walk two steps.”

“I...I…”

“Where are your corrections?” Phil asks, extending his hand. “I’ll look over your corrections but I’m not going to do them for you.”

Dan’s cheeks heat up and he blushed as he turned on his heels and rushed back to grabs his corrections from the coffee table and hands them to Phil. Phil shuffles through them and then stills, “Come over to my apartment.”

Dan furrows his brows, “Why?”

“Just...come with me and we’ll look over the corrections together,” Phil says, stepping backwards and not allowing Dan to say otherwise.

Dan swallows and follows him out of the door to his apartment. Phil pushes the door open and they step inside. Dan looks at the surroundings around him and is actually impressed by how nice everything looks. Everything looks so precise to him…. so not Phil.

“So first off,” Phil says as he sits down at his kitchen table, “tell me why you made the corrections that you did.” Phil flips through the pages a bit more and then stops and shoves a page at him. “Especially the ones on this page.”

Dan looks down and sees that this is the page where he made the most corrections, but that’s basically because he found this part a bit boring compared to the rest of the story. He stutters for a moment and then finally says exactly that, “I thought this part was boring.”

“Why?” Phil quizzed.

“Because it didn’t go with the rest of her story. The pictures don’t do anything for the rest of the novel.”

“So why did you suggest these specific corrections?” Phil pressed.

Dan stuttered a bit but he failed to answer right away and Phil noticed. He picked up a red marker and uncapped it with his teeth, blowing the cover onto the floor as he marked for two different panels to be switched around, “This is all you needed to do,” Phil says. “The rest of the corrections don’t actually enhance the storyboard like you just explained to me.”

“But I thought…”

“Dan, you can’t do these corrections half-assed.”

“I’m not doing them half-assed!” Dan countered. “I did exactly what I remember you teaching me to do!”

Phil shook his head, “You’re doing too much.”

Dan feels like his head is spinning. So is he half-assing his work or doing too much ?

“I…”

“Here,” Phil says, shuffling through the pages again, “Let’s go through each page together.”

Dan nods his head, feeling even more mortified than before and let Phil flip through each page correcting and fixing more.

By the time they were done, the storyboard had much more red on it than before and many corrections crossed out and redone. He looks down at it and feels like his heart is sinking out of his chest because he feels like he’s just completely shit on his authors work.

But the truth is that his author’s work is fantastic and that’s why they need these corrections to push them past fantastic to amazing. Every author wants to be a best seller but this is the only way to do so.

Dan gathers the papers and puts them into a pile and stands up from Phil’s kitchen chair, “Thank you.”

Phil looks up at him and nods, “You’re welcome.”

He starts to walk to the door but is stopped when Phil’s voice cuts through his head, “We still haven’t talked about us, ya know.”

Dan feels the color drain from his face and he swallows down the knot in his throat, “There isn’t anything to discuss.”

“So you’re not even gonna talk about how we used to love each other?” Phil asks, standing up from his chair. “You’re going to just ignore that…”

“You broke up with me,” Dan says, turning around to face Phil, “You’re the one who broke my heart.”

“Oh is that how you remember it?” Phil asks, his voice rising in volume. “You’re remembering that I broke up with you .”

“Because that’s what happened!”

“Dan,” Phil shook his head, “You’re the one who literally slapped me across the face and then ran out of my house. I never heard from you after that.”

“I…”

“I know you don’t remember it,” Phil says, his voice going tense, “But maybe it would be nice if you tried.”

Phil all but pushes him out before Dan can get an answer and he stands on the other side of Phil’s door with the storyboard hugged to his chest and tears coming up to his eyes.

Dan had spent years trying to repress the memories of Phil and what had happened, and there was no way in hell he was going to let himself remember them all over again.

Even if it cuts deep inside his core.

Just as he turns to go to his apartment, he hears footsteps coming down the hallway and he turns his head just in time to see Damien walking towards them, and Dan momentarily forgets how to breathe. He grabs the door handle for his apartment and jumps inside, shutting the door just in time to hear the knocking of Damien’s hand on Phil’s door.

[szopenhauer]

What was your last dream about? pamiętam tylko tyle, że M. powinna uważać na jej byłego

Would you like to build/design your own house? yes

Do you have a cherished childhood teddy bear? it’s not really a teddy but yeah

Are you psychic in any way? it seems

Are you a good dancer? meh

Are you a good singer? nooo

Are you a good cook? not the worst

Are you a good artist? maybe

Are you a good listener? try to be 

Are you a good public speaker? but don’t like to 

Are you a good babysitter? might be but hate that

Are you a good dresser? have my own style

Are you a good comedian? I’m funny :P

Are you a good cleaner? not good enough

Are you a good actor? I am

Are you a good writer? just like to write

Do you ever get chills & goosebumps when you listen to music? tell me about it...

What was the last song that had that effect on you? not sure which was last

Do you know what any of your siblings did over the weekend? I don’t care

Was the last book you read a hardback or paperback? paperback

What was the last thing you required the use of a spoon for? I was eating breakfast

The last time you ate something, was it in a bowl or on a plate? neither XD

Can you recall the last time you held hands with someone? I can

What was the last thing that made your heart melt? hmm...

Can you recall the last time you visited a bookshop? not the exact day but yep

Did you purchase anything? I don’t think so

Have you been wearing homemade masks or store-bought ones? both

Do you call yourself stupid a lot? sometimes

Are you listening to music right now? not rn

What is your newest favorite website? aliexpress?

Do you have a headache right now? had before today

What month is your birthday, and what month would u change it to if you could?  February and would like June, July or August that’s why I will spend my name day during summer instead of spring with my sister

Have you ever had to use an epi pen? not yet

Do you know the names of 3 of your neighbors? (list if you can): personal

What was the last grocery store you shopped at?

Do memories from your past come back to haunt you ? frequently

Have you ever seen an angel? or a ghost

Have you ever seen a demon? that time in a mirror?...

What color was the last sweatshirt you wore? grey

What was the last act of creativity you displayed? Vinnie’s tiny bird next to her signature?

Do you ever find yourself just writing/typing out your feelings? my tumblr is full of this shit

Whose house were you at last, besides your own? my current partner’s

Do you like your teeth? not really

Does piano music tend to calm you down? wouldn’t say so

What’s something you need to get done soon? ugh...

Is your best friend awake right now? they are

If I came to your house, could I find any kind of chocolate? ask my mother

Who was the last person to upload a picture with you in it? M.

Do you ever wear sleep masks when you sleep or shower caps when you shower? neither

Don’t tell me lies, so where’s your man? where’s Nat? XD

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? dad

Has anyone said they love you in the last week? yasss

Have you ever kissed under water? hell no

Have you kissed anyone whose name starts with a M? hahaha

Would you kiss the last person who texted you, on the lips? done and I hopefully will

Camping with a ton of friends or hotel with a few friends? hotel 

Could you go the rest of your life without a cigarette? absolutely

Have you ever wanted something you couldn’t have? like health

How is your boyfriend/girlfriend doing and where are they now? she’s angry, has a flu and she’s working

What was the last topic you read about? DID?

Do you prefer Windows or Mac? Windows

What’s the best amusement park ride you’ve ever been on? I’m not a fan of rides tbh

Would you know how to read a house blueprint? partially?

Do you keep notes on your phone? What sort of things do you write? used to on my old cell

Do you remember much from high school? tought so

Has anyone ever come out to you? yup

What was the last album you listened to in full? Red army choir or Anastasis?

Do you have Disney+? we don’t

Have you ever sent a package or letter to a foreign country? postcards

How many jobs do you have on your resume? 0

Are you comfortable with leaving the house without any makeup on?: I don’t wear makeup

Do you have any expensive hobbies?: if I had money...

What length do you like to keep your nails at?: short

Have you ever felt physical pain in a dream?: but not as much as Nat 

Have you ever had Christmas carolers come to your house and sing for you?: when I was a kid

What’s your favorite Studio Ghibli film?: Porco Rosso?

What did you learn from your last failed relationship?: can we not talk about it...

What’s something on your to-do list that never actually gets done?: I’m a huge procrastinator

Have you ever been really passionate about something but then lost interest? If so, what was it?: collages

What’s the worst thing about being male/female (whichever you are)?: period, being able to get pregnant and have female kinds of cancer etc.

What movie has the best special effects?: I’m into practical special effects more than cgi but... there’s too many to name

When did you last have a vision test?: ages ago