#chats x silver & gray

[x-wanderingsouls]

Starter: Silver to Gray ( @collextivesoul ) Location: Estate grounds

The Vanguard's weren't known for mingling with other species and rarely left the comfort of the faction and the luxuries their lifestyle provided. While Silver had ventured away from the faction from time to time, the newly triggered wolf wasn't overly familiar with the ways of the world, so to speak or those that lived in it; and now she was sitting on a log, surrounded by wolves who were looking at her like the abandoned snob that she was. As a gust of wind licked at Silver's long strands of stray hair, fingers instinctively reached out to manipulate the magic as eyes darkened as realisation struck once again, as it would for the rest of her life. "Welcome to ordinary." Silver muttered lowly, not expecting anyone to hear, in fact, she hadn't noticed that the Alpha was standing within earshot, yet somehow the young wolf's gaze drifted towards his own, already wishing her grandparents would just let her come home. "Is there a Werewolf for dummies lying around here? Probably come in handy."

[back2bluesidex]

We Need Practice - JJK (18+)

A Sequel to Novice.

Pairing: Pornstar!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: Fluff, smut

Wordcount: 2.1k+

Summary: Jungkook wants you to ride him and you are too bad at that.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, messy cock riding, cumming all over body, they are down bad for each other, more fluff than I intended to have, confessions. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

Masterlist | Patreon

“Don’t judge a book by its cover” 

You have heard this phrase for thousands of times in your entire lifetime but you have hardly had any chance of actually implying the same in your life. 

But then you met Jungkook and you understood how true that one sentence can be. 

Jeon Jungkook is the text-book definition of what those cliched bad-boys or fuckboys would look like. 

With a hand full of tattoos, silver rings dangling from piercings, impressively structured body and a small waist that could rival female models, he really looks like someone who would be fucking people and putting on a show out of it. 

And that is exactly what he does. 

Pornstar Jeon Jungkook is actually very notorious. 

But Jeon Jungkook as a person is a completely different story. 

After that one encounter at that porn movie set, he asked for your number and you complied with his request thinking of he could give you some of the best fucks of your life (not that you have had many fucks to brag about in the first place). 

If you are being honest, then you never expected him to be the sweetheart that he actually is. Since the day you two exchanged numbers, he never once asked if he could come over during god-forbidden hours of night. He never once asked for your nude pictures, neither did he ever force you to meet him. 

Rather he sends you funny dog videos, funny tik tok clips and asks you how was your day. And you can’t lie about the fact that your heart has already started acting strange, like it flutters everytime Jungkook’s name glows on your dark phone screen. 

It’s been more than a month since you have been chatting regularly and now you are getting a little impatient. 

As much as you appreciate his good-boy vibes, you would like to see him again, touch him again. 

So you do what you have been thinking of doing for more than a week now. 

“Sleeping?” you hit send, praying to the universe that he doesn’t find you a desperate bitch for what you are going to do. 

The clock reads 2:15 am already, and just then his reply arrives, “nah. Can’t sleep. What about you?” 

“Me too. Can’t sleep.” 

You take a deep breath before typing the next message, “do you wanna hangout?” 

Just when you are about to add “at my place” to complete your proposition, his reply hits your screen, “Send me your address. And wear something warm before I ask you to come out.” 

Wait. is he? Taking you out? 

Even though you were trying to ask for sex but this option feels even better to be honest. 

So you send him your address and he texts you that he will be there within 10 minutes. Wearing your gray padding, you wait for him to arrive at your place. 

Another positive point about Jeon Jungkook is that he is punctual. You might even call him a green flag because your phone dings with a “I am here” text right on 2:27 am. 

The scene that unfolds in front of you once you come out of your apartment, almost leaves your jaw hanging mid air. 

Jungkook has arrived with a bike, dressed in complete black. If you drooled a little at the sight then you would never admit that. 

Once he sees you awkwardly walking towards him, he takes off his helmet and welcomes you with one of his infamous bunny smiles. 

Your heart does a little flip inside your chest. 

His big doe eyes shine amid the darkness as if those are made of some priceless stone. At this moment it’s really tough to believe that he is a pornstar, who fucks people on camera to earn a living. 

“Hey. you look beautiful.” he greets you with a compliment when you come close to him. 

“You look even more handsome today.” you return his compliment genuinely. And at that, the tip of his ears turn red. 

“Ah thanks.” he replies shyly as he hands you a helmet. And gestures to you to mount his fancy bike. 

You take the helmet, slip that on your head and hold him by his shoulders to climb on his bike. 

Once you have settled, he revves the engine. 

“Hold me tightly” he says briefly before setting the bike in motion. You wrap your arms around his waist and hold him just as he asked you to. 

The deserted road, the trees whooshing by, the buildings that look peaceful, everything feels so beautiful. 

Maybe it’s because of the hour or maybe it’s because you are with someone you like. 

The bike comes to a halt at a crossing and you slide up the windshield of your helmet, “where are we going?” 

He looks at you through the mirror, slides his own windshield up and gives you another sickening smile, but doesn’t say anything. 

5 more minutes later he parks the bike beside a huge lake. 

It looks like a secluded area. The lake is mostly hidden amid big trees and surrounded by fishing spots and some benches. 

Jungkook spreads his hand before you once you both are standing side by side. 

You take the cue and place your hand on his. He intertwines his fingers with yours and you start blushing. Thanks to the darkness, he wouldn’t be able to witness it. 

Once you are sitting on a bench, Jungkook starts, “I often come here to fish with my hyungs. This is my first time coming here with a woman.” 

When you look at him, you find him already staring at you, “Really? You look like the type to have a lot of girlfriends, you know?” 

“Is it because of my profession?” there is a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

So you press on his hand, which is still intertwined with yours and say, “no. not because of that. It’s just that you are generally very attractive and charming, Jungkook.” 

His face brightens up with a beautiful smile, “Too bad, I was about to say the same about you. But you snatched my words.” 

Your eyes widen at his compliment, “You find me attractive?” 

“Why? Why are you so surprised? Is it wrong to find someone attractive?” he giggles, staring deep into your eyes. 

“No. Th-that’s not what I meant. I mean, you know, you work with far more attractive women than me. So.. it’s kind of unlikely actually.” you fumble with your words. 

Jungkook chuckles at your explanation, “they are just colleagues, Y/N. Just like any other profession, we have a strict business relationship. And honestly, they are not even my type. You, on the other hand, fit perfectly into the category of women I would love to date.” 

Your eyes go even wider at his confession, “you.. You want to date me?” 

“If you let me. If you trust me despite the nature of my profession… I would love to make you mine.” Jungkook breathes slowly, his eyes drop down to your lips. 

Before you can voice your answer, your intrusive thoughts win and you reach up, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“I think I would love it too.” 

And then you find yourself being pulled by the back of your neck as Jungkook crashes his lips on yours. It’s passionate, it’s overwhelming, it’s so beautiful and you never felt anything close to this. 

He licks the seam of your lower lip asking you to grant him permission, you let him inside your mouth. 

His tongue probes into your mouth testing each corner, you moan into his mouth. His other hand wraps around your waist pulling you even closer. 

And then you feel one, two, three and then multiple drops of rain falling on you two. 

He detaches his lips from yours, “fuck. It’s raining.” 

“Let’s go back to my place.” you reply, trying to cover your heads with your hands. 

It’s been one of your bucket list wishes to ride a bike in the rain with the person you love and probably it’s going to come true today. 

You hold him tightly, pressing your chest on his back, not in a sexual, but in a loving manner. It starts raining heavily within a few minutes, and Jungkook quickens his speed to reach your destination as soon as possible. 

“Where are you going?” you place your question, seeing Jungkook putting on his helmet again after dropping in front of your apartment entrance. 

Even though the rain has turned into drizzle now, it still can be quite dangerous to drive a bike in this weather.  

“Home. Where else?” he adds a little sheepishly. 

“Jungkook, it’s still raining. I don’t think it’s any wiser to go home now, you’re drenched on top of that. Come inside. You can leave after the sunrise. If you want.. I mean.” you propose, he seems to think for a bit. 

“I don’t think I should go inside, Y/N.” Jungkook looks at the ground as if it’s more interesting than your face. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” you are truly confused now. 

“I might not be able to control myself…” his voice fades by the time he manages to end the sentence. 

“Did I say I want you to control?” you bite your lip, hoping that you don’t appear to be too desperate to him. 

His eyes go wider inside his bulky helmet. 

Jungkook pushes your naked body on the mattress. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking of how good you felt that day.” He groans while biting down on the skin of your neck. 

Your hands roam around the smooth skin of his back. Everytime you scratch his back, he moans a little. 

“So pretty, so delicate, so perfect for me.” Jungkook groans again. 

One of his hands reaches down, finding your clit within a moment. It’s as if he has studied the map of your body with earnest interest. 

Drawing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, he pulls out melodic moans out of your throat. 

“Jun-jungkook mmm..” you moan again. 

“Yes baby. Say my name again.” he urges you while entering your heat with his middle finger. His digit plunges inside you, making you see stars indoors. 

“Jungko- I’m close” you manage to voice somehow. And as soon as those words fly out of your mouth, he empties you. 

You look at him being dumbfounded. He smirks at you, knowing what exactly he has done. 

“I want you to cum on my cock. I am hard as hell, baby.” he confesses blatantly. 

Just when you are about to hold him, he flips you around. So, now you are sitting on his thighs.  

“I want you to ride me.” he adds a little breathlessly. And you almost choke on your own spit. 

“What? I-I don’t..” 

“I will guide you, Y/N.” he cuts you off. 

He helps you in taking off his slacks along with his underwear. Once he is naked, he holds you by your waist and lines your entrance along with his cock. 

“Are you ready?” he asks briefly. You nod in affirmation. And then he is sliding you down his length. 

At first his length is overwhelming but you adjust fast. 

“You should move now.” Jungkook’s voice is laced with lust, his eyes are hazy, making him look even more attractive than he already is. 

You honestly have no idea how to move. So you try to implement your visual experience. However, it’s tough once you start bouncing on his cock. Even though Jungkook is guiding you well, you are messy regardless. 

Your moves and Jungkook’s thrusts don’t match at all and the experience is nothing like that day. 

You really are a novice. 

Even though the friction is delicious for you, Jungkook’s expression tells that he is very underwhelmed. So, you start trying your best. With a few more bounces, you cum all over his cock, creaming it perfectly. 

As soon as you are done, Jungkook flips you around again. He slips out of you and starts playing himself. 

Even though you are in your post-orgasm haze, it’s embarrassing for you. You couldn’t help him finish and he had to take the charge himself. 

With a few more pumps, he cums all over your body. Starting from your face, to your stomach, everything gets creamed in his white hot seed. 

And it’s hot. He is hot. And you are pathetic. 

“I-I’m sorry. I know it was bad.” you manage to voice once Jungkook is done with himself. 

“You are not bad, baby. We just need more practice together.” and then he is sealing his lips with yours again. 

You certainly need more practice with him. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. | chapter 23

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: the night of day 163 - also known as the final confession

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - angst, mentions of death, sensuality, levi is sad(tm) but we are finally giving him what he needs! Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

As soon as Captain Levi hauls himself upright on the saddle of his horse, he’s gone.

Like a bat out of hell, his horse takes off towards the direction of the old Survey Corps headquarters.

Dust and dirt from the hasty exit licks at the tip of your boots.

The rest of the Levi squad had only finished settling on their own horses, with you the last to remain on the forest floor.

“He seems eager to get back,” Petra states with a slow apprehension to her tone.

Oluo grunts in reply, and you know.

You can feel his eyes locked onto the back of your skull.

Asking—

What happened between the two of you? 

Why do you remember the outcome of the last mission? 

What aren’t you telling us?

The myriad of questions are not lost on you, because you ask them yourself.

After all, you were barely given a chance to explain.

To understand.

Even before the rest of Levi squad made it to the fall site, the tension between you and Levi was palpable.

The way Levi stared at you, held you, in the aftermath.

Trapped between the before times and what you’ve been reduced to before his very eyes —

“James, are you good?” Gunther asks, softer this time, but it's all white noise.

Figure out if you mean it.

If you really do remember — any of this.

Levi's voice is the only one registering in your mind.

If you think you know me, then say it with your whole damn chest and hold nothing back.

You do. You know him.

Captain Levi.

Child of the Underground.

Captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Though you know him as something else; something profound; something too devastating to lose.

The one who almost got away.

Before you can say a word, your body moves on autopilot: you shove your foot into a worn stirrup and jump up and onto your horse with the reins gripped in both hands.

Snapping them with newfound urgency, you leave the remaining members of your squad behind to bridge the gap between you and Levi.

Go.

Wind sweeps your emerald cloak like wings behind you as you ride, urging you horse faster, faster, faster—

And you inhale.

The more that you breathe, the more that you push yourself forward, your body feels less like a foreign entity. 

Your fingers flex without a detached delay. 

The leather against your palm feels right, like—

…like you’ve finally woken up on the right side of the bed again.

By the time you reach the headquarter courtyard, his midnight horse is already tied to a banister at the stable.

In a rushed dismount from your saddle, your shaking hands hurriedly tie the knot around the same banister and rush towards the open doors.

As you run inside your shoes switch from crunch to click, from dirt to concrete floor.

The sky, once swirling in uncertain grays, opens to a light rain. 

An incoming storm echoes through cavernous hallways, turning grayed stone to black.

Everywhere you look, he isn’t there — the foyer, the rest areas, the abandoned offices —

"C'mon, c'mon..."

As you turn the corner towards the kitchen, your eager ears pick up the leisure pace of two sets of boots.

You move faster, hoping to see that familiar head of raven hair.

To your surprise, you find Hange and Moblit at the very end of the corridor chatting after a meal. 

When they notice your arrival, Moblit gives a little half-smile of recognition while the Section Commander holds out their arms, eager to greet you.

“Hey, hey! She’s back from all the action!” Hange yelps with excitement. “Now tell me, how—”

“Where’s Levi?”

Your sharp question interrupts Hange’s cheerful greeting.

In this light, Hange appears so much clearer to you. Gone is the fuzzy confusion; their outline now just as sharp as their wit and wonder.

(Something like a found safe space, warm and comforting.)

“Levi?” they question. “Huh, I didn’t think he was back.”

So they don’t know yet.

He didn’t say anything.

But he's here, you know he made it back here—

Urgently, you step towards the two.

“I need to know where he is. It’s urgent.”

“Did something happen?” Moblit gently presses.

“I remember,” you state, as if that’ll explain anything. They blink in tandem. “I don’t know how, but it—”

Your hand rises to your mouth, covering it and giving yourself a moment to think.

Except the problem is that you need to say it — thinking, second guessing, slows this down.

Focus.

Your hand drops, and your voice says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hange — you and I once drank Moblit so horrendously under the table that he was bedridden for two days.” 

Hange’s boot squeaks against the floor in an echo as they stop dead in their tracks. 

“And whenever we meet in the city, Moblit and I order dumplings from that one nice old woman just outside the hospital. I think — you get the most basic order and always make sure to bring something back for Hange.”

Moblit’s eyes shoot wide. “Whoa, that—”

You hold a hand out to placate Hange, who looks like they’re two seconds away from screeching with elation.

“I can’t explain to you know I know all of this, and I don’t have time to figure that out right now. It’s just sort of word-vomiting out of my damn mouth the longer I let myself talk — so I don’t want to stop talking, and I’ll figure out the details and the rest with the two of you later, but it—”

It could disappear at any minute.

You can’t breathe.

It’s so hard to breathe, but do your best to gulp an inhale anyway.

“Please, just… I need – to talk – to Levi.”

Before I forget again.

Before he thinks I’ve forgotten him all over again.

Both Hange and Moblit stare in a haze of surprise.

By the time you open your mouth to plead a third time, Hange holds up a hand. 

Their expression darkens with a seriousness they so rarely possess.

“If he’s not by Erwin’s office or with us, then chances are he’s in his bedroom."

His bedroom.

Relief floods your system.

“Right,” you exhale, jolted by adrenaline. “Thanks, Hange.”

With that, you speed off in the opposite direction.

Up the stairwell.

Down the hallway.

Be here, be here, be here.

Fist raised, you lunge forward towards the wooden door—

Yet the door opens freely, and you’re trapped staring into the eyes of Levi Ackerman.

He blinks away his surprise to that evergreen mask of indifference — resignation? 

There’s no edge to his shoulders. They’re sagged.

Lowering your fist, you’re met with silence. 

(You’ve come to hate silence more than anything.)

So you speak first.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

No pleas heard. No begging to be done.

“Yeah, might as well.”

Levi simply agrees.

The hand gripping the edge pulls the door towards him, conceding with an invitation inside.

Terrified doesn’t even begin to cover it — you push your way through, only to pause when your mind begins to recognize just how familiar this room feels with the light dance of rain outside an open window. 

Everything is so neat. Clean.

(And in the back of your mind, a voice says it’s exactly how you left it.)

The door locks shut, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.

Levi casually walks past you, pulling a chair from his desk and flipping it to face his bed.

He sinks down onto it, knees spread apart while his arm rests casually over the back.

“Start, then.”

His voice is guarded, shortened, as his eyes watch you from under wet, black fringe.

You stare, twisting your fingers around and against each other to self-soothe your nerves.

Your nostrils expand as you muster the courage to speak.

Yet when you do, your voice is smaller.

(So much could go wrong in one single moment.)

“I’ll start, just…"

"Just what?"

"Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes narrow. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this is different,” you argue weakly, wetting your lips.

“Try me,” he flatly goads. “I told you from the beginning—”

“—that you weren’t going to hand us our memories, fuck, I know already,” you bite to chomp off the rest of his statement, tired of hearing him push further distance between you. “Let me talk this bullshit out at you, alright? Not with you — but at you. Because the more I talk, the more things come back — it’s like my fucking unconsciousness is working faster than the rest of my body.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

When a few moments have passed, you take several steps forward to meet him — but turn to sit on the edge of his bed.

(Like you know belong there.)

He stops moving entirely, brow knit as he watches you descend.

Start, then.

“Before everyone swooped in, I told you that I thought I knew who I was. But… the more time goes by, it isn't a maybe anymore."

Your eyes remain on your hands, noting the calluses and age-old lines of scars across your fingers and palms. 

"And the longer time goes on, the more I talk, it becomes so much clearer."

Remember.

“I never knew my birth mother,” you continue, “not really. As far I know, she died when I was small. A lot of the details are still fuzzy, but some other sick bastard took her place. I think it's so hazy because there’s not much to remember about her. Mother... cared only about winning money."

Lost in your own thoughts, you drop your chin to your chest and exhale.

"I might have had siblings. None of them actually looked like me. They were just... stuck, too. And so many of them died."

All nameless faces.

All battle fodder for the almighty coin.

“I knew that the only way to live was to fight, so I fought. Hard. Every damn day until I couldn't stand on my two feet sometimes. That’s how we met.”

When you lift your eyes to stare him, he doesn’t react.

His nostrils flare in a twitch, but Levi remains in control of himself.

“My mother pit us against each other for money,” you continue softly. “That’s why I kept seeing this small, skinny boy in my dreams at a pub. For weeks, over and over, it was you. I gave you food — I wanted a friend. And…” 

You trail off, chewing on your next words very carefully. 

“And you gave me that. A friend. A chance to join your gang and live a life that was mine.”

Absently, your hand raises from your lap to your neck.

In the hopes of quelling your budding anxiety, your fingertip runs along the delicate silver chain at your sternum.

An old habit that won’t die, even in a state of memory loss.

Yet you catch him, right as it happens:

Levi’s hardened eyes shamelessly drop from yours — to stare at your fingers.

Your fingertip dips and circles the gray gem, mindful of its smooth texture.

Moments pass.

His eyes do not lift.

A familiar warmth spreads through your chest.

“My necklace.”

Then his eyes raise, as if suddenly aware of where he’s staring. 

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?”

You see him in your mind’s eye: a younger version of Levi sitting there, embarrassed to be offering such a delicate, sentimental gift to another person.

His gangly, teenage self overlaps the exhausted, battle-worn Levi across from you in his chair.

Both fighting.

Both surviving.

You feel so small as you try to remember the finite detail. Hitting a wall the longer the silence stretches, you're unable to pinpoint the exact memory.

Your nose scrunches in frustration, searching for that train of thought like a life line. 

“It was for my fifteenth— No, maybe my seventeenth—”

“Eighteenth.”

His voice is barely a murmur. 

Levi’s eyes do not leave your face.

“It was your eighteenth birthday.”

He manages to capture the memory eluding you before it can float away and dissolve to the wind.

A smile loaded with relief passes your lips.

It’s only a small nudge in the right direction, but it’s all you need for the memory to blossom like a flower on the surface in Spring.

The image of yesteryear blooms— 

White, billowing sleeves rolled to his elbows.

A cinched vest kept his clothes from flying off his small frame.

“With a lot of alcohol.”

“Yeah.”

“And a lot of extra cleaning the next morning.”

He exhales, slow and drawn out. “Something like that.”

You inhale sharply through your nose, emotions overwhelming you.

“Ever since Hange gave the necklace back to me, I can’t help but touch it any time I feel stressed or panicked. It’s like all of those bad feelings, they… go away. Disappear like the way titans do.”

Worries, gone like ash.

A ghostlike sensation runs against your lips, forcing you to reach and run along their seam.

Even if it's far away, you see it: a tilted head; black fringe.

Even now, you feel it: his lips so close; eyes wandering; the loss of reason.

“And you… you kissed me that day.”

Your first.

Both of your firsts.

When you smile, you notice then: his knuckles against the back of the chair turn translucent white.

“Wrong,” the captain tightly states.

Wait.

You freeze, fear settling in your belly.

“What?” you question. “But... but you did.”

He’s gripping the wooden backing so hard it could snap.

“I didn’t,” he forces out. “...you kissed me.”

Oh.

Oh. 

He’s not shutting you out.

Elation sweeps over your mind like a soothing balm as memories of pawing hands and inexperienced desire enters the forefront—

Finally clear as day.

Do you regret it, his voice whispers in the abyss.

“I never regretted that,” you reassure him, like you can finally answer him with absolute honesty. “Though technically you leaned in, and I ran with it.”

He huffs in disbelief. "Yeah?"

You smile with certainty. "Yeah."

Kisses between you two were just the tip of the iceberg. You know that now. 

You’ve seen it, felt it, tasted it—

In this very bedroom.

After a pause, the captain’s voice comes out strained.

“Of all the damn memories, that’s the one that stands out?”

You can’t help but huff with exhausted amusement.

“It isn’t the only one," you reply. "There are a million fragments I’m still piecing together and not everything makes sense, but there are some things that are just so vivid to me now. like…”

“Like?”

“Like our friends.”

Emotion flickers across his expression as he sits up further.

It’s like he’s been waiting to hear the names of your deceased comrades on your lips.

“You remember—”

“Isabel,” you whisper. “And Furlan. Yeah, it’s… bits and pieces just like everything else, but we grew up with them. I remember how we'd all spend hours zipping around that damn stolen ODM gear like we owned the joint. Somehow four kids managed to make an entire home in the Underground. And I wasn’t — I couldn’t be there when they—”

Profound sadness hits you like a ton of bricks, clipping your words.

I couldn't be there when they died.

The picture isn't complete, but you remember the sinking feeling in your belly when he had told you. So much time had gone by — you can vaguely pick out Isabel's wild red hair and recall thinking maybe the sun looked just like that. Furlan's infectious, warm laugh echoes in the back of your mind.

And you nearly joined them as a memory.

(No wonder why Levi was so angry with you at the start of it all.)

The rain continues to tap against the stone walls outside as another stretch of silence befalls the room.

One of Levi’s hands reaches for his face and runs down the length of it, tugging the skin as he goes.

His eyes drop to the floor, his dampened fringe shielding them from view.

“Un-fucking-believable…”

Your brow furrows.

“What?”

“This.”

That same hand sweeps a frustrated gesture between the two of you.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he grunts. “You hit your goddamn head almost a year ago and — and you nearly did the same fucking thing again today, and you’re telling me that’s all it took to suddenly wake you up?”

The harshness of his words cause you to rear your head back. 

Hange nearly ran to you with open arms when you told them you remembered.

You had thought perhaps Levi would do the same once you had proven your mind to him.

Yet he’s reluctant.

Angry.

“That isn’t what I’m saying,” you retort, narrowing your gaze. “I tried telling you months ago that my memories were fragmented, but you didn’t want to hear it. What, were you hoping I wouldn’t remember?”

Instantly his eyes are back on you. “I didn’t say that.”

“It sure feels like that, Levi,” you snip. “Was it because of our fight?”

The whites of his eyes explode.

“Our what?”

“Before we went on the last expedition,” you clarify under your breath. “When you tried sidelining me with counsel to Erwin. I asked you why you didn’t trust me to fight at your side, but it wasn’t that you didn’t trust me.”

What is the excuse you always, always, use?

It was such a vicious question in the heat of the moment.

Levi doesn’t hide his surprise this time.

Although he doesn’t answer your question, you can see it:

The same turmoil that pushed him to the brink of shouting, coming back to haunt him.

Because if I lose you this time, then that’s it!

The rattle of the storm increases in volume right outside his open window, billowing the sheer curtains from the wall.

You promised.

You promised him so many things that day.

Nothing will happen to me.

I’m not going anywhere.

“I won’t die on you, right?” you say to yourself, as if in a daze — trapped between the present and the past. “Because if I did, you’d drag my ass from Hell yourself.”

His face twists, contorts in pain, only for a second.

He catches himself at the precipice before he can truly react, swallowing it down—

And then it hits.

You understand what he isn't saying.

“You haven't stopped blaming yourself,” you realize out loud in a bewildered whisper. “Even after saving my ass a second time, you're still holding onto that guilt like it was a choice you had made instead of me.”

You stand abruptly from the bed and cross the room towards him.

Levi immediately jumps out of his chair like a cat that’s been dunked in water, terrified you’ll push him back under.

No matter how compelled you are to be near him, he repels. 

“It wasn't your fault,” you urge, softer this time. “Look at me. Levi — it wasn't your fault.”

His bluish-gray eyes narrow in defense. “Don’t start this—”

“When I fell—”

“No.”

“Levi,” you chastise. “You said we could talk.”

“I did,” he hotly retorts. “Not about that day.”

The air in the room shifts.

“Anything but that day,” he repeats, softer this time. “Please. I just —”

Struggling with what he wishes to say, his chin drops to his chest.

“...despite all my best efforts, despite whatever plans I put in place, I watched you fall in the same shitty forest not once, but twice, like it's a sick fucking dream I get to repeat over and over until I learn.”

All of your facial muscles smooth with sadness. “Except there wasn't anything to learn because you did nothing wrong. Levi, you caught me.”

“But not the first time,” he says simply. “Not when it mattered.”

The way he speaks about himself…

Humanity’s Strongest, reduced to one perceived failure, as if he could rewrite history and control your mistakes. 

Timidly you slide a boot forward, testing his resolve. 

Levi doesn’t move. His head remains bowed.

“You have spent months punishing yourself for something that I chose to do,” you urge under your breath in a damn-near plea. “What is it that Erwin tells us to do? Dedicate our hearts?"

"Don't use that shit against me, James," he warns.

Raising your hands in surrender, you shake your head wildly. "I'm not. Believe me, I'm not, but you need to understand it was my choice. I wanted to save the others. I wanted my life to matter."

You see his jaw clench like he's forcing himself to hold back what he wants to say.

You step another boot forward.

"Six months ago when I first saw you in that hospital wing in Trost, when you tried to rile me up, it was—”

“An error in judgment," he interrupts.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finish over him. 

His head lifts. 

You meet, eye to eye.

“I couldn’t understand why I was so transfixed by you,” you continue softly with the utmost sincerity, hoping he will hear you out. “You walked out of that room and all I wanted was to know you. To understand you, like you held this invisible key this entire time that could unlock whatever the hell it was that I was missing. But all you ever did was pull away from me, hide from me, trying to convince me you were some villain in my life—”

“James.” 

Abruptly Levi steps forward as if ready to walk straight through you—

—like you’re nothing but a ghost’s apparition.

Instead he is met with living, breathing warmth. 

Your eyes can’t leave when his breath tickles the skin of your face.

Levi stares back, entranced by the color of your eyes.

Infected, plagued, by the reality that stands before you both.

One false move, and it’ll be a repeat of the conversation in the tree tops that made him retreat.

“I have tried to keep you safe almost my entire life," Levi murmurs, and you can practically feel the vibrations of his voice rocking through your body.

“And you did.”

“I didn’t.”

“Levi, you—”

“I pushed you into danger—”

“Pushed?”

“—and I am sorry—”

Your hand shoots out, turning his cheek to look you dead in the eye. 

“Stop it.”

Levi freezes, looking so much more uncertain now that he did ten minutes ago.

“Stop," you repeat with exasperation. “You're not listening to me. I'm here. I'm right here.”

He swallows to coat his throat, motion thick. His neck bobs.

"I don't know how else to convince you it isn't a fluke," you continue, voice cracking. "You won't let yourself see me. You won't let yourself believe I'm not dead. Levi—"

And just when you think you’ve lost him—

He turns towards the warmth.

His cheek nuzzles your open palm, eyes wearily slipping shut, as if helpless to do so.

You’re holding the first face you remember and the last face you’ve seen —

The partner you left in the forest so long ago.

The man that wants more than he’ll ever allow himself to take.

Levi's confession is barely audible:

“...I don't want it to be too good to be true again."

The floorboard creaks as his foot shifts towards you, angling himself towards you. 

He inhales slowly through his nose, relishing in a private thought, before shaking his head. His hair nearly tickles your forehead.

When he doesn't open his eyes, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he won't see you—

Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his hand until yours curls over it.

At first his fingers flinch in your grasp, his blue-gray eyes snapping wide to watch.

Then eventually they relax, surrendering.

Higher and higher, you skim it past your ribcage and pull it up to your left breast. 

His arm tenses, eyes shooting wide. 

You remain relaxed. Focused.

“What is it you feel?” 

“I don’t under—” 

“Just… pause, for once in your life, and tell me what it is you feel.” 

You press his palm harder against your chest, your heart hammering beneath your skin. 

“Please.”

Albeit apprehensive, Levi doesn’t move away. 

His eyes dart to your lips, your sternum, until they lock onto your joined hands.

“You.”

Strained — he chokes on his response.

“I feel… you.”

As if pulled by gravity Levi steadily leans closer, brushing your nose with his.

His jaw clenches, the muscles taut in his mouth, before his palm flattens of his volition against your chest.

Your eyes flutter, relishing in his proximity.

You turn to him, seeking out his body heat.

For the first time in months, you feel it with such certainty.

Familiarity.

His free hand rises to your cheek, cupping the side of your face.

You suck in a sharp breath between parted lips, and he makes a small noise like he’s agonized over being apart from you.

“Every time that I’ve been given the choice, I always choose you,” you confess softly, a mere whisper. “I run right towards you even when I don’t know you. You are the only thing that has ever made sense to me in this world.”

There — you memorize the slide of his calloused palm, running gently along the height of your cheekbone.

Slow, as if mesmerized by your skin’s softness.

Shakily, you continue and choose the point of no return.

“Tell me you don't want me anymore, and I’ll stop running to you. If I have somehow misjudged you and what you might still feel—”

“Say it.”

Levi’s voice engulfs you — the heavy baritone, barely touching your lips.

His expression darkens like he wrestles with two separate trains of thought.

Conflict etched in his brow, he swallows once more and speaks with a tenderness you only remember in dreams.

“Say you remember me.”

After all this time, you've waited for the puzzle to connect.

The pieces that were once scattered now sew themselves together; anew.

He asks without asking.

You answer without uncertainty.

“I remember you.”

As if mesmerized by the curves of your body, Levi’s hand glides from your chest up your throat—

Until his fingers cradle the back of your head.

His other hand remains on the side of your face, holding you as though you could turn into water at any moment.

"Say it again."

You don't hesitate to obey his command.

"I remember you."

To make your point, you turn your chin into his hand — eyes locked — to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

He nearly hisses from the physical contact.

"Again."

Levi's breath slides into your mouth like a phantom kiss of his own.

(Touch starved after so many months apart.)

“I remember you, Levi Ackerman. I remember you, I remember you, I remember—”

You stop talking when he leans in, lips barely brushing yours. 

Your breath halts. 

His is ragged. Soft.

Then he speaks, as if to pray after a long night of war:

“Dirty trick."

That’s all it takes.

Levi reaches out whip-fast, using the palm against your skull to pull you into a searing, life-altering, mind-numbing kiss. 

You go pliant against him, melting like candle wax, willing to take anything he’ll give.

Lips press and pull, his breath hot on your tongue.

His hands search you as if he doesn't know where to touch first — your face, your neck, your shoulder — until he decides to loop his forearm at the small of your back to dip and lift you without ever breaking the kiss.

You jump until your knees bracket his hips, and he pulls you flush to his body.

Levi hastily kicks the chair out of his way to carry you directly to his bed.

And after all this time, you feel it — know it — remember it.

The absence dissipates.

The world finally starts to turn.

You have found your way home.

.

author's note:

...hehe. So how are we feeling, Levi Nation? Let me know in the comments!

Thank you for your patience as I took a little break this summer to write some modern!Levi with Press Four for More Options. To readers old and new, I am so grateful for your encouragement and support. (Every reblog gives this writer wings.)

[seeingivy]

middle name

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

all you can do is stare.  

there’s the smallest hint of gray hairs mixed in with his natural color. his hair is longer, but it’s still the same color. he has the faintest smile lines near his eyes and that small wisp of a beard that he used to always sport is long gone. 

he looks younger. what you assume is his youngest daughter is wearing a sparkly green bracelet. green was always sammy’s favorite color. they both seem to have his nose – though that’s really the only resemblance they bear, since they almost entirely take after the lady at their side. 

she had to be younger than him, a willowing black dress clinging lovingly to her figure. she had the same smile lines and that short haircut that you find young moms always sported, with three stacked silver chains and a glittering diamond on her finger. 

you wonder if she smells like vanilla like your mom does. 

“don’t react.” 

you turn to your left to find sammy at your side, sukuna and yuuji hovering in the background with matching hazel eyes filled with concern. you shake your head – throwing away the image of their picture perfect smiles – as you focus on sammy, mostly on the fact that her upper lip is trembling. 

sammy was always the favorite. 

“what did you say?” you ask. 

“don’t react.” sammy repeats. 

you pause, mulling over the thought. 

“okay.” you respond. 

“yeah? because we can’t give that asshole the satisfaction. he has no right barging in here the way he just did.” sammy seethes. 

you give her a nod, before she takes her side next to you on the wall, the four of you leaning against the wallpaper. sukuna slithers his hand into yours, offering you a smile that you don’t return, before focusing back on the four of them in the living room. 

it annoyed you – that you didn’t have enough time to really consider what the best course of action would be. not reacting, you suppose you could understand the appeal. of showing him that you were above him, that he didn’t even warrant a response. 

but deep down, you wondered if that would bother you the day after next. if you would be standing in the shower, rinsing the soap out of your hair, and somehow come up with the right thing to say, that would perfectly encapsulate whatever it was that you were feeling. 

though you suppose that’s easier said than done. you can barely put words to whatever it is that’s forming in your chest. 

you watch as he talks to sukuna’s old basketball coach. so loudly animated as he chats – about how the property values are better two towns over and how the school district is better for the girls. you wonder if the coach thinks it’s offensive. you wonder if he ever considered that you and sammy needed to switch to a better school too. 

and it happens in a split second – your dad catching the sight of the four of you – before lifting off the couch and closing the distance between you. yuuji shoots you a weary glance as he gives the four of you a bright smile, before clearing his throat. 

you catch a slight whiff of the lemon smell as he walks up, though the lingering scent of smoke you remember gone all together. 

“sukuna. is that you?” 

you look over at sukuna, watching as he swallows hard, before clenching his jaw. 

“yes.” 

you watch as he frowns, before pressing one of his hands to his chest. 

“i’m so sorry for your loss, kid.” he states. 

“sure. thanks.” sukuna responds, rather stiffly. 

you can tell that your dad finds the situation uncomfortable – being treated so blandly by the kid he watched grow up, a kid that he knows could surely be more expressive than that – as his eyes flicker over to you and then back to sukuna. 

“your dad told me you studied abroad in europe. is this a pretty girlfriend you brought back?” 

you bite down so hard on your cheek that all you taste is metallic blood pouring out of the side of your mouth. the implication makes all of you seethe. 

that he still talked to people in town. that sukuna’s dad had known his whereabouts, probably for years. and worst of all, that he didn’t recognize you. 

“what?” sukuna hisses. 

your dad turns over to you, eyes bright, as he holds his hand out. you can feel a sensational burning in the back of your eyes. 

“he always used to brag about how his son was studying with the greats. i’m mr. l/n. i’ve known sukuna since he was little.” he states, holding his hand out. 

you swallow down the lump of bile, before extending your hand out to him, unsettled by the freezing cold feeling. 

that was in no way what mr. itadori said. and he didn't know sukuna, only briefly, when he was little, before he ran away. and you know exactly who he is – far too well. 

“nice to meet you.” you mumble. 

“take care of this one, okay? he’s a tough one, but we all need a little love sometimes.” he jokes, lightly tapping sukuna on the shoulder. 

you watch as he gives sukuna a lingering smile, before shuffling over two steps to where sammy is. sukuna places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes boring into yours – like he’s trying to beckon for your attention – as you watch the two of them. 

“hi sammy girl.” he whispers. 

you watch as sammy’s eyes water. sukuna watches as you clench your jaw. 

“hi dad.” she whispers. 

so much for not reacting. 

you wonder if you would have broken just as fast if he recognized you. though you suppose you’ll never know, because he didn’t. 

it’s a long list of things you’ll never know. the questions that bother you at night – the ones that expose that deep rooted rot that festered in your brain –  seem to come to the surface for the first time, in broad daylight. 

when did he fall out of love with your mom? when was sukuna going to fall out of love with you? why does he have such a distaste for you? if you were more polite like sammy, would he have stayed? if you screamed a little louder, would the begging have worked? 

“i wanted to tell you something.” 

you watch as he slings his hand around sammy’s shoulder, squeezing hard, before pointing to the two little girls that are seated on the couch, the two of which were making a mess of mrs. itadori’s coaster set. you wonder what she’d think fo all of this, if she wasn’t so preoccupied. 

“those are my girls. claire and molly.” 

you watch as sammy scrunches up her nose, her fists clenched into little balls at her side. 

“molly was born a year ago. she’s a little shy, but she loves music. but claire, claire’s the exact opposite. headstrong, strong-willed. exactly how a big sister should be.” 

“so?” sammy asks, her voice dripping with attitude. 

he shakes his head. 

“what i mean is that my girl claire reminds me of you. my first girl. so much so, that…well. claire and molly are real special to me. but you, my sammy girl, are always going to be the person who made me a father. that’s why i made claire’s name claire samantha.” 

you watch the tears spill from sammy’s eyes, the most bitter contempt in her eyes, as she turns to him, wiping away the stray. 

the questions return. what festers in someone to breed such cruelty? what horrors could you and sammy had exacted in your past life to deserve it? how much pressure does it take before something cracks? 

would sammy ever get over the fact that she had basically, for all intents and purposes, been replaced? which one is worse – not warranting recognition or just enough to be traded out for the shinier new model? 

“thanks dad. that’s real kind of you.” she mutters, crossing her hands over her chest before leaning back against the wall. 

you watch as his face falls, albeit halfheartedly – the clear inclination that he didn’t really mind that the statement didn’t land as he intended – before he turns back to the three of you and gives you an awkward smile. 

“family stuff.” he mutters. 

he disgusts you.

“well, i’ll take my leave. molly’s about to start fussing. i’m very sorry for your loss again, boys.” 

you watch as he walks off, retreating back to the couch and picking up claire – claire samantha – before you feel sukuna’s lips on your temple, his hands rubbing circles into your side. yuuji’s at sammy’s side, offering her his pocket square which she takes. 

“oh shit.” sammy mutters. 

“what?” you ask. 

“he’s going to the patio, where mom is.” 

you clear your throat, turning on your heel to move, before sammy reaches for your elbow. 

“it’s better if you stay here. you don’t want to make things worse when he realizes it’s actually you.” sammy responds, before walking off towards the direction of the room. 

sukuna watches as you step back, cursing the fact that sammy, for the most part, always seemed to have a horrible way with words, as he reaches for your hand. 

he knows what she meant. that whatever reaction your mom was going to warrant would get infinitely worse when she realized that your own father wasn’t able to recognize you at first glance. 

but she didn’t need to say it like that, sinking words placing the blame on you. 

“she didn’t mean it like that.” yuuji states. 

sukuna watches as you look over at yuuji, face blank, as you nod. he can see that you’re picking at the scab from the shot glass a few days prior on your hand, but you sidestep too fast before he stick his hand in between yours and make you stop. 

“i know.” you respond. 

it stings. 

“i’m just going to take a minute. i’ll be back.” you respond. 

you drag your feet as fast as they can take you to sukuna’s room, before shutting the door behind you, quick and fast breaths heaving out of your chest as your vision blurs. sukuna’s voice is quiet, muffled by the wood. 

“hey. i’m on the other side when you’re ready for me, okay pretty girl?” 

--

you sit in sukuna’s room for two hours, watching the sun sink down into the horizon from his window, watching as people trail in and out of the front door from below. it’s a pretty sunset – a vibrant mix of purple, blue, and pink – with the clouds swirling beneath. 

if sukuna’s dad was a different type of guy, you’d almost think it was a sign from him. that sweet solace that people felt – seeing their loved ones in the beauty of nature. 

though, you’d figure he’d be more of a hurricane or a tornado, wrecking havoc to everything he touched, as opposed to a pretty sunet that shed light. 

sitting at the windowsill is the first time you realize that from sukuna’s vantage point, he’s always had a perfect view of your bedroom window. it’s not exactly level, so you assume that he was probably never able to see much, except for if your light was on or off and if your curtains were pulled. 

you wonder how often he stared at it. 

you find one of his sukuna’s old hoodies and pull it over your dress, before climbing into his sheets and pressing your face into his pillow. it smells faintly of his shampoo, the smell so sweetly comforting, as you feel your eyes swell up, the choking feeling in your throat unbearable. 

the sounds that leave you are embarrassing, but luckily, you’re the only one who can hear them. 

[sammy]: mai came to get me. let’s talk tomorrow okay? 

the typing bubble appears, before disappearing. and after a few minutes, a second text followers. 

[sammy]: i love you. 

you wonder if that complicated, infected part of your brain that seemed to always cultivate some type of disgust for sammy, even when nothing really happened, was a part that you got from your dad. 

you’re almost positive that it is. and it bothers you that it somehow feels like it’s something so fundamental, almost biological, that she’ll always rub salt into a wound that you can’t even heal. 

you turn your phone off instead. 

--

“are you okay? your mom mentioned that you went upstairs pretty abruptly, said you needed a minute.” 

sukuna looks up to find your mom standing there, two ice cold bottles of water in her hands, before she plops down on the carpet next to him, hiking her knees to her chest. the usual picture of perfect hair is astray, the front stands pulled out, and sukuna absentmindedly wonders if you get your hair pulling habit from her. 

he doesn’t respond. only because what he said was a lie. 

not entirely at least. it was true that he needed a minute, it was just an obstruction of truth that he really needed to take that minute for you. 

sukuna notes that she doesn’t mind the silence that much – not only because it’s something that she was well versed in, the mere fact that sukuna didn’t really like to talk when it came to things like this – and instead changes the subject. 

“has she come out yet?” she asks. 

“no. did yuuji tell you what happened?” sukuna responds. 

she smiles, leaning her head back against the rungs of the stairs. 

“you missed quite a show downstairs.” 

“what?” 

she laughs, before reaching up to mess with the ends of the strand closest to her ear. 

“he walked out onto the patio with his wife, cindy he said her name was, because he wanted to offer his condolences. your mom responded by slapping him across the face.” 

sukuna wishes he was there to see it. or do it himself. 

“he was about to start yelling but that’s when sammy came out. i got the gist of what happened before, because sammy basically dragged him out on his ear, giving him a choice set of words about how he can’t gives his new daughter the same names as his old ones, and that he wasn’t her father, no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking that he was.” 

sukuna watches as she pauses, taking a shaky breath. 

“he told sammy that he wouldn’t really want to be their father anyways, which is why he left, and yuuji punched him in the face.” 

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“i really did miss a show, didn’t i?” he mutters. 

“nothing we aren’t used to. i’d think hell froze over if there wasn’t some type of drama at this thing. though, i’d expect violent dramatics from you, not yuuji.” 

sukuna shakes his head. 

“he came up and talked to all of us before you. he didn’t even recognize y/n, he…he thought she was some girlfriend i brought home from studying abroad. and i’d almost understand it – she was really little when she left – but there’s no excuse. she looks the exact same.” sukuna offers. 

sukuna looks over, seeing the same bridge of your nose mirrored in her face, before looking back at the faded paint chipping off the wood of his bedroom door. he wished that he had yuuji’s horrible habits of hoarding snacks in his room, just so that you weren’t sitting in there crying.  

“do you have the key?” 

“what?” 

“the key to the door.” she states. 

sukuna bites at his lip. 

“i’m not going to open it. or give it to you. she’ll come out when she’s ready for me.” sukuna mutters. 

he watches as she laughs, full bellied and warm, before reaching forward and tangling the matted mess of his hair off of his forehead. 

“have i ever been one to force you to do anything?” 

sukuna sighs, slumping against the wall, before shaking his head. 

he had heard the sentiment before, the first time he carried his tired and bleeding knees to the porch, after being kicked out of his house for the first time. 

he nearly beat his knuckles bloody from knocking on the door loud enough before she came down, tired and weary eyes that were instantly snapped awake at his crying. and he can’t exactly remember what it was that he said, though he assumes that it wasn’t short of rudeness. 

when he begged to stay. and when she let him in without a second glance, he said it quietly.

“you can’t force me to tell you what happened.” 

and the response was always the same – the seventh, eight, and ninth time – before he finally got a understood. 

have i ever been one to force you to do anything? 

“do me a favor, sukuna.” she states. 

“okay.” 

“let me take care of your mom.” 

sukuna looks over at her, taken aback by the sentiment. he was half expecting the half hearted lecture that sammy gave him months prior, about being careful and gentle with her sister, and was expecting a tougher version of that to come from what he knew was a very opinionated and defensive woman. 

“what?” 

“the worst part is over. i appreciate you picking up slack with me where you could and i’m sorry i couldn’t help more.” 

sukuna shakes his head. 

“she was basically debilitated. you had to stay with her.” he offers. 

“and you sicked my daughter on your brother. but his boyfriend has got him for the rest and i’ll be with your mom for the foreseeable future, like i always have been.” 

“i don’t think –” 

“you’re leaving here tonight. and you’re taking my daughter with you.” she states. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“i can’t just leave her. she’s my mom and…and she’s been so fucking fragile for the past few days. you saw how she acted when –” 

“and you’re her son. that’s not your job.” 

she pauses. 

“you step back and take care of my daughter. and maybe more importantly, let my daughter take care of you.” she whispers, raking her fingers through his hair again. 

sukuna feels a shiver down his spine, before shaking his head. he can’t just leave. 

“no.” 

“sukuna.” 

he shakes his head again, this time more fervently. 

he can’t just leave. he can’t just pawn his own mother off to her and his brother to megumi and walk away. 

“you know that godawful, shitty dining table downstairs that your dad picked out? the one that we gave to goodwill when he left for his trip to new york?” 

“yeah.” 

he remembered the fight that followed after when he realized it was gone. and sometimes, he wondered why his mom would pick a fight over something so trivial as a table. 

“it was really heavy. seeing it every day irritated her to no end – that this was her house and her space and that he had taken over it another time. it pissed your mom off so much that every night, after they fought, she’d try to push it out of that damn room on her own. ” 

sukuna snorts. 

“i remember that.” 

she smiles. 

“i remember it too. watching her try to push it out of that room on her own, barely making a dent in moving it the merest inch. i think sammy even took a picture of it with that shitty disposable camera i bought her.” 

sukuna rubs his palms together. 

“okay.”

“i ended up helping her. carried one side and we were able to move it a few more inches. it didn’t really do much, so i got that piece of shit down the street, to help us too. and the old guy who used to live next door, the handyman. your dad was on a three day trip and it took five of us to push that god forsaken table out of the house.” 

sukuna feels her pull him closer, wrapping him in a hug. it makes his chest pang, eerily similar to the feeling of being sixteen and sitting on the fact that he was going to leave without saying goodbye. 

“my point is that there’s just some things you can’t carry alone, son.” 

sukuna feels his throat dry. his eyes water, as he understands – the embarrassing and pitiful question spilling out as a byproduct. 

“what if it’s too heavy for her? what…what if i can’t hold her up?” he asks, shaking his head as his voice cracks. 

what if sukuna breaks his lifeline? an even worse fate than you dying – being the one responsible for killing you. 

she smiles, before gesturing to her left, where sukuna sees yuuji standing. 

“you’re more than capable, sukuna. you always have been. and there’s always an extra set of hands to help you lift.” 

the thought comes an hour later. 

maybe his mom did get to meet the love of her life. and maybe it just wasn’t the person he was expecting it to be. 

the second one that follows makes even more sense. 

of course the love was always going to be there between you and him. it was destined before you even got here. genetic even. 

--

you make it back home around two in the morning, to three plastic wrapped plates of dinner and megumi asleep on your couch. 

it feels a little bit like intruding, but the two of you can’t help but stare as yuuji lightly nudges megumi to wake up, the latter of whom literally bolts up at the sight of him, arms quick on his face before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

you look over at sukuna, gesturing for him to turn around with you, as sukuna unboxes the closest package – the replacement of the broken mug from your birthday – as you hear the two of them retreat, a quiet goodnight whispered to the pair of you. 

“which mug do you want?” he asks. 

“we can just share.”

there’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he wraps his hands around your wrists, his touch warm as he pulls you forward, tucking you straight into his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

and you’re not sure when it starts, but it’s not long before he’s quietly weeping, his frame shaking under you as you bury yourself closer to him, his heart pounding under your ear as you run your hands up and down his arms, quietly whispering into his ears. 

he doesn’t stop. he makes no inclination of stopping and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

you pull back, cupping his flushed pink cheeks, and wiping away the wetness from his eyelashes before locking your fingers together behind his neck. 

“you took my jacket.” he whispers, voice strained. 

“it was cold in your room.” you respond. 

he nods, before leaning his forehead against yours, quietly trying to steady his breaths in pace with yours, before he abruptly pulls away, and leans against the granite. 

“what’s wrong?” you ask. 

he gestures his head to the left, where yuuji is standing, before quickly wiping the wetness from his face and pouring the warm milk into the mug. you give him a nod before retreating over to where yuuji is standing, his eyes glued to sukuna. 

“yuuji?” 

yuuji looks over at you, shaking his head. 

“sorry. i wanted to take a shower. do you –” 

“i’ll get you a towel, yuu.” 

yuuji watches as you retreat, socks sliding on the tile, as he runs his hand through his hair, a deeply sweltering hot regret in his chest. 

he had you pegged all wrong. both of you, written off the second he found out about it. 

yuuji had the tiniest glimpse of it the other day. the way you so freely ranted to sukuna, watching as he quietly attended to you by braiding your hair to stop you from pulling at it, really – exuding a quiet comfort he didn’t even know he possessed. 

but this was worse. because while you were being exactly who he knew you to be – maybe just shocked that you were able to do it with someone else – what he just saw in the short amount of time – sukuna freely crying, or more importantly, openly humbling himself to let someone in to help him crawl out – it was foreign. 

unheard of. yuuji was almost positive that sukuna hadn’t even done it before, being so vulnerable with someone. 

and he had been giving him a hard time for it

“here’s your towel.” 

yuuji grabs your hand as you hand it over to him, squeezing hard as he looks up at you, teary eyed. 

“thank you.”

for loving my brother. 

“of course. get some rest.” you respond, giving him a smile as you watch him retreat back to the room. 

sukuna’s crying has ceased when you make your way back to the kitchen. there’s a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a godawful amount of marshmallows and whipped cream, that he passes over to you for the first sip. 

“i’m back.” you respond. 

he nods, as he place the cup in your hand hand. and it’s a searing warmth in your cheeks as sukuna lifts his hand, wiping the whipped cream residue from the top of your lip. 

“real cute.” he responds, before licking the excess off his own fingers. 

you shrug. 

“i try.” 

he smiles, taking the mug from you. 

you’re confused by what happens next – because it looks like he’s going to say something, even going as far as opening his mouth to start talking, before he clamps it shut, with something steaming behind his eyes that you can’t really understand. 

and he does it a few times.

“are you okay?” 

“yeah. yeah, i just…was trying to figure out how to talk.” 

“how to talk?” you ask. 

“you know. about all the stuff.” 

you hum in response, before looping your arm around his torso, watching the marshmallows slowly dampen under the warm liquid, the smallest amount of steam still leaving the glass. 

“it’s probably a lot.” you murmur. 

“you have no idea.” 

“how about you pick one thing? and we’ll do one thing at a time.” 

sukuna nods, heaving a deep sigh, before tangling his free hand into your hair. 

“my dad was a piece of shit.” 

one of the marshmallows sinks down into the cup, the curved waves of the whipped cream disintegrating with it. 

“i mean…my dad was a piece of shit. he died a piece of shit and now he won’t ever be anything else.” 

you nod. 

“do you…do you know those lifetime shows? where people go on the news and talk about how…how different things changed their lives? like families getting out of horrible financial situations and being happy or people finally getting time to put the work in to better themselves?” 

“yeah.” 

“i had this really, really crappy thought that i held on to when i was a kid. that some day, that prick would just wake up, and realize what really mattered. that he’d put in the work, that i’d watch my mom get what she deserved, and…and he’d come to my wedding.” he murmurs. 

sukuna shakes his head, before clenching his jaw. 

“knowing him, the last thing he probably said about you was shitty. and not because he was some vile, sick asshole filled with hatred for you – but hatred for me. for yuuji. for the fact that you were fine with yuuji just as he was. liked me just as i am.” 

the steam from the mug is gone. 

“that stupid asshole died just as he was. a homophobic, misogynistic prick. he won’t ever change.” 

you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“still hurts, doesn’t it?” you ask. 

sukuna nods. 

and thanks his lucky stars that you had that in you, to parse out what he really meant. that his dad died just as he was and now sukuna knows that whatever it was he lost out on is something he won’t ever be able to get back. 

grief for what was never going to be. 

“more than you know.” he responds. 

sukuna pauses. 

“what do you think about it?” he asks. 

you look down at the mug. 

“that it’s his loss.” 

“what?” 

“by some turn of fate, your dad was very undeservingly blessed with two very loving children. it’s his loss that he’s died without even getting to feel even an inch of that. and i get it, that on paper, his legacy, his career – it’s seemed so worthwhile to people at your house. that even though he died young, he lived a very full life.” 

you push the mug over to him. 

“to me, it always seemed like he was chasing something. a better title at work, a bigger party he could throw to show off, anything that made him feel like he was larger than life. and i feel sorry for him. he’s had two boys that give the word love meaning under his roof for all these years and it’s embarrassing for him that he never got to feel it.” 

you shrug. 

“you won’t ever get to have the dad you wanted. but he won’t ever get to reap the benefits, the good love, of what he already had.” 

sukuna leans forward, gentle hands on your cheeks, before locking his lips with yours, the kiss mixed in with his quiet tears. 

the best kind of kiss he could give you – affectionate. devoted. and bare. you felt like the smallest parts of him were in the palm of your hand, to cherish and preserve. 

“your turn.” he whispers. 

you snort. 

“do you have short term memory loss? i just told you what i thought.” 

sukuna shakes his head, wiping the wetness on the back of his hand, before clearing his throat. 

“i gave you three hours in that room. it’s your turn.” 

you elbow him in the side, before lifting the mug with your hands. 

“i gave you a week.” 

“you’ve always been more patient than me. i nearly broke the door down.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“i know you have a key.” 

“and i’d never use it.” sukuna affirms. 

you smile, seeping in the warmth of the ceramic mug, as you look down at the flowery print, a mottled mess of liquid swimming from everything you had mixed in the cup.

“some part of me thinks that i’m rotten.” 

sukuna watches as you set the mug down, reaching for the ends of your hair as you twirl them in your fingers. 

“what?” 

you sigh, warm tears in your eyes. 

“i always thought that there was something wrong with me. there was always a rotten part of me, deep down, and everything i was doing was to keep it from getting out. like…like an infection or something.” 

“okay.” sukuna whispers, his tone in his voice beckoning for you to continue. 

“he’s vile. he’s vile for showing up to your dad’s funeral. for not even saying a word to yuuji when he was there the day he was born, for trying to sweet talk on your behalf like he knows you or something. having a new family, two new girls, not even sparing a second glance to what came before.” 

you pause. 

“and he’s my dad. he’s vile and sometimes i feel like he’s…he’s in my head. that some part of him is always going to be intertwined with me and deep down, running through my blood, and that’s why i won’t ever win.” 

sukuna reaches forward, cupping your warm cheeks in the palm of his hands. and you look up at him, warm brown hazel eyes so washed in concern for you, and it makes your chest hurt. 

“i look at you and all i can think about is that one day, it’ll be the last time you’ll look at me like that. because you’ll leave. you’ll realize that it’s just lipstick on a pig, or…or too much and you’ll take your leave for something better.” 

sukuna wishes that he was the one who got to punch him instead of yuuji. 

“what do you think?” you ask. 

sukuna drops his hold, lifting your hands against his lips and pressing a kiss against your knuckles. 

“that i wish i punched him instead.” he states. 

“what? someone punched him?” 

sukuna smiles. 

“my mom slapped him. and yuuji punched him. everyone got to have their cake except for me.” 

you snort. 

“i wish it was me. because i think he’s sick in the head.” 

typical. sukuna was never one to really mince his words. 

“i think it’s absolutely disgusting that he left without a trace and that the one person he talked to when he left was my dad – though i suppose that’s fitting.”

sukuna pauses. 

“it’s been criminal to watch your mom suffer when she’s one of the first people who gave me a lifeline…and when she brought my second lifeline into this world.” 

you smile. 

“i think any bit of harshness or judgment i’ve passed on sammy is unfair, because i think i’d be immeasurably cruel at times too if the one person who was required to love me felt that i was special enough to deserve a replacement, but not enough to be the one who was actually loved.” 

you sigh.. 

“and i think it’s batshit insane that he was unable to recognize you when most of the time, you’re the only person in the room with me. it’s entirely unbelievable to me that the one person he gave no recognition to is probably the only person who would ever deserve it.” 

sukuna looks down at you and frowns.

“you’re a considerate daughter, a compassionate sister – maybe even when you shouldn’t be – and the warmest friend that my brother has ever had.” 

sukuna leans forward, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. 

“you’re a beautiful girlfriend, so painfully kind-hearted towards me that i’m half convinced you’re god with the way you’re able to fix everything with just your hands. you’re everything good and every part of you is worth acknowledging and appreciating. it’s humiliating for your dad that he’s part of the reason you’re here – and that he won’t ever be able to realize that his greatest accomplishment is you.” 

you lean forward, tucking yourself into his neck, and it makes sukuna shiver – the cold tears running down his neck as you quietly sob, your voice muffled against the fabric of his jacket. 

“you think i’m god?” you sniffle. 

sukuna rolls his eyes, unable to contain his smile. 

“of course that’s what you take away from it.” 

you lean back, looking up at him and the smile on his face. and you commit it to memory – the laugh, the love in the silence, and how it persists in the pain. 

“people worship gods.” you clarify. 

“and i worship you.” 

you curl your nose in disgust. 

“ew, sukuna.” 

“you’re not saying ew when i’m doing it. it sounds a lot more like –” 

you wrap your hand over his mouth, before shushing him. 

“your brother is in the next room over.” 

“he’s always such a thorn in my side.” sukuna mutters, earning you a laugh from him. 

the two of you retreat after the fact. you wash sukuna’s hair in the shower. he insists on doing your skincare for you. and the sun rises on the two of you the next day.

--

next part linked here

an: LOL. ok I write dream girl now I just wanted to get that out of me.

edit: someone left an ??? upset? or like...idk the word for it comment on ao3 about the fact that it's kind of toxic that sukuna calls her god at the end. pls know that it's JUST a metaphor and he's just trying to compare her to something that's really important and being hyperbolic 💌

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[cyber-dump-171]

Prologue: Missing

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 3.2 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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“Excuse me, coming through".

You walk down the dim corridor, the sound of telephones and mundane conversations muffled by the large window that separates the common office from the rest of the rooms. You take a quick glance inside and notice that it is emptier than usual, with only a couple of agents sitting at their desks filling out forms, watching the television broadcasting the evening news, or chatting with their cubicle neighbors.

You continue, carefully hugging the old box tighter as you slip past some of your father's co-workers, who greet you quietly before resuming their conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts wafting through the air. You're thankful it's not a stupidly strong cologne like the one James Blanc, one of the junior officers, wears. He puts on too much and it always makes you sneeze.

It reminds you of your male classmates who shower themselves in body spray after gym class, the smell making you dizzy as you sit inside the suffocating classroom.

After a few minutes of walking down the dull, gray hallway, you finally reach your destination, stopping in front of a worn wooden door with a silver plaque that reads a familiar name in faded letters: "Det. Pembroke”. Behind the doorway, you can hear a male and female voice, the latter sounding distressed, though you can't discern what they're talking about. Balancing the cardboard box on one arm, you lift your free hand and rack your knuckles against the solid material.

"Come in, door's open", replies a gruff voice after a couple of seconds of silence. Grunting and mentally begging yourself not to drop the heavy package, your hand quickly finds the handle and turns it urgently, the old wood creaking loudly as the door swings open, giving way to a simple yet messy office.

Tall rectangular metal cabinets and bookcases line the dark green walls, with various certificates and diplomas filling the empty spaces. On the right side of the room is a large display cabinet with various comic book figurines, knick-knacks, trophies and photo frames, displaying some of your family's memorabilia and achievements. On the opposite side of the office, under a rectangular window, is a wooden table with small drawers containing a small coffee pot and water dispenser. 

Your eyes sweep around the room and settle on your father, who sits behind a metal desk, with piles of documents, dirty mugs, a cup full of pens and pencils, and an old laptop taking up space on the surface. Behind it is a large map detailing the geography of your city, Kotohira. You take notice of several colored thumbtacks mark certain areas, though you can't see exactly where they point to.

He lifts his head to acknowledge your presence and his slender finger points to a table hidden in the corner of the room. “Put it there, kid. Careful with that, it's important,” you nod quickly at your father's words and head for the cabinet, pushing aside the manila folders to make room for the box. 

You place the package down with a quiet sigh, using your now free hands to wipe the dust from your button-up shirt, your legs burning as a reminder that it's been hours since you've sat down, too busy running errands and fetching documents around the station. 

Your father's eyes focus again on the woman sitting across from him, and he clears his throat as he continues. “Mrs. Enma, please don't worry, my men are working full-time to solve this case,” he reassures the woman, who nods silently at his affirmation.

Your gaze is drawn to the figure, an old woman you recognize as your upstairs neighbor who lives in apartment 305, Saeki Enma. You have bumped into her and her husband several times, either in the building's elevator or the nearby supermarket. It's strange to see her like this, with her usual warm smile and cheerful laughter replaced by a chagrined expression and puffy red eyes.

However, her reaction is understandable, as her only grandson is now the ninth person to go missing in the last month in Kotohira.

Saeki shakily reaches for her small black leather purse sitting on her lap, her small hands pulling out a beautiful baby-blue silk handkerchief, dabbing the corner of her wrinkled eyes to wipe away the rest of her salty tears. Her lips quiver as she looks down.

"Thank you, Detective Pembroke. My little Yuuken means the world to me, he's a kind and responsible boy. Oh my God... he must be so scared," she breaks down after glancing at the file in front of her, the picture of her grandson quietly staring back at her.

Her hands cover her eyes as her body shakes, the sound of her sobs echoing off the walls of the quiet office. Your father immediately gets up from his swivel chair and places a comforting hand on the old woman's back, while you run to the water dispenser, fill a glass, and hand it to her with a comforting smile.

Saeki accepts it with a sniffle, her trembling hands wrapping around the transparent glass as she sips in silence, her crying ceasing. A few minutes later, she calms down and sighs, gently patting your father's hand as a sign of gratitude. And suddenly, her eyes widen as her attention turns to you. 

"Oh my, (Y/N)! It's good to see you, what are you doing here? I apologize that you have to see me in this state," she laughs weakly, and you can still hear a hint of sadness in her voice. You suspect she's trying to distract herself from the grief of losing her grandson.

In return, you offer a small smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please don't worry, Mrs. Enma. It's good to see you, too." Your father suddenly slaps a hand on your shoulder with a toothy smile, causing you to jump in surprise as you turn to look at him in confusion.

“Kiddo over here had no plans for the summer, so I dragged them to the station to help out” - bullshit, you did have plans! You were going to spend every day inside, locked in your room with the air conditioning on, sprawled on your bed, and enjoying your free time. Hell, you'd even bought so many books and comics to read during the break! Now they're just going to sit there, gathering dust.

As Saeki finishes her glass of water, she lifts her head to look at the clock, whose hands point to the current time, 8:43 p.m. “My God! I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Detective Pembroke. My husband will be worried, I should be getting home,” she gasps in surprise. As you help Mrs. Enma out of her chair and pick up her cane, your father heads down the hallway, shouting for a nearby officer to help escort Saeki home.

In a matter of seconds, you hear a pair of footsteps running toward the office, and suddenly a young blond policeman stands in the doorway, nervously greeting your father. You remember that his name is Renart, a French cop freshly graduated from the police academy near Chichibugahama beach. The officers at the station call him "Croissant Surfer.”

Renart escorts Mrs. Enma out of the office, but not before she thanks your father again and gives you a warm smile as she bids you farewell. Your father promptly closes the door, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nine people... nine people just gone," he whispers.

As you walk to the desk, your eyes scan the missing person's report. Yuuken Enma, a second-year student of Hibari Municipal High School disappeared this afternoon after leaving the Ishimoto gymnasium at around 2:30 p.m. He was reported missing by his grandparents who explained that Yuuken failed to pick up his phone and had never arrived home at an agreed hour.

According to witness reports, he was last seen by his fellow kendo club member and first-year student, Koito Saya. The two of them were training for an upcoming kendo match which would take place after summer break ended. 

Koito explains that Yuuken left practice early because "he was feeling unwell and he had to help his grandmother prepare some things for the Tanabata Festival.” The first-year student stayed in the gym for another hour of training, and when he left the facility around 4:00 p.m., he found a keychain from an action figure that belonged to Yuuken on the floor. Minutes later, the Enma's called the police station.

Your fingers grab the corner of the paper and turn the page to read some additional details about the case. This Yuuken boy... the two of you stood together at the bus station, but you never really spoke. You went to different schools, and his appearance and aura communicated that he didn't want to be bothered, so you left him alone. Besides, you're not the most outgoing person, so you never really made a move to befriend him. You only knew of his personality from the comments of neighbors and even your parents; a "charismatic and determined young man.” 

Your eyes land on an evidence report detailing the footage from the gym's surveillance camera. Your eyes widened as you remembered the conversation you overheard in the records room about two days ago about the recent missing persons cases.

According to the officer, all of the nine disappearances have been caught on CCTV, but you can never see who is taking them or where they are going because the recording always glitches.

He described in detail the disappearance of Fígaro Koskela, the young heir to a Finnish jewelry empire, who was walking home from a party organized by his classmates. He's alone, it's the middle of the night, he's strolling down an alley near some residential houses, when all of a sudden his head whips around as he hears a strange noise, the policeman describes the sound as that of a loud roar followed by a cry similar to that of horses.

Figaro's expression morphed into one of shock and bewilderment, paralyzed on the spot as his blue eyes did not look away from where the sound came. At that moment, the camera stops and the footage goes black. Suspiciously, the camera reactivated itself hours later as police arrived on the scene and neighbors peered out their windows and doors to see what was going on.

The officer explained that all the victims disappeared in the same way: they were alone in Kotohira, they heard something, and the camera footage went black, adding that the people who were near where the victims disappeared never heard anything strange. But he also points out that none of the victims have anything in common. Age, appearance, socioeconomic status, even where they live, nothing.

You're jolted out of your trance as your father clears his throat and walks past you, taking a seat in his chair, before turning to face you, the lack of sleep and stress evident due to the dark circles under his eyes. "From the looks of things, I don't think I'll be leaving the office anytime soon. Do you think your mom can pick you up?"

Normally, you would walk home, since the police station is not that far from the apartment building. That, and the night air feels good on your skin, plus, it gives you some time alone to think and take some pictures of the sky and wildlife.

However, because of the recent disappearances, everyone in Kotohira is on edge, including you and especially your parents. This morning, you even received some messages from a few of your school friends who were outraged because their parents wouldn't let them go on their annual trip to the beach for fear that their children would be the next victims.

You nodded at your dad’s request before taking the seat that Mrs. Enma had previously occupied and wasted no time dialing your mother's phone number. Frankly, you were tired and hungry, having accidentally skipped lunch to help the Chief's secretary organize a mountain of paperwork that needed to be archived. Seriously, these guys are a mess.

After a few dials, you hear the sound of the phone picking up and your mother's cheery voice answering from the other end. "Hello, honey! How's my baby doing?" you see out of the corner of your eye as your father chuckles, having heard your mother's cooing over the loud volume of the phone. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your case?"

You can hear your mother gasp in surprise before she giddily recounts the details of the latest case she took on. "Oh, you bet your ass I won it! You should have seen the look on that idiot Howard's face when they declared my client innocent. That asshole always takes the side of dirty money," you laugh lightly at your mom’s colorful words; she has had a fierce rivalry with Vanguard Legal Services’ best attorney, Howard Waltz, ever since college. They even work at competing firms.

Your mother spends a few minutes telling you more details about the case before asking you why you called her. You tell her about Yuuken Enma's recent disappearance and that your father won't be able to take you home due to the heavy workload. 

"Yuuken has disappeared!? Oh, poor thing, I hope they find him soon. Don't worry, darling, I just left the office, I'll be there in about half an hour," after exchanging a few more words, you hang up the call.

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You hold your head in your hands, it feels like someone is violently sticking a sharp needle into the left side of your brain and your eyes won't stop throbbing. 'What the actual hell happened? I was doing fine a minute ago.’

Your father had left after the Chief knocked on the door and told him that they were going to have a brief meeting to organize a search party for Yuuken and share some updates on the case. Seconds after they departed and your dad bid you goodbye in case you were gone before he returned, your terrible headache suddenly appeared, and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

“O, thou who were guided by the dark mirror”.

"What was that!? Hello!?" you yell, the chair legs squeaking loudly against the floor as you quickly stand up, your eyes scanning the room trying to find the deep voice that just spoke. Your heart is beating fast, your breathing labored as your hands immediately find a fountain pen sitting on top of some papers, grab it, and point the tip outward to use it as a makeshift weapon. 

‘Are the rookies pulling a prank? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it! This fucking headache is driving me insane!’ You lower your head to look at the gap between the door and the floor, but you don’t see anyone standing outside or hear any movement from the hallway. Before you can continue to examine the room any further, your phone vibrates and the screen turns on, displaying a recent message from your mother alongside other notifications: "I'm outside." 

You waste no time getting your things, slinging the messenger bag over your shoulder, grabbing your sweater off the back of the chair, and throwing the pen away, landing behind your father’s chair. You're tired, you're hungry, you don’t want to deal with whatever prank somebody’s pulling on you, and you want to take care of this headache before it turns into an excruciating migraine. 

You make your way over the door, making sure you stomp your feet as hard as you can to warn whoever is hiding and pulling your hair, to start running before you catch them and kill them. You twist the doorknob and open the door quickly, only to find... the hallway completely desolated and eerily quiet.

This is strange... even if everyone was working, you would hear the noise coming from the offices, but, there is no sound at all. You can’t even hear the wind blowing outside or the droning songs from the cicadas. Your stomach twists into knots, a feeling in your gut screaming at you that something is wrong. You need to get out of there now.

“Let thy heart’s desire reflected in the mirror take thee by the hand”.

Yeah, no, this is no prank. Whatever's going on here is some paranormal shit. 

You don't waste a second as you bolt from your father's office, running down the hallway as fast as you can, never looking back for fear of something coming after you. You groan as your headache begins to worsen, your head now throbbing and your ears ringing loudly as you begin to hear a chorus of unintelligible voices inside your brain.

“In me. In them. In you.”

You pant as you run past the common office, your eyes widening as you find the entire room empty, all the equipment turned off and the chairs scattered around the room as if everyone had suddenly gotten up and gone home. The deep voice rings louder in your head again, its words feeling like mockery. ‘What the hell is going on? Where did everyone go? Dad, please be okay!’

“We all have very little time left.”

"AGH, JUST SHUT UP!" you shout, hoping the voices will go away, but they only get louder by the second. Thankfully, you reach the entrance of the police station, your eyes widening in relief as you find your mother's gray car parked right outside. Swinging the glass door open, you dash towards the vehicle, panic running through your veins.

"MOM! PLEASE! IT'S ME! OPEN THE DOOR!" you slam your right hand against the window as you yank hard at the handle of the locked car door. But as you duck your head to look inside the car, your breath is cut short and you feel your heart come to a screeching halt. The driver's side is empty, not a trace of your mother inside.

You slowly back away from the vehicle in utter disbelief, the voices having stopped, but you don't even notice, too preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of everyone around you. Your attention, however, is drawn to a hellish sound coming from your right. A loud roar, creaking wood, heavy wheels rolling on the pavement, and the whole cacophony accompanied by the cries of horses.

You feel frozen in place as your head turns to the side and your eyes widen at the sudden appearance of a funeral carriage drawn by two elegant horses coming at you at full speed. 

You want to run, to escape from this hellish scene as quickly as possible, to run into your parents' arms. ‘This has to be a nightmare. This isn’t real!’ Every single muscle and nerve in your body is screaming for you to move, and yet something is holding you back. You close your eyes in fear as the sound of hooves comes closer and closer.

You feel nothing as the carriage crashes into you.

“Welcome to Night Raven College, young soul”.

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Tag list:

@rotknox

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Silver-tongued Lover

A/N: Written for @fandom-free-bingo . I do miss writing for Loki. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story!

Pairing: Loki x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ strictly smut, bit of choking and hair pulling.

Word count: 1.9k +

Square filled: Dominant lover & Pulled onto their lap

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

.

Trays of exquisite champagne and hors d'oeuvres were being passed around, an air of general merriment floated in the huge ballroom that was filled with the who’s who of the society. The party was in honor of yet another successful mission carried out by the Avengers, it was also just an excuse to get together, wear fancy clothes and mingle.

You certainly weren’t complaining.

Not when you had a wicked plan brewing in your mind about teaching a certain silver-tongued lover of yours a lesson. Or get him to teach you one. Either way, you were winning. That little spat you had earlier would be forgotten the moment he would lay eyes on you.

The dress you chose for the event was particular, forest green satin that fell over your curves, accentuating them in all the right ways while exposing just the right amount of skin. Underneath you wore matching lace lingerie, one you hoped would end up on your bedroom floor by the end of the night. Your hair fell down your back in loose curls, curtaining what was mostly a backless gown.

Everybody gathered where Tony Stark was making his famous speech, entertaining the crowd and making them laugh at his anecdotes. Blending with the crowd, you felt his presence before his cool, slender hand slipped around your waist, his lips pressed against your ear.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, my lady.”

That voice. You were never getting immune to that, you had to accept it. The honey-dripping voice that could bring anybody down on their knees. A shiver went down your spine as he teased the shell of your ear ever so lightly with his tongue, smirking to himself.

“I mean, it’s the dress, isn’t it?” you teased, composing yourself enough to bring your hair over one shoulder, showing off the sexy, open back of the dress. It was your turn to smirk now that his sapphire eyes had darkened. Like a brooding storm on gray night. Instinctively, he covered you to avoid unwanted prying eyes. He wouldn’t want any other man besides himself to lay eyes on what was his and his alone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered, his grip on your waist tightening while you blinked up innocently.

“Enjoying the party, that’s all.” you murmured before walking away from the demi-God, adding an extra swing to your hips as you did, knowing he was watching you.

Weeks ago you had walked in on Loki working his charm over an intern to get information he needed, he had the nerve to brush it off simply by stating he had the gift of the gab and you were overreacting. Tonight you were prepared to show him what an overreaction truly was.

As the evening drew by you found yourself surrounded by men who weren’t subtle with their eyes, letting their gaze shamelessly drop to your cleavage as you chatted. From the corner of your eye, you found Loki glowering, ready to rip the men into shreds.

Around midnight, people found themselves sitting around the tables, conversations now turned into smaller groups.

“Ah there you are, Y/N! Do join us.” Thor’s baritone boomed over from one of the tables, offering you a kind smile as he sat opposite your favorite God of Mischief who looked over his shoulder, as if challenging you to join them.

Naturally, you had to.

Loki pulled you onto his lap just as you were about to pull a chair for yourself, securing you on one thigh with your legs on either side. You knew it was a deliberate move, he now had easy access to your heated core, one little brush and he’d know you were sans underwear.

“Might I say you look beautiful tonight, Lady Y/N.” Thor smiled at you, raising his glass in toast which you reciprocated.

“Loki, you’re awfully quiet today. Anything on your mind, brother?”

Clicking his tongue, Loki shifted underneath you, his slender fingers teasing the edge of the glass of mead he was having before picking it up.

“Not particularly. Lady Y/N might have an idea, although she spent half the evening conversing with other gentlemen.” His tone held light accusation, eyes holding a darkness that stirred something carnal within you.

“Ah! Green with jealousy.” Thor chuckled at his own joke drunkenly, going on about how trust is such an important factor in any relationship; meanwhile your little eye tennis match with Loki continued, each challenging the other to make the next move.

Shifting a little, you made sure to brush your core against his thigh, allowing a little gasp to leave your lips as it brushed against your clit ever so slightly. A smirk on your face grew wider as Loki’s fingers soon discovered your little secret, his eyes darkening further before he abruptly stood, taking you with him.

Without much as an excuse, he gripped your bicep and dragged you away from the party and towards the elevators. Once he had you caged between his arms, he didn’t mince his words as you’d awoken the monster that rested within him.

“What do you think you are playing at, pet?”

His breath was hot against your own, his face mere inches from yours, eyes boring into yours for answers.

“I don’t know what you mean..”

Wrong answer. That made him tug on your hair, gently but with enough force to elicit a gasp. With a knee wedged between your legs, Loki made sure to tease your core that was covered only by the thin fabric of your dress, all while the elevator traveled up to take you to your quarters.

“You are testing my patience, aren’t you love?”

Boldly, your hands found their way around his neck as you stood on your toes, lips reaching his ears to whisper the answer he was waiting for.

“I got what I wanted. You. Jealous.”

He released a breath against your cheek, chuckling upon hearing your words as the elevator promptly dinged to a halt. Straightening his robes, Loki stepped away from you and began taking long strides towards your shared room, leaving you no option but to follow.

His intentions were pretty clear when the doors were shut. To teach you a lesson.

Like a predator stalking its prey, he took deliberate steps towards you, eyes raking your form.

“Kneel.”

Even if you had planned to defy the demi-God earlier, you knew well enough to not do it after hearing that from him. Dropping to your knees with your hands on your thighs, you waited, pulse quickening as you heard him undo his pants, freeing his semi-hard length for you.

“You know what happens to pets who disobey?” Loki’s sultry voice sent tingles down your spine, a rush of excitement gathering between your legs as you looked up at him, shaking your head even though you knew the answer to that question.

His fingers traced the side of your face, ever so tenderly, admiring you at his mercy before he made you open your mouth and guided you towards his cock.

“Allow me to show you.”

Not that you assumed he’d be gentle, but as his length met with your warm mouth, Loki’s grip on your hair tightened and he bottomed out with a satisfied grunt.

With only a second to adjust, he began driving his hips back and forth, nudging the end of your throat with his sizeable length, until you gagged.

“You willingly chose to defy me. Allowed all those vile men to ogle at what’s mine.”

But you were being taught a lesson, so when your eyes met through your lashes, you saw a villainous glint that informed you that you were in for a long night.

Tears gathered in your eyes as he continued to drive his now hard cock in and out, the salty taste of precum evident on your tongue. It was torture but you endured, being rewarded with the most sinful grunts that reached your ears ever so often.

Abruptly, Loki pulled out, making you stand before pushing you against a wall.

“You played with fire today, pet.” He growled, invading your senses with all that was him once again.

“Only because I knew the fire liked to be played with.”

Your eyes flashed a hint of mischief, one you were certain he loved, but tonight wasn’t the night for it. This time your expensive dress bore the cost of your words. It was ripped until all of your legs were exposed to him.

“Another bad decision.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Now semi-naked and vulnerable, Loki pushed your legs apart before snaking his hand between them to run his thumb along your slit. When he was met with your glistening arousal, he smirked.

“Look at you, soaked and yearning for me, my darling.”

That was his first term of endearment for you, you smiled to yourself before your mouth fell open; having Loki’s cool, slender fingers breach your entrance without warning came out in a soft gasp.

He pulled them out just as quickly as he had pushed in, feeding them to you where you could taste your eagerness.

Hiking your leg up around his hips, he entered you in one swift motion, forehead touching yours as you both sighed. The room was then filled with your needy moans as Loki’s cock dragged on your walls only to impale you until he was buried to the hilt. The continued assault made you cry out loud as your fingers dug in his shoulders, desperate for an anchor.

With your eyes shut in pleasure, you felt the fingers of his free hand wrap themselves around your throat, putting just enough pressure to add to the delectable passion unfurling between you.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

He grunted between his bruising thrusts, each one sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

“You. I belong to you, my prince.” You breathed, sounding needier than usual. You didn’t want this to end, the lesson you were being taught felt like a reward.

Your walls began clamping around his length, making him twitch and groan as his lips descended towards your neck, claiming your body as his property.

Carrying you to bed, he laid you down, a little gently this time, cock slipping into your tight heat once again as he pinned your hands above your head, holding you captive. This time, his pace resumed the same brutality, your climax approaching hard and fast as he continued.

Reveling in the way your skin bloomed and flushed under his touch, Loki’s sense of dominance only grew. He’d never admit but he secretly loved the way you defied him in your ways and challenged him, it only always led to stimulating arguments and explosive sex.

The way you fell apart under him only drove him to chase his own release, his cock had been begging for it since he laid eyes on you that evening.

A few moments later while you basked in your high, his hips lost rhythm and he spilled his seed deep within your sopping cunt.

As breaths came slowed down to a normal pace, Loki found himself grinning against your warm skin, finally enveloping you in a kiss that conveyed all that words could never.

[tom-holland-stuff]

Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 1

My Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 + mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he has got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: SFW - for now. (let me know if i forgot any)

A/N: Hey Hey, so this is my first time writing for Coryo. I Have heaps of ideas for where this could go and also ideas for other fics but i'm 1000% open to any suggestions, ideas or even just a chat. DM me or drop in my ask box. Chapter 2 is already in the works hehe

Word Count: 1.7K

The citadel is a cold place. Most may find it unwelcoming, but Coriolanus considers it the opposite; he feels as if he belongs there, like a snowflake in a snowstorm. The white walls seamlessly connect to the marble floor, creating a stark, pristine atmosphere.

Coryo's expensive boots click against the sleek marble floor as he walks through the empty halls. His posture exudes confidence, his chin held high, and his shoulders squared. To those below him, he appears to be looking down with disdain—a smirk playing at his lips.

He is here on business, he must maintain a professional appearance, though he always carries an air of superiority. Today, he's meeting with his mentor, Dr. Gaul. 

After returning to the capital from his stint as a peacekeeper in District Twelve, Coriolanus has thrown himself into university life. Under the tutelage of the Plinths, he's risen in the elitist circles of the capital, becoming somewhat of a hotshot. On a more sour note, along with his new found wealth and status has come the form of a rift between himself and his dear cousin Tigirs, which became very evident this morning in the nature of a disagreement regarding his ever growing likeness to his father. This argument really set a displeasing tone for Coriolanus's day to follow. However, he has far too much to deal with nowadays, and can’t afford to let these spats occupy his thoughts.

Moving on, in addition to his growing popularity, he has secured the likes of the infamous (and slightly psychotic) Dr Gaul. 

After Coryo’s return from 12 the unhinged professor took him under her wing as his mentor and has not only supplied him with an incredible internship to become an gamemaker, but also the promise of becoming one of the greatest minds Panem has seen 

(maybe even a potential political figure one day…)

Perks of having Gaul as a mentor allow Coriolanus to secure one on one meetings or ‘tutoring sessions’ as she likes to call them. Which is where he finds himself on his way to now. 

Navigating the halls with ease, he makes his way to the wing of the building housing Dr. Gaul's lab. Typically, their meetings occur in her office, either at the university or in the citadel. However, due to the last-minute nature of this meeting regarding an assignment, Coryo finds himself summoned to the citadel.

As Coriolanus approaches the door to the lab, he hears someone clear their throat. Turning to his right, a dark wooden table occupies that space, its glossy top covered in neatly stacked folders and paper. He notes to himself how odd it is that he has never noticed this ‘receptionist desks of sorts’ before. 

Coryo is a selfish person, he knows that. He never really worries about anyone other than himself, or more so tries not to, maybe that’s why he has never noticed this space before, or noticed her. 

Seated at the table is a girl who looks to be around his age. She's clad in a fitted gray suit vest with a white button up shirt underneath. A red tie fits loosely around her neck, the deep blood color stands out against the dull accents of her outfit. 

She sits elegantly in her chair, her shoulders straight and poised, her hands clasped softly in front of her. He would have maybe described her as attractive if it wasn’t for the clear expression of displeasure displayed across her face.

Observing her, Coryo determines her demeanor screams entitled and... well, he refrains from using other such derogatory terms, but the sentiment remains. 

His nose wrinkles in disgust at her apparent lack of recognition, but before he can bring himself to think of more unpleasant descriptions of the lady in front of him, she speaks. 

"Name?" she prompts plainly, sitting up a bit straighter (if that was even possible), locking eyes with him.

Her gaze is sharp, her eyes feline like, piercing into his crystal blue ones. 

"Pardon?" He responds incredulously, matching her rigidness.

He takes a step closer to the desk. His strong frame towers over her, casting a shadow on the desk. His being exudes authority and importance, but the girl does not falter. 

Her eyes never leaving his, she states again.

“Name” her tone is almost challenging but her expression remains firm.

Coryo folds his arms across his chest. His embryos scrunch together slightly in annoyance because, who doesn't know who Coriolanus Snow is!

His thoughts are once again interrupted by the girl at the desk.

“Do you have a name?” she states more so than asks. Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, only then does her gaze leave his as she slowly looks him up and down, sizing him up

Before she has another opportunity to repeat herself, he gives her an answer.

 "Snow," he states curtly. His response prompting her to meet his gaze once more.

“Coriolanus Snow” He reaffirms in an attempt to prevent her from having to ask him anything further, but unfortunately his effort is ill as she presses further.

“Are you sure?” the corners of her mouth pull into a small smirk as she questions him or challenges him, he is unsure. However, he is certain about his displeasure with this conversation. 

He uncrosses his arms and places them on the edge of the table. His face morphing into a scowl. “I have a meeting with Dr Gaul…” he states bluntly.

 “...so if you don’t mind, I shall see to that now, and you can resume with what I'm sure is a very… important task that you do.” He states, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Without waiting to see the offended expression that was no doubt about to take over the girl’s face, he turns back towards the entrance to the lab taking heavily determined steps towards his desired destination. His smirk wider to himself, triumphant as having now ended that distasteful interaction that has consequently wound him up.

“Interesting Dr. Gaul wishes to spend her time with someone so daft they can’t even remember their own name”.  

He whips around fast on his heel, his smirk immediately replaced by a furious scowl. Coryo's eyes narrow, his gaze burning in her direction. 

She is standing now, almost mimicking his previous position, arms placed strongly on either side of the desk and her face adorned with a smirk that slowly morphs into a wicked smile, obviously satisfied with his visible reaction.

His whole body is tense, his chest is heaving in anger… no, 

Rage.

Who does this bitch think she is? 

He is usually one to have a lot more control over himself and would never allow his emotions to cause him to react so out of pocket like this, well at least not in this environment. But after having to deal with one nuisance after the other, all restraint has gone out the window. 

As Coriolanus prepares to give the girl a piece of his mind and unleash his frustration, he is  interrupted… again.

This time by the creaking sound of two heavy doors behind him, followed by the distinct click of heeled shoes. He halts in his tracks, watching the girl at the desk almost instantly return her seat at the desk, with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her once devilish expression now replaced by the sweetest of smiles accompanied innocent, doe-like eyes that stare in the direction behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to find Dr. Gaul exiting the lab, catching them in this tense interaction. 

No. 

Catching HIM. 

His previous ‘opponent’ now looks as if she would never even hurt a fly let alone be involved in an uncivil argument of sorts, and well… let’s just say it's definitely not a good look for him.

He quickly straightens himself and turns to face his mentor, while silently acknowledging himself how the sudden change in the girl's demeanor was slightly impressive.

His posture exudes professionalism, contrasting the state he was just found in.

Dr. Gaul's voice fills the silence as she addresses Coriolanus.

“Ah Mr. Snow, it seems you have already had the pleasure of meeting y/n, my newest addition” she says teasingly. 

He puts on a slight smile as an acknowledgement to her words, but Coryo would have called it anything but a pleasure.

“Both young great minds.” she says outwardly, directed neither of them in particular. Almost as if she was simply verbalising a thought.

Dr Gaul then steps slightly to the side, signalling for Coriolanus to follow her into the lab. 

As he begins to walk, Dr. Gaul holds the door and continues to talk, this time addressing him but speaking loud enough for y/n to hear.  

“Don’t be giving our sweet y/n any grief, hmm?” She teases. 

Sweet? 

Coriolanus finds the use of the word odd, not only because he completely disagrees with it as an appropriate description for the girl… y/n, but also because it's not a word that seems natural being used by his unhinged professor.

Coriolanus looks over his shoulder catching a glimpse of y/n as Dr Gaul begins to close the doors behind them. Gaul takes his shift in attention as an opportunity to add to her previous statement.

“We Wouldn’t want her to get caught up in one of your… Passionate debates” she smirks knowingly.

Coriolanus feels his cheeks flush, caught off guard by such an insinuating statement. Disgusted and embarrassed by his own involuntary reaction, he turns his head back in the direction he is walking, but not before catching a glimpse of y/n. She was still seated at her desk, with poised and perfect posture, but her face held a new expression. An expression Coriolanus did not have the previous pleasure of witnessing. 

Her eyes had gone wide and her mouth was slightly held open in surprise. Her face had turned a soft shade of pink, the flush of her cheeks matching his own.

That's all he is able to note before Dr Gaul shuts the doors completely behind them. She walks swiftly in front of Coriolanus and he follows quickly in toe.

“Something tells me you two will get along quite well” She chuckles to herself but Coriolanus couldn’t have disagreed more.

A/N: Sooooooo what did we think?? i tried my best so if there were spelling or grammar mistakes i'm so sorry!! i checked it so much it pained me hahahah. Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Lifeguard Required (Divus x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mentions of alcohol (none present)

Note: Reader is an adult staff member, implied to be a teacher/professor or teacher's assistant

“You know, sometimes I wonder if teaching was a mistake.” Divus took another long swig of his drink. Thankfully, it was non-alcoholic. “If this keeps up, I’ll be getting gray hairs soon.”

“I think you’d look good with them,” you said with a smile. “You will have the silver fox thing going for you.” 

Divus let out a short chuckle as he adjusted himself in his seat, leg now crossed over his knee. “Well, thank you for the effort to make me feel better.” 

“No problem,” you smirked as you brought your soda to your lips, “but I meant what I said.” 

As though to stray from the conversation of aging, Divus changed the subject. “You know, when I was a student myself, I became a lifeguard part-time during the summer months.” 

“Really now?” You raised an eyebrow at the vision of a young Divus decked out in red swim trunks, a whistle around his neck and a red float under his arm. “Why’s that? Strapped for cash?” 

“Not necessarily,” he said. “While the extra money was a plus, it was mainly to build up my resume. It wasn’t the most…remarkable thing back then. It was experience enough while I pursued my interest in fashion.” 

“Do you have any pictures of you from back then?” You leaned over your chair as you raised your eyebrows in interest. “I require evidence to believe your story - and I’m curious as to how you looked back then.” 

“I looked not too different than I do now.” He picked his drink up again. “I age like a fine wine~” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, which was then followed by a teasing remark. “A strong one, to be sure, but a little dry from all the stress and age.” You ended that statement with a sip of your soda for effect. 

A smirk to match crossed Divus’s lips as he watched you sip your drink. He looked like he was going to say something else - then a loud scream caused you both to flinch. You whipped your heads in the direction of the scream just in time to see Idia Shroud get tossed into the pool by Leona Kingscholar. A loud splash resounded throughout the area, followed by droplets of water raining down from the impact. Divus quickly placed his glass on the small table between you two before he bolted up from his chair. He looked almost ready to sprint forward and dive in after him - but he relaxed the moment Idia’s head burst out from the water. He gasped for air, hands coming up to wipe dark blue strands of hair from his face. 

“What the hell?!” Idia coughed as he yelled. His yellow eyes glared daggers into Leona; if his hair was still alight, you figured it’d be burning red. 

“So, you do have hair under that burning turnip.” Leona chuckled as he smirked in Idia’s direction, completely unbothered. “Mystery solved.” 

Before either could get out another word, Divus’s boomed out in anger. “Bad dog! Kingscholar, come here, now!”

“Hm?” Leona tilted his head in the professor’s direction. While he appeared unphased, his tail twitched in irritation. “We were just foolin’ around, professor Crewel.” His smirked appeared again as he grinned and gestured to Idia. “Shroud is completely unharmed, as you can see. Do you really think I would hurt him?” 

The sweet talk and charm wouldn’t work, you knew that. Still, Leona always gave Divus a hard time; you doubt the lion would listen to him much. Then, from the other side of the pool, Trein appeared. Though he did not yell, his voice was stern and level, as though scolding a child. “Kingscholar, come with me. It seems that, once more, we need to have a chat about your poolside etiquette.” 

You were unsure why Leona didn’t pick a fight with Trein, nor why he complied with his demands with little more than a grunt of annoyance. You saw that annoyance, that irritation, as Leona’s ears flattened against his head, snarling under his breath as he turned and headed away with the professor. Was there some sort of begrudging respect the young man had for the elder? Perhaps…you did hear once from Crowley how Trein beat Leona in a duel during the student’s freshman year. Ever since that day, when Leona lost his own challenge, he hadn’t been too much of a problem for that teacher in particular. You’d have to ask Divus if he knew anything of that incident later.

For now, you watched as Divus helped Idia out from the pool. The poor boy was soaked to the bone, black hoodie weighing him down. You quickly ran and grabbed a towel for him; once you retrieved the biggest you could find, you draped it around his shoulders. Idia didn’t say much in thanks, but he shot you the smallest of smiles as his show of gratitude. Divus placed a gentle hand on Idia’s back as he began him back inside, whispering words of comfort you could scarcely hear. Before they got too far, Divus looked over his shoulder at you and asked, “Can you handle things until I return?”

You nodded and gave him a small smile of your own. “Of course.”

Divus gave you one of his own before he led Idia away. That poor boy…no wonder he often stayed in his room. You glanced in the direction that Trein and Leona had disappeared, the two no doubt having a thorough discussion somewhere just out of sight. The other students present had gone back to what they’d been doing before their fun was disturbed. You sighed, thankful no one was hurt, but tired all the same. As you sat back in your chair and took another sip of your soda, a part of you wished it was spiked - just a little. 

***

A long sigh combined with an exhausted groan escaped Divus’s lips as he returned. Though he elegantly sat down in his chair, his posture was anything but. His head lolled back as he slumped in his seat, his hand coming to run through his hair and slick it back from his forehead. His tropical button-up - one of many designs of his for the season - was now unbuttoned and slightly damp at the back. He looked more casual than usual, for sure, yet also far more exhausted than before. You wished you could tell him it’d soon be over, but that would be a lie. The trip had another week to go, and then it was back to the classrooms. 

You offered Divus his drink, which he took with a slight nod of his head. You’d never seen him chug something so fast. A chuckled as he finally opened his eyes and looked at the night sky as though it were the cause of his strife. “I think you’re ready for bed,” you said with a small laugh. 

“I’m ready for a vacation,” he grumbled. 

“But we’re on a vacation?” 

“If this is a vacation for you, I dread what you do on the daily.” Divus set his now empty glass on the table as he continued. “This is work with a tropical backdrop; I need one away from children.”

“I think we all do,” you giggled. “A weekend getaway for the staff sounds lovely.” 

Divus seemed to scoff as he said, “You assume half the staff are not the children I speak of?” 

Now that made you laugh. The alchemy professor certainly had a point; a certain headmage and coach were maddeningly unhelpful for most of this trip. What would they do if you, Divus, Mozus, and Sam took off for a weekend or more? You honestly dreaded the possibilities. “That is very true,” you uttered as your laugh faded. “We can’t take them anywhere, can we?”

While you gave no context as to whether it was the students or Crowley and Vargas you were referring to, Divus didn’t seem to care. Either answer would be correct, in his mind. He nodded with a small ‘mhm’ as a few loose strands of white and black hair fell over his forehead. “Like untrained dogs, they don’t know how to behave.” He glanced over at two certain first years as he uttered, “Some more than others.” 

“Well, at least summer break is just a month away.” You sympathized with the small groan Divus let out at the reminder of how much time was left before then. “When that time comes, I’m sure we’ll all be thankful for the rest.”

“If that rest is too good, I just might quit,” Divus joked. There was some truth to that suggestion, however. Again, you didn’t blame him. Divus rested his chin on his knuckles as he turned his gaze on you. “What do you plan to do for the break?” 

“Mmn, I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ll probably just relax at home, watch movies, maybe order takeout - stuff like that.” 

“No plans whatsoever?” 

“Bold of you to assume those aren’t my plans.” 

Divus let out a small ‘hmph’ as he smiled. He simply looked at you for a few seconds, as though deep in thought. You grew a tad nervous, a little shy, under that gray gaze; you mildly shrunk in your own chair as you eyed him. “What?” 

“Oh, just thinking,” he replied. He certainly seemed to be plotting something, you thought. He straightened his posture as he spoke again, “What is your opinion on upscale restaurants?” 

“Like the ones you have to dress up for?” He nodded. “Um…I’ve never been to one before,” you chuckled under your breath, “can’t afford it with my meager salary. So, I can’t say I really have an opinion on them.” 

“I see.” Those cunning eyes scanned you from head to toe. A chill ran up your back under his intense gaze; you felt like grabbing your towel and hiding underneath. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “I think you’d look quite fetching in red.” 

“Uh…t-thank you?” Though a blush threatened to creep on your cheeks, you barely noticed in your confusion. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Again, I am just contemplating.” 

“Contemplating what?” 

“On exactly where I should take you for dinner.” 

If this were a cartoon, you’d have been knocked out of your chair by that statement. Your soda was left completely forgotten on the table beside you as you leaned against the armrest of your chair. “I-I’m sorry, what?” 

Divus seemed to find your reply amusing for the way he tittered. “Don’t tell me that’s how you respond to every advance you receive?” 

“I’ve…never received an advance.” You couldn’t help but answer honestly; I mean, what else could you reply with? Your head swum with so many questions that you could barely think of anything else. 

“Truly?” You noticed Divus’s smile had now stretched into a charming smirk. “It’s good to know I do not have any competition.” 

“Competition for what?” You didn’t mean for your voice to rise in pitch like that. Thankfully, no one other than Divus seemed to notice. 

“So, even you, a fellow trainer of pups, are blind to such simple things.” A chuckle rumbled in his throat and rib cage before he spoke again with a wiggle of his fingers. “Come closer.” With no reason to object, you complied. Divus leaned a little closer to your face, voice a volume above a whisper as he explained himself. “On the day summer break begins, and we’re relieved of our duties, I am going to take you to a celebratory dinner. You do not need to fret about your choice of clothing - I will provide it. All you need to do is let me pick you up, drive you there, and, hopefully, enjoy the food and company.” 

“This…isn’t with Trein or the other staff, is it?” you asked, nearly at a loss for words. 

Divus chuckled again. “No, pup, it isn’t.” His fingertip tapped the underside of your chin. “Do you understand?” 

Your nod was shaky, along with your words. “Y-Yes, I do.” 

“Good dog~” He pulled away from you in that instance. “I look forward to it.” 

He stood from his seat and took his glass. He then grabbed your can of soda, shook it a little, then placed it back on the table. “Your can is near empty.” He held up his glass as he offered, “Would you like a drink?” 

Somehow, you managed to regain your composure. “Yes, I would, thank you.” 

“Preference?” 

A smile tugged at your lips as he met his eye. “I trust your judgement.” 

Divus seemed to take that as more than just picking your drink. Though his smile held its usual charm, you could spy a certain softness creep into those silver gray eyes. He gave a small nod, “I’ll be back shortly.” 

With that, he turned and walked away. Even when he left, you couldn’t help but keep smiling. Even when a certain housewarden got into an argument with a certain twin, you wore that smile through your whole mediation of the situation. You loved your job, you really did…but summer break couldn’t come soon enough. Who knows - maybe a certain lifeguard might come to your aide.

[danikamariewrites]

Hi how have you been

Can I make request for Nesta? Just her being very protective of her innocent gf who is too nice to people and does not know when she is being used and manipulated (so relatable) so nesta always needs to be with her to make sure she doesn’t get taken advantage of

Best Friends Forever

Nesta x reader

A/n: I would kill for a protective gf like Nes. She also gives scary gf privileges. I also could’ve used her to weed out my shitty friends because I was so bad at that.

Warnings: none

Nesta had sworn you were supposed to be out with your friends. She had sworn she heard you tell Gwyn over morning tea, excitedly for that matter, about your plans. So when she arrived home later that afternoon Nesta was confused as to why you were home.

You were curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around your body, with a book in hand. Nesta didn’t ask why. You already had a frown on your face, Nesta didn’t want to upset you anymore.

Weeks went by. Nesta watched as the vicious cycle continued. Your friends promising to hang out with you and then canceling or straight up telling you, “oh, so-and-so will be there and you don’t like each other, so you shouldn’t come out.” You put on a brave face, acting like it didn’t bother you.

It did. Nesta knew it did. The problem, besides your “friends”, was that Nesta didn’t know how to help. She wanted to be mean to your friends. Hell, she wanted to throttle them. The Valkyrie has been protective of you since the day she met you. The fact that you’re being treated so poorly drove her crazy.

You had finally broached the subject, telling Nesta how you felt and that you would talk to them. Of course this conversation came mere weeks before Starfall. Just in time for them to get back in your good graces to go to the party at the River House.

It’s been days since your conversation with your friends. “It went well,” you said joyfully as you strolled along the bridge above the Sidra, hand-in-hand with Nesta. “That’s good.” Nesta said, not fully believing either of your words.

The two of you chatted about any and everything as you explored town. Passing by a restaurant’s patio seating you hear familiar laughter that has you stopping dead in your tracks. Nesta didn’t need to ask you who it was. She knew and she was fuming.

Looking down at you she felt her face heat with anger. Your lips turned down in a small, heartbreaking frown, defeat clouding your eyes. “I asked if we could hang out today.” Your voice came out small. That was Nesta’s breaking point.

Dropping your hand she smoothed down the bodice of her dress to her skirt, taking a long inhale and letting out a long exhale. She turns to face you, gently holding your shoulders. “Why don’t you go into that shop over there,” she points over your shoulder, “and pick out something you want.” Nesta smiles at you softly. You don’t have it in you to argue. Your friends deserved whatever tongue lashing Nesta would give them and you weren’t going to stop your girlfriend.

Nesta stomped over to the table of females, casting a dark shadow as she stared down her nose at them. Those silver flames burning bright in her gray eyes. They all stopped to look at her. The scent of their on her tongue. It was no secret they were never comfortable around the oldest Archeron. Which made Nesta’s job here easier.

“You are the most wretched group of females I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. At least some of the fae here are honest about getting into Rhysand’s good graces but you. You lot just lie and use y/n. She is the last person who deserves to be used. Now I could point out other flaws you all have but that would include me standing here and speaking to you longer than you should have the privilege of. Stay away from y/n, my sister, and the High Lord. Or I won’t be so nice next time.”

Before they could have a reaction Nesta briskly turned on her heel and walked away. Entering the shop she sent you to she found you lurking by a clothing rack by the front window. You immediately ran to her, hugging her tightly around her middle and burying your face in her chest. “Thank you.” You mumble against her.

Nesta squeezed you tighter to her, kissing the top of your head. “Of course my love.” You stayed like that for a few more moments before Nesta spoke again. “I’m interviewing all future friends.” You let out a small laugh in answer. “Deal. But on one condition.” You lean away and meet her curious gaze. “You’re my only best friend.” Nesta pecked your lips, holding your face in her hands. “Always and forever, my love.”

[g-in-love]

no focus

a/n: help why is this so bad 😭😭 enjoy the short little grayson x reader moment

summary: an evening where work just never ends up getting accomplished.

warnings: none?

enjoy, even though it's horrible!

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

sitting on your king sized bed to work side by side was a horrid idea.

you have no idea what notion was running through your maze of a mind when you climbed onto the bed with your notes and laptop in hand.

you can't focus because a certain someone is inches away from you.

grayson hawthorne is by your side, blonde hair messy from weaving his slender fingers through it so many times. his glasses sit on the tip of his nose, on the verge of falling off, but he doesn't even notice. his eyes are on the screen of his silver laptop, but his right hand reaches for you, his touch gentle.

you try to work without distraction, but the sheer presence of him makes it impossible.

stealing glances is your only way of really admiring him. his side profile shows off his razor sharp jawline and his lips.

god, those lips.

you give up on studying, and fully turn to him.

"i was wondering when you would turn to me." his voice is gravelly from not speaking for a long time, and you see the slight twitch of amusement pulling at his mouth. his eyes, however, stay on his laptop.

you swat at him, and he finally looks over, smiling slightly.

both you and grayson were rather reserved, and his slight smile was equivalent to another person's full grin.

"you have no confidence in me. i took a well deserved break," you scoff dramatically, rolling your eyes.

"i have complete confidence in you, darling. more in you than myself." he finally pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, and you smile. he looks so endearing.

"gray, dear, i don't know a single more determined, driven, and accomplished person than you. you have all of my confidence."

well. this chat was becoming more of a heart to heart than you expected.

color rushes to grayson's cheeks, a slight bloom of pink. he sets aside his laptop and motions for you to do the same.

"thank you. you mean the world to me."

he's always shy about expressing his feelings, and you understand. he's been through too much.

"and you for me."

he brings you closer, and you drink up the view in front of you.

white shirt untucked, his body underneath lithe and muscular. the handsomest face you've ever seen. the best soul you've ever encountered.

you bring your lips to his, all work- both his and yours- forgotten.

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

[kissagii]

diamond-studded delights

michael kaiser x gn!mikage!reader ; wc 1.7k

tw: kaiser exists. references to reader getting insulted. cursing. pet names used: pretty, darling.

There are three kinds of people present at business galas. Firstly, the old, rich, notorious entrepreneurs that could be a business’ savior or its downfall. Second, the young entrepreneurs, fresh on the scene and desperate to suck up to a rich executive and get a business deal. And third, the begrudgingly attending spouses and children only there to add to the chatter and be something for the old men to brag about. You and your brother fall into the third group - you the heir in name, and him the heir in practicality.

Business was never your goal in life, so your role at the galas amounted to looking pretty, chatting up older women to keep them entertained, and disappointing business executives that were scandalized by the thought of an eldest child uninterested in the empire they were set to inherit. 

This particular gala is shaping up to be nothing out of the ordinary – you’re dressed to the nines in classic navy and silver, not a hair out of place. Your mother’s friends shower you with compliments, calling you charming and mature and pretty, and their husbands look at you with pure disdain.

You can sort every attendee into one of the three groups as soon as you see them. Except for one, a young man whose two-toned hair and lack of a jacket immediately piques your interest. Just who does he think he is? Whoever he is, he’s new, and you want to know more.

As the chatter builds around you and the music is drowned out, you approach the newcomer. Your question is simple - “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Do you make it a habit to keep tabs on all your guests like this?” The young man turns on his heel, blonde hair fluttering around his shoulders. His eyes are a striking blue, lined in deep black and vibrant orange, and his black shirt is almost scandalously unbuttoned. He’s  pretty, you have to admit, but at the same time clearly destined for trouble.

“Who are you with?” You ask bluntly. Foreigners like him are a rare sight at these events, and as far as you remember, none of the European executives had sons. 

“Oh, you don’t know me?” He smiles cruelly at you, almost as cruel as his silken voice. “Michael Kaiser, with the Blue Lock project.”

Blue Lock. You know that project all too well – it had swallowed up your brother just a few months ago, and your father insisted on funding it. 

Before you can mention that you haven’t actually heard of him, he’s walking towards the party with long, languid strides. He stops beside you, lowering his voice to whisper in your ear. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some old geezers to flatter. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

This is where the conversation should end, you know that. He’s some soccer star (you assume) here to charm old men into funding his career and probably cause trouble in the process. But still you call after him – “You won’t make any connections looking like that, you know.”

Kaiser turns slowly back to face you, that stupid cruel grin plastered across his face once more. “Oh? And what do you suggest I do, then?”

“Go to the restroom, wash your eyes, fix your hair, button your shirt, and pray that nobody remembers what you looked like before. Going around like that will only start a scandal and I’d rather not spend my time picking up after you.” You look him straight in the eyes as he slowly approaches you, steps calculated like a hunter approaching its prey. You don’t scare me, your eyes say, so don’t think you can walk over me so easily.

Suddenly you’re very aware of how close he’s standing – close enough that you can smell his earthy cologne and see the flecks of green and gray in his eyes. Close. Too close.

“And have you considered that I don’t want to change that?” He croons, voice soft, emphasizing how very, very close he stands.

You take a step back, praying he can’t hear your heart hammering in your chest. “Then go ahead, run your funding attempts into the ground. I don’t care.”

Again, that grin. That cocky grin of a man who knows he can get exactly what he wants, no matter what it may be. He steps toward you again, a ring-wearing finger hooking under your chin and pulling you close. “Don’t act so apathetic, pretty. I see how you look at me, undressing me with those eyes of yours. I know you love it.”

The breath hitches in your throat, and for a moment, your heart ceases to beat. Any words that form in your mind fall silent on your tongue, and you stare at Kaiser, completely speechless. This bastard sees right through me. His eyes glimmer at the sight of you silenced.

“See what I mean? Now come on, let’s go outside, since you clearly don’t want me in here with everyone else. That’s a bit selfish of you, don’t you think? Wanting me all to yourself?” His finger on your chin pulls you closer to him, his breath fanning over your face. Close. Too close.

You stumble back sharply, heartbeat pulsing in your ears. “You’re delusional.”

“You tell yourself that,” Kaiser says, stepping beside you, his shoulder against yours. “I’ll see you outside, pretty.”

There’s absolutely no reason to even consider following him. In fact, you should be glad that he’s leaving, taking his arrogant and flirtatious attitude outside where he won’t bother you or any of the other gala guests.  And yet you still think about how easy it would be to follow him out the doors, to escape the chatter, stuffy small talk, and disdainful glances. It almost sounds like a good idea.

With a steadying breath you begin wandering through the crowds once more in search of a conversation to start. Has it always been this noisy? Have the people always been this close together? You don’t want to be in this room any longer, it’s too restrictive. Like you’re being crushed by the very atmosphere. Leaving – following Kaiser – is a recipe for scandal. But a scandal in the form of Michael Kaiser is too tempting to resist. 

Your legs take you there before you can fully think through your choice, the hot summer night a refreshing break from the cacophony inside. And there in the garden Kaiser is waiting, leaning against a wall, poised to see you the moment you walk out the doors. 

“I knew you’d come, pretty.” He said as he strode over to you. Even in the darkness his eyes sparkle sapphire blue, reflective like the gemstones on his cufflinks, dark lashes casting shadows over his face. “Just admit it, you’re losing your control.”

No matter how right he was, you wouldn’t let him know. “Me, losing my control? Come on, don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me like a dog waiting for its owner. You’re just as desperate.”

“And if I said I wanted you? What then?” His arm snakes not-so-subtly around your waist, “What will you do, darling?”

Words are overrated, you decide abruptly, pressing your lips against his. Your hand rests on the blue roses inked onto his neck, pulling him into you. He kisses you back with a passionate fervor, chasing your lips when you pull back. In the mere moment that your skin is against his, every ounce of breath is stolen from your lungs, heart racing and mind begging for more.

 Kaiser is poison. But he tastes oh so good.

Who can blame you for wanting to go back for more?

“Let’s get out of their view,” He whispers, guiding you away from the doors, deeper into the garden where you are safe from prying eyes. In this corner of the world it’s just you, Kaiser, and the crickets chirping in the warm summer air

The moment you’re far enough away from everyone else, he’s on you again, all lips and hands and ardent passion. You can taste the remnants of the pomegranate-ginger party drinks on his tongue as it passes by your lips, hungry for more of you; you lean into him without hesitation, as desperate for him as he is for you. He’s a horrible decision, but a horrible decision never tasted so good.

He whispers your name when he finally separates his lips from yours, the word rolling so sensually off his tongue. When’d he learn that? It hardly matters, though, because he’s said it and all you want is for him to say it again. And that he does, bringing his lips to your ear, “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

Maybe words aren’t so overrated after all. Because those words are the final drop in the cup that breaks the surface tension – there’s no going back now. You want him and he wants you, and the world’s opinions be damned, you’ll kiss that stupid soccer player in the shadows of your father’s business gala if it’s the last thing you do. You’ll kiss away any thought he has that isn’t you, you’ll let him dishevel your clothes and hair, you’ll explore every facet of him while the night grows late and the last traces of daylight vanish into inky blackness.

“You’re like a fucking diamond,” he murmurs breathlessly between kisses, “Sparkly and tantalizing and so damn unbreakable. Do you know what you do to me? Playing hard to get and acting like you can’t fucking stand me.”

You pull your face away, fingers tangled in his hair preventing him from leaning into you. Despite the darkness you can tell his face is flushed a warm and pretty pink. For such a cocky bastard, he sure looks pathetic, pulling against your grip in an effort to get close to you once more.

 “Hmm… how about you show me? Make sure I understand?” You can’t help but smile as you egg him on, giving him the opportunity to do what he’s oh so good at – getting what he wants.

His reply is whispered, hurried, breathless, and desperate: “Fuck, just kiss me again.”

You indulge him.

i hate that he has such a strong grip on me

[raindrop-21]

Sunsets

Word count: 875 ish

Cw: phantom angst, mainly dew x phantom

@thatfuckinjester

Even though it was required to have two quintessence ghouls at the ministry at all times, Aether and Omega were both out helping at another ministry, and no other quint ghoul could be found. The reason for that is every now and then quint ghouls fade into stardust, and the help of another quint ghoul is needed to make sure the fading quint ghoul doesn't permanently disappear. Phantom, being the new ghoul that he is, doesn't know that this happens. It doesn't help that he hasn't been told that it will happen to him.

None of the other ghouls didn't think it'd happen just a few months after the tour ended, mainly because it took two to three years for Aether and Omega to fade away for the first time. Phantom got scared when he was walking through the ministry's hallways to go to the observatory in the loft of the library and his phone fell through his hand. He was even more scared when his hand started phasing through the floor when he tried to pick it up. He used his non-fading hand to pick up his phone and ran to the library, thinking he was just hallucinating from a lack of sleep or lack of connecting with the stars. Ue quickly made his way to the observatory.

He laid on the ground of the observatory and looked at the stars, letting his thoughts connect to them. An hour and a half later he disconnected his thoughts from the stars, sat up, and when he looked at his legs, they had turned into a shiny silver-gray dust. He was terrified. He picked up his phone and went to a group chat he barely ever texted in - the pack's group chat. He texted a small, but urgent text:

> “Help. Turning to dust. In observatory.”

It's thirty minutes later when someone finally comes to him - Dewdrop. He can hear Dewdrop groan as he climbs the ladder to get to the observatory. Dew turned on the light of the observatory and looked until he spotted the little quint. Most of the ghouls thought he was joking; it wasn't soon enough for him to fade away for the first time.

At least they thought.

With a worried gasp, Dew ran over and sat next to Phantom.

“Little Star? When'd this start?” He Worriedly asked.

“I dunno. My hand was kinda see-through earlier, but I thought it was because I hadn't connected with the stars in a while.”

Shit. Why hadn't they told him about this? Even more so because connecting with the stars whilst fading speeds up the process. Dew holds Phantom's hand and texts the group chat.

> “He wasn't lying. He's fading, fast. I need Swiss and Rora here quickly, Sunny if you can find her.”

Right after he sends that text Phantom's hand fades through his and back down to the ground.

“Phantom, I need you to stay awake as long as you can, okay? You're fine. This is normal for quint ghouls when they come top-side.”

“Does that mean I'm going back to the pit? Or am I joining the stars?” The little quint asks with his round starry eyes.

“I dunno, but I don't want to find out.”

While they wait for Swiss and Rora (possibly Sunny) to come, Dew quietly sings Ride by Twenty One Pilots for Phantom, a song they both enjoyed. Dewdrop watched as Phantom's body slowly turned to stardust. All three multi ghouls arrived when only Phantom's torso and head were left. All three quickly sat around the smaller ghoul, Sunny immediately started trying to keep his soul grounded to the Earth instead of letting it flow away with the small bit of quintessence she possessed while Swiss quickly gave Aurora a run-down on how to help keep his soul on the Earth.

While the multi's did that Dew spoke to Phantom to keep him calm. Well, it more to keep himself calm, he loved the little quint even though he didn't show it much.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it kind of feels like I'm asleep? Like I'm here but I can't feel what's happening.”

“Oh okay.” Dew sighs.

Around fifteen minutes later, when just Phantom's head is left, not knowing if they'll be able to ground his soul, Dew softly kisses Phantom, possibly for the last time. Phantom giggles when he's kissed by Dew, like the many times he did when they shared small kisses.

“I love you, Dew.”

“Love you too, Little star.”

And then he was gone. His whole body turned to dust. Sunny, Swiss, and Rora are all trying their hardest to hold onto his soul, but it doesn't work. When Rora stops grasping at the invisible strings of his soul, she grabs at the stardust he left behind and sobs, loud and heartbreakingly.

Dew not one for tears, cries. Hard. Sunny texts the group chat a small simple thing:

> “He's gone.”

In the next few minutes everyone's there, Copia included. They're all there mourning the loss of their packmate, bestfriend, lover, and for Aurora, life mate. They're there until sunrise, and from the observatory, the sunrise looks stunning.

“You know, I heard somewhere that the most beautiful sunsets are made by the souls of those who've left us.” Aurora quietly says to the group.

Who knew the last they'd see of Phantom was his stardust?

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Fanboys

chapter 2: making friends

summary: follow y/n through her first day of the quarter!

word count: 1932

a/n: hehe I was very happy to make this chapter! I hope you enjoy! comment on the masterlist, send me a message or comment on this post to be added to the taglist!

When y/n’s alarm woke her up for the first day of Fall Quarter, she could already smell something heavenly cooking in the kitchen. As she dragged herself out of bed, she noticed it felt more like floating than dragging. Maybe this is why cartoon characters hover when they smell good food, she thought to herself, and she picked out her fit for the day.

Y/n figured that nothing could go wrong with lavender Nikes, an oversized lavender tank top tucked into pale gray sweats and a cute half up half down hairstyle with a scrunchy. She completed her look with a simple silver chain and matching hoop earrings, and of course she laid her edges, gelled her brows, and used some highlighter, opting to wait on lipgloss until she’d eaten breakfast.

She heard a knock on her door, and Nobara’s voice followed. “Y/n! Want to try my famous breakfast sandwich?” Before y/n could answer, Nobara opened the door, gasping. She eyed y/n up and down, then said, “I think I’m going to steal your style, because how have I never thought of pastels before?!”

Y/n felt her face heat up and she laughed. “If you can fit my clothes, feel free to borrow them whenever you want! But what’s this about a famous breakfast sandwich?”

Nobara blushed. “Actually, it’s not really mine. It’s our friend Toge’s recipe, but I stole it because it’s really good. But come try it!” She leaned forward and grabbed y/n’s wrist, dragging her out of her room and over to the kitchen counter, where Maki was already seated and chowing down, and two plated sandwiches were waiting to be devoured. Nobara sat in the middle seat, and turned to y/n. “Okay, get this. So, for starters, you toast these sourdough bread rounds, right? Then, you put mayo on each bread slice. Then, you put a piece of this super melty cheese on one of the slices. Then you make an egg over easy, so there’s still runny yolk in it, and add that. Finally, you put your lunch meat in the pan just to heat it up a smidge and put that on top, put your other slice of bread on top, and squish the egg so the yolk drips onto your plate and acts as a dipping sauce. I added seasonings to ours, but I didn’t know what you wanted on yours, so I left it plain and figured you’d tell me what you wanted next time. Now take a bite!” Nobara exclaimed, and y/n couldn’t help but see her as an excited golden retriever waiting to be called a good dog.

Y/n bit into it, and it tasted… “Good,” She said, “Way better than any Starbucks sandwich I’ve ever had. Thanks for making me food.”

Nobara beamed. “I like cooking, but I like eating Toge’s cooking more than anything. He’s just a genius at that stuff!” She sighed, seemingly day dreaming. I wonder if she likes that guy, y/n mused. Whoever he was.

In the middle of her morning class – a college success class – y/n’s phone dinged, and she mentally cursed herself for not turning it on silent beforehand. The few heads that swiveled in the sea of students quickly refocused their attention on the professor when he cleared his throat, and y/n mouthed a ‘sorry’ as she silenced it. Who was texting her this early?

When she checked, she noticed the name “tHe GwOrLz ChAt” in her text messages. That’s new, she thought to herself, and when she opened her phone, she hid a smile. It was her roommates.

Somehow, y/n couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous when the other students in her class started gathering their things. She felt butterflies in her stomach, her hands felt shaky, and she felt self-conscious, as if everyone in the room was watching her. Sure, maybe one or two students looked her way, but she wasn’t that famous. Not Lil Nas X famous, not even Em Beihold famous. She was more like… Avenue Beat famous, where she popped off with one song, and then got a steady enough following from that to be alright if she never went viral again.

Were these feelings first day jitters? Hardly. She knew what it really was. She wanted Nobara and Maki’s friends to like her, and if they didn’t? She stood the chance of losing her two new friends, and if their friends only saw y/n for her internet fame? She’d end up distancing herself and lose out on opportunities to spend time with the girls, because that’s what drove her out of her hometown in the first place.

As she made her way down the stairs, her shoes sounded like bricks on the floor to her ears, thudding almost as loud as her heart in her chest. She was so focused on her nerves, staring at her feet all the while, that she almost toppled over when she crashed into someone at the door of the classroom.

“O-oh!” Her voice cracked, “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She asked the guy, and thanked her lucky stars she’d finished her sentence before seeing his face, because… wow.

Long, jet-black hair, melty dark chocolate colored eyes, and a handsome smile to match, along with a completely unfazed demeanor. When he smiled at y/n, she experienced a blank mind for the first time in her life. “I’m perfectly fine. Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and opened them back up, confirming for herself that what she was experiencing was real and that she was, in fact, okay. “No, yea! I’m all good. Just wasn’t watching where I was going. Sorry again.”

He smiled at her again, and this time, she noticed crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Somehow, a normal human feature for literally everyone was only sexy on him. “You’re okay,” he said. “See you around.” And walked away. He’s fine as fuck, y/n thought as she stood there, under a spell.

When he was out of sight, she finally remembered she was supposed to meet up with her friends. She hurried down the hall and out of the building, heading straight to the cafeteria, knowing she’d either spot them outside, or they’d spot her first.

“Y/n!” She heard her name being called, and turned to the right to see her two friends, and a group of guys — all ridiculously hot guys. She recognized each of them based on their descriptions. Yuta had his arm thrown around Maki’s neck and was giving her heart eyes, Toge was sitting next to them eating something, Nobara and Megumi were sitting next to each other sullenly, and Yuuji and Gojo were standing behind them, running around and laughing. From where y/n was standing, it looked like Gojo and Yuuji were the cause of Nobara and Megumi’s soured moods. Maki was waving to her, and Nobara looked up and over to y/n, her scowl being replaced with a smile of relief.

Y/n jogged over to all of them, and said, “Hey, guys! Where should I sit?”

“Oh! Sit right–”

“You can sit next to me, cutie. You know, I really like your music, but I’ve never gotten a tweet back. It breaks my heart, honestly.” Gojo cut Nobara off, tugging y/n by the wrist to sit down right next to him. As soon as y/n had come over, he’d quit his fooling around and had peered at her over his sunglasses, but she’d been too focused on the group as a whole to pay it mind – normally it would’ve left her flustered, but right then, all she was worried about was not making the entire group hate her.

“Oh, really?” Y/n asked him, “I see a lot of tweets from people, so I’m not super great about responding to fans on that account. Maybe uh, maybe I could retweet you?”

He pouted his lower lip. “Not even a follow back? After all I’ve done for you?”

Nobara cuts in. “All you’ve done for her is obsessively like and retweet all of her stuff and then invade her space bubble without introducing yourself, like the heathen you are.”

Gojo scoffed. “That’s called being a true fan. And anyways, I was about to tell you that my name is Gojo Satoru, but you can just call me Satoru. Am I allowed to call you by your real name, or do I have to call you Emile?”

Y/n felt Nobara’s glare and remembered what Nobara said. Never call him Satoru. “You can call me y/n, I’d rather that less people connected my face to my stage name.”

The pink haired boy sat down on y/n’s other side and said, “I’m Yuuji. I always wanted to know, what inspired you to start making music?” When y/n looked into his soft brown eyes, he looked like a sad puppy begging for a treat.

She laughed as she said, “Well, that’s a long story, but music’s always been there for me, and I’ve always connected with it emotionally.”

Yuuji’s face looked like it was buffering as he processed what she said. “I don’t know exactly what that means, but I think I understand half of it?”

Nobara rolled her eyes and chided him. “Then why did you ask her a complicated question if you weren’t gonna understand the complicated answer?”

Megumi said, “You’re expecting too much, Nobara.” His face softened a bit as he said, “I’m Megumi, by the way.” Y/n nodded at him, taking in his words at the same time that she took in his eyes being a deep, dark blue. They looked beautiful.

“And I’m Yuta! I hope we can become good friends.” Yuta said, planting a kiss on Maki’s cheek. “It’s what Maki wants, so it’s what I want, too.”

Maki furrowed her brows and lightly shoved him away. “Don’t say it like that! It sounds like you only care because I do.”

Yuta’s face reflected confusion. “What? I’m just saying that anything that matters to you matters equally to me. That’s not a crime!”

Y/n hid a smile. She knew what he meant, but it was sweet of Maki to worry about her feelings. “I think it’s nice, to have someone who values the same things as you.” She glanced over at the only person who hadn’t introduced himself yet, and her heart skipped a beat. It must be Toge.

He appears to perk up when their eyes meet. “I’m Toge. Nice to meet you.”

Y/n could feel in her bones that she would not be able to address them individually, so she said, “It’s nice to meet all of you, too.” She spotted that beautiful, raven-haired man from earlier heading through the cafeteria doors, and decided that was her cue to get up and grab food from the cafeteria. “I’m hungry. I’ll be back in a few!”

Everybody said their goodbyes, and when y/n entered the cafeteria, she gave a sigh of relief. She couldn’t believe she made it through that without embarrassing herself, especially after her mishap in her morning class. She was disappointed that she couldn’t see her gorgeous classmate, but she was not disappointed at the smell of seasoned food cooking in the kitchens. As she stepped into line and grabbed a tray, only one thought was on her mind:

This year is going to be very interesting.

chapter 1 << masterlist >> chapter 3

taglist: @kfmcykdy

[chaos-chloe]

Cleared Crash - Pezzy x Biker!F!Reader

Summary: A midnight ride, will it ever go right?

TW: Angst (?), established relationship, bike ride gone bad, crying, hospitals, lmk if i missed anything <3

“Hey babe?” I popped my head into Pezzy’s office

“Hey I’m streaming what's up?” Pezzy informs while muting his mic

“Just wanted to let you know I’m going out for a night ride.” I told him while showing him my marron red helmet.

“Okay babe, try to be safe and ill put my phone on sound.” Pezzy says while unmuting his phone with a small flick.

“I’ll try but you know how it is.” I say closing his door walking to our garage, to Scarlette, my red bike.

I finished putting all of my gear on, put my riding gloves on and roared Scarlette to life with a turn of a key.

The moon hung low in the night sky, a silver pendant in a velvet tapestry. The air was crisp, with reddish orange leaves swirling in playful chaos around ____ as she revved the engine, the familiar roar sending adrenaline coursing through her veins.The world around her melted away, and all that remained was the throaty growl of her bike and the labyrinthine road ahead. Each ride felt like a daring dance with freedom, and tonight was no different.

Back across town, Pezzy was in the middle of his live stream, a charming blend of humor and gaming that had earned him a dedicated following. His viewers immediately tuned in, drawn to his infectious laughter and quirky commentary. Yet, as he glanced at the chat, he felt a tiny, creeping unease every time he saw ___’s empty seat beside him. She was his partner, his confidante, and he found a part of himself missing in her absence. 

As ____ navigated the winding roads, feeling the thrill of the wind against her skin, she was momentarily lost in thought—her mind drifting to Pezzy, his warm smile, and the way he always managed to bring light into the darkest corners of her day. In her heart, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving him behind as she embarked on her nightly adventures.

____ sliced through the night, a silhouette loomed suddenly—a car, with no lights on, darting from a side street, a ghost in the shadows. Time seemed to freeze for an agonizing moment as their eyes locked, panic sparking between them like a live wire. ____'s heart raced as she swerved, but it was too late. The impact was thunderous, a collision that sent her sprawling to the asphalt—pain erupting in a cascade of darkness.

Somewhere distant, a siren wailed in the night, merging with the shouts of onlookers and the crackle of concern that filled the air. The world blurred, and sensation dulled—fragments of reality drifted like autumn leaves caught in a storm. 

Back in his modest room, Pezzy suddenly felt a chill crawl up his spine. He glanced at the door, feeling an unease gnawing at his gut, when his phone rang—a stranger's number flashing ominously. Heart pounding, he answered it, his voice thick with anxiety, “Hello?”

“Is this Pezzy?” The voice on the line was steady but grim. 

“Yeah, who is this?” His voice wavered, dread pooling inside him. 

“This is St. Mary’s Hospital. I’m afraid there’s been an accident involving your girlfriend, ____.”

Pezzy’s vision tunneled, the vibrant colors of his gaming world distorting into grays and blacks. “What happened?” he gasped, his throat tightening around the words.

“She was hit by a car while riding her motorcycle. She’s being treated now, but you should come to the hospital immediately.”

“Um okay chat, I GOT to  go like now. I will update y’all later but I dont know.” Pezzy said, without a moment's hesitation, he ended the stream, his mind racing as he fumbled for his keys.

The world around him blurred, the glow of the computer screen fading to an echo. He dropped the headset and bolted for the door, despair fueling every panicked breath. The streets raced by him in a blur, each passing car taunting him with a lingering fear that he couldn’t shake—the fear of losing ____, the spark in his life.

When Pezzy arrived, the hospital loomed like a giant sentinel, cold and unfeeling. The sterile smell of antiseptics overwhelmed him, but the fear lodged like a stone in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he navigated the sterile corridors, every step heavy with dread. He found himself standing before the emergency room doors, clutching his phone as if it were a talisman against the unknown.

“___ ____,” he gasped. The receptionist looked at him, concerned, flooding her eyes as she prepared to relay the news.

Moments dragged into eternity. At last, a doctor emerged, his expression a mask of professionalism laced with concern. “She’s stable but unconscious. We’re monitoring her injuries. You can see her, but only for a few minutes.”

As he stepped into the dimly lit room, Pezzy’s heart broke at the sight of Bella—pale and fragile among the tangle of wires and machines. He approached her bedside, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor grounding him like an anchor in a storm. ___ laid unconscious in the stark white room, her body bandaged and bruised, possibly broken. Pezzy could hardly recognize the vibrant woman he loved; it felt like viewing a ghost. The beeping of the monitors slowly turned into a dreadful rhythm, and the longer he stood there, the more he felt the weight of an impending darkness.

“_____,” he whispered, his voice quivering. “You have to fight. I need you… we need you.” Taking her hand, he soaked in the warmth of her fingers despite the chill of the room. Memories flooded through his mind—their adventures, the laughter that echoed through their lives, the long talks that stretched into the early hours. How could life be so cruel?

Hours passed like a quiet eternity, until finally, as dawn broke and the first rays of sunlight danced through the window painting the room a beautiful ombre. Pezzy’s mind raced through memories of them together—the way she laughed, how she always found the good in everything, and those quiet moments when they would sit together in comfortable silence. He clutched her hand tightly, fear and love intertwining in his chest. His eyes started melting like ice, the water just flowed down his face.

Then, breaking through the haze of despair, her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, ____ stared blankly at the unrecognized, sterile ceiling before her ____ gaze finally shifted to meet his eyes. Pezzy's breath hitched like it was stuck in this throat. He saw the flicker of recognition morph into relief, then love in her haze-y eyes. 

“____?” he breathed, hardly believing it, the warmth of hope igniting.

“_____,” he whispered repeatedly, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Hey, I’m right here. You’re safe,” he said, relief flooding his chest as he felt her fingers tighten around his hand.

“Pezzy?” Her voice was hoarse, fragile. A smile began to break through the fear; so delicate yet fierce. “What… happened?” ___ choked out. 

“You got into an accident, but you’re going to be okay. I promise.” He brushed a stray hair from her face, his heart aching with the depth of his feelings. “Let’s get through this together, alright?”

As her fingers tightened around his, she could feel the warmth spread through her, battling against the chill of fear that had crept in during her unconsciousness. In that hospital room, amidst the stark walls and low beeping machines, they silently vowed to each other to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

[tommymllrr]

coffee shop cowboy [ch. 1]

agent whiskey x barista!reader (coffee shop!au)

summary: if you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day. up until the moment he strode through the front door of the cute little café that you worked at in those stupid cowboy boots.

rating: Explicit, 18+ (MINORS DNI)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: none for this chapter besides some swearing

notes: as someone who works in a coffee shop, i wanted to make a fic that catered specifically for me okay. reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used so it can be read as gender-neutral. also i'm not super active here so find me on twitter if you're interested in seeing me talk about my upcoming fanfics and talk about pedro pascal and oscar isaac. :-)

chapter 2 on tumblr // read fic on ao3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If you were being honest, you’d had an absolute garbage day up until the moment he strode through the front door of your job in those stupid cowboy boots.

Well, in reality, you weren’t even supposed to be at the café. It was Monday, which meant you should have had the day off to relax after working long shifts all weekend. But no. You had decided to do your coworker, Mara, a favor by picking up her shift. All of a sudden, she was frantically texting you at 11:36pm that she had a “dentist appointment” she had forgotten about when you knew deep down in your bones that she was out late with her friends getting plastered downtown. So, being the people-pleaser you were (and needing the money), you dragged your ass out of bed and drove to work while the sun was still waiting for the moon to run its course through the sky to sling coffee and overpriced lattes to customers for eight hours. You knew Mondays were slow, so you hoped you had an easy day ahead of you as you unlocked the front doors for the day.

Nope. Everything went downhill about an hour into your day. Your coworker for the day showed up for their shift and took over barista duties, meaning you were to be the friendly face customers saw when they came in and placed their order. Which normally would have been fine. But you guessed everyone had woken up with a stick in their ass that particular morning because almost everyone was either rude, condescending, or obnoxious. You could count on two hands the number of people that had come up to you to complain that their drink tasted burnt or that it was too sweet or too bitter and demanded a remake, a refund, or both. You were sick of it and on the verge of having a breakdown.

And then he came in.

He stood in the middle of the café for a brief moment of time, looking around at the various folks scattered among the dining room working on their laptops or chatting among themselves while enjoying their drink of choice. He may have still been wearing the pair of aviator sunglasses he’d walked in wearing so you couldn’t be certain, but, by the way he was facing, you knew that his eyes had settled on looking at you. The man sauntered his way up to your counter and oh god he was gorgeous. 

Once in front of you and the cash register, he slid the aviators off of his face and perched them along the rim of the black cowboy hat he was currently wearing. He looked up at the menu for a moment, squinting his dark brown eyes as he tried to read the small lettering on the boards that hung above your head. While distracted, you took the opportunity to take him all in. He was wearing a black leather jacket with a plain white T-shirt underneath and blue jeans and had an impressive mustache on his upper lip. His chin was dappled with a beard that was patchy in a couple of places and graying a little. But the thing that caught your eye the most was his belt buckle. It was a small silver flask with the logo for Statesman Whiskey on it and you wondered if it was a gift of some kind or if he had actual connections to the distillery. (You, actually, currently had a bottle of said whiskey among your very poor selection of alcohol at home - it had been an expensive gift from a close friend so you usually saved it for special occasions and days when you had a really bad shift at work.)

Finally, he spoke up, looking down at you with a frown.

“Do y’all just serve plain coffee? None of this fancy latte shit?” he asked, his hand waving vaguely to the menu board. God, he even had a Southern accent. Being in upstate New York, you didn’t hear Southern accents often if at all. But man. You would definitely let this man read you the most boring piece of literature, his words dripping like honey off of his lips as he drawls on and on.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, just started a fresh pot a few minutes ago. It’s our featured roast, um, a dark roast with notes of chocolate and caramel and citrus,” you rambled. And he was just staring at you with his rich, brown eyes and made you feel so incredibly small. “If you, uh, like dark roast coffees, you’ll like it. It’s good. We also have a medium roast available. Or, um, we also have cold brew and straight espresso shots that we can do hot or over ice. You, um, don’t have to order a latte.” You really wished the earth would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Would be a lot better than having to deal with embarrassing yourself in front of the really hot guy in front of you because he most likely did not care a single bit about what you just said.

The cowboy blinked at you a few times, not saying a single word, and it made a wave of anxiety crash over you. And then he chuckled and flashed you a smile. “Well now,” he drawled. “Sure do have a lotta options. I’ll try a large cup of that dark roast you mentioned. No room for cream. I’ll take it black.”

“Um, sure. Yeah. What, uh, name should I put the order under?” you asked. If you were being honest, you technically didn’t need his name for the order. You were the one that poured the coffee - the fifteen-gallon containers you brewed coffee into were literally less than five feet behind you - and the tickets for them didn’t even show up on the screen over at the barista station. It was only because your curiosity was getting to you. Even if you never saw him again after today, you had to know his name (especially since you had a feeling that you’d be thinking about him for at least a few days).

“Just… put it under Whiskey,” he replied with a smirk. 

Whiskey, you thought. Your eyes flashed back down to his belt buckle. There’s no way that’s his real name. And yet, it fits him.

You poured the dark roast from the brewing container behind you into a large to-go cup with a coffee sleeve over it. Your fingers brushed along his when you handed him the cup and it took all your strength to not drop the drink. You retracted your hand, shoved it deep into the pocket of the hoodie you were wearing over your apron. Whiskey nodded his head to you slightly as a sign of thanks and took a sip from his drink. 

“Mmm,” he sighed after he was done drinking. You exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “That’s one damn good cup of coffee. I think I found my new fix.” He winked at you, immediately feeling yourself blush like an idiot.

“G-Glad you liked it,” you managed to sputter out. “Um, our pastries are also really good. If you, um, like that kind of thing. I eat them all the time.” You shifted your gaze to the pile of scones, muffins, croissants, and other baked goodies that had been sitting in the space next to the register since you set them out before you’d opened. Whiskey’s eyes roved over the selection that was left before pointing at the last butter croissant you had left for the day.

“I’ll take that last croissant with me too,” he said finally. “Looks too good to pass up.” You nodded and used a sheet of wax paper to slip it into a pastry bag with the café’s logo on it. The pastry and coffee came out to just over six dollars and when you told Whiskey, he sat down his coffee to fish his wallet out of the back pocket of his blue jeans. He pulled out a worn-looking leather wallet that was covered in scuff marks and a dark-colored stain. When Whiskey opened it and started rifling through the cash he had on him, you immediately saw that he had a few hundred dollar bills in there. You tried not to let your eyes pop out of your head at the sight. Where the fuck did he get that kind of money? While your mind raced, Whiskey handed you a twenty dollar bill with a grin and told you, “Keep the change.”

The thoughts in your brain came to a screeching halt. You blinked at him, mouth open just slightly in shock.

“Wh- Huh?”

Real fuckin’ eloquent there, dumbass.

Whiskey just chuckled and repeated, “Keep the change.” He leaned into you a little, invading your personal bubble, but it only made you blush even harder. “As thanks for helpin’ me out and bein’ so informative.” Whiskey’s eyes cut over to look at your coworker who was currently making someone’s drink and had her back turned to you. You immediately cashed out his order and hastily shoved the remaining bills and coins into the front pocket of your apron.

“Um, Jesus Christ, thanks, man,” you blurted out. “I, um, really appreciate it.” 

“You’re welcome, darlin’,” he replied and you felt butterflies burst through your stomach. This man was trying to kill you. He’d been sent specifically to murder you where you stood. “Well, I gotta head out. Have a good day now.” And with that, the cowboy who had just tipped you more than anyone had tipped you in the seven months you’d been working at the coffee shop exited the building. 

You were a little embarrassed to say how smitten you were with him. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

About a month and a half had passed since Whiskey made his appearance at the little coffee shop you worked at and, since then, he’d been at least twice, sometimes even three times, a week ever since. You usually worked the register during your shifts, very rarely stepping away to work barista duties, so you were the one to always help him when he came in. (A bonus to this was the fact that Whiskey liked to slide you a couple extra dollars to keep for yourself in addition to the ones he put into the communal tip jar.)

You hadn’t meant to develop a crush on him. You had told yourself that, after your last relationship ended poorly, you weren’t looking for another one any time soon. But when Whiskey was so fucking handsome and he was always so charming and quick-witted and called you things like “darling” and “sugar”, his usual terms of endearment toward you that got under your skin in the best way possible, you couldn’t help but fall for him.

After the first few times that Whiskey had come in, when he’d reached the status of being a regular, you’d convinced him to branch out to try new drinks that weren't the large cup of dark roast coffee that he’d been ordering. One day, he’d come in looking like he hadn’t slept in days and you offered him just straight espresso shots poured into a cup. 

“That sounds like exactly what I need right now, darlin’,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Gimme as many as you’ll allow in a large cup over some ice, if you would. Already feelin’ like death warmed over, can’t stand the idea of somethin’ hot right now.” Not wanting to disappoint Whiskey, you’d ended up filling the cup with roughly six shots, which you were sure should be illegal somehow, and handing it over to him. But he’d slid you a twenty dollar bill for his seven dollar drink and told you to keep the change, like he always did when you served him. The very generous tip was nice, but you were still a tad bit concerned that his heart would explode from the amount of caffeine you’d served. Once the drink was safely in Whiskey’s hands, he’d taken a big gulp out of his straw, draining about a quarter of the cup in one sip. A wide grin had spread across his face when he’d stopped.

“Thanks, sugar. Already feel more like a human again,” he had drawled in that accent you couldn’t get enough of. You laughed and told him you felt the same way after having your coffee for the day too, especially during your shifts when you had to be there before sunrise to open the café. You two had chatted for another minute before he said he had some business to attend to and had to leave and you’d told him to have a good day with a genuine grin on your face.

Your biggest accomplishment, however, came when you had managed to talk him into trying one of the lattes on your menu and you had even been the one to make it for him. He’d told you early on that he didn’t like milk and had grimaced over the idea of ruining the bold, bitter flavor of coffee or espresso. You swore up and down that lattes were really good and promised to make something you were sure he’d enjoy. Whiskey had squinted his eyes at you, a skeptical look on his face, but he eventually relented and told you, “Alright, darlin’. If I hate it, you can have the rest. Free drink on me.” You’d quickly shooed your coworker Noah out of the way and told him to take over the register so you could make this drink.

Eventually, you’d settled on making him a latte with an extra espresso shot - a little on the bitter side and highly caffeinated, just how Whiskey liked it - and added in a couple pumps of your café’s cinnamon and vanilla syrups. You finished it up and handed it to Whiskey, who had been watching you make his drink behind the bar. He put the cup up to his lips and took a sip. And then immediately took another sip. And another. You were sure your grin was so wide, it was going to hurt your face.

“Alright. Maybe you’ve got something there,” he huffed out and you did a little victory dance internally. If you could make Whiskey like something out of his comfort zone, maybe you weren’t as shit at making drinks as your anxious brain had told yourself time and time again.

It was a couple days later right as you were just about to clock out for your thirty minute break when Whiskey walked up to the counter. Your apron was already off and you had a chocolate croissant set aside and ready to be devoured while you scrolled Twitter, but, for Whiskey, you’d make an exception.

“Hey, sugar, can I get my usual large dark roast today?” he asked, already reaching for his wallet. You turned around and poured the coffee into a to-go cup. Sitting it down on the counter in front of Whiskey, he handed you a twenty.

“Not another latte?” you fired back, teasing, as you counted out his change. He rolled his eyes at you, but he was smiling. “Also, I was just about to go on break and leave you to my coworkers, but you’re my favorite so I had to make sure I got your order before I clocked out.”

Whiskey’s face changed, his brows rising toward his hairline, taken aback by your admission. A shit-eating grin replaced the shocked expression a split second later.

“Oh, I’m your favorite now, am I?” He leaned on the counter, got slightly into your personal space like he did sometimes, and it made your face flush even more than it already was.

Shit. You honestly hadn’t meant to say that out loud, well, it was what you thought if you were being honest, but you had meant to keep that fact a secret. Let alone say that in front of Whiskey himself.

“I-I mean… well, I guess you are,” you mumbled once you found your voice.

“Well, would it be too bold of me to ask my favorite barista if they’d like to accompany me while on their break?” Whiskey inquired, looking at you from over the tops of his thin-rimmed glasses. The corner of his pink lips was upturned in a playful smirk.

If your face wasn’t on fire already, it sure was now. You nodded dumbly and grabbed the iced coffee you’d made for yourself earlier and the chocolate croissant, following Whiskey to a table near the window that looked out onto the busy city outside.

Your eyes darted back over to the bar once seated and you saw Aubrey give you a grin and a thumbs-up. It was the one day a week you guys work together and this happens. God, you were going to get asked a hundred questions and teased as soon as you come back from your break and maybe for the rest of your time as friends.

You munched on your croissant and Whiskey sipped his coffee as conversation flowed easily between you two. Teases and playful remarks and jabs at each other were weaved carefully through the entire interaction, just like always between you two. You can’t pinpoint exactly when Whiskey had opened up enough to you that he added the occasional flirt into his talks with you, but he had one day and those comments had made a little home in your brain to live there rent-free. You were in too deep when you found yourself returning fire with your own attempts to be smooth and playful. Granted, most of the time, Whiskey just smirked or gave you a smug smile or even a chuckle or two, but you couldn’t help it.

Whether or not Whiskey actually had feelings for you was a mystery, but you were too anxious to even think about telling him. Plus you didn’t want to ruin literally the only reason you had started looking forward to coming into work.

A lull in conversation had been reached, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you, when Whiskey suddenly piped up. “You know, I honestly don’t really care for coffee shops that much,” the older man admitted as he took a sip of his coffee. Your attention was drawn away from Aubrey - who had started making kissy-faces at you from behind the bar a couple minutes ago - and back to the very handsome cowboy that you had a crush on across the table. “Prefer to brew my own shit at my place. But, I was in the area for work and was still a tad hungover from the night ‘fore when I stumbled upon this li’l ol’ place. And I came to find out that there’s some damn good coffee here.” Whiskey’s eyes roamed over the café with the corners of his mouth upturned in a tiny smile.

“Thanks. I guess. I mean, the pay is shit and we get a lot of assholes sometimes, but the free coffee and pastries are good,” you said, taking a bite out of your croissant. Something he said struck you, though. You chewed and swallowed before continuing, “You know, in the couple of months that I’ve known you, you’ve never said anything about what you actually do for work.”

That smile slid off of Whiskey’s face in an instant. “Don’t really like to talk about it. Let’s just say I’m retired an’ leave it at that,” he replied in a low voice. His eyes were staring down at the cup clasped in his hands and you noticed his fingers were twitching ever so slightly. You might have been able to cut the sudden tension with a knife. Right as an apology was about to tumble out of your lips, feeling suddenly very awkward on prying into someone you only casually know’s personal life, Whiskey looked at you again with his usual smirk. “You know, I did my fair share of bartendin’ when I was younger, growin’ up in Texas. Also worked security. Rough-housed with quite a few drunk assholes in my day.”

You blinked a couple of times. The rate at which the mood changed yet again had given you some serious whiplash. You ignored the anxious voice yelling at you in your head and went on. “O-Oh… yeah?” you replied lamely as you stuffed another bite of croissant into your mouth.

Whiskey nodded. “Was a pretty sweet gig,” he continued. “Don’t think I’d ever go back, though. If I liked ya, I liked ya, and if I didn’t, I didn’t. Didn’t necessarily go well with havin’ a buncha customers. But I will say… watchin’ you reminds me of those days sometimes. You’re a damn hard worker and good at whatcha do.” 

His compliment had a warm feeling spread through your whole body like wildfire. Your heartbeat went a little faster, sweat gathered on your palms, your face flushed. God, he had you so intoxicated, so under his spell, you felt like you were going to go mad as a result. You managed to squeak out a “thank you”, averting your eyes downward, attempting to hide your face from him.

(You were so engrossed by small splinters in the wood grain of the table that you missed the way that he smiled at you fondly, clearly able to see that he’d flustered you by how pink your cheeks had turned.)

Your phone lit up with yet another spam email notification and you realized when you saw the time that you should have clocked back in already. You quickly shoved the last two bites of croissant into your mouth and hopped up, chewing hurriedly. Whiskey’s eyes went wide at your sudden movements, watching you intently. Swallowing the sweet pastry, you sputtered out, “I have to go back to work now, have a good day, Whiskey. See you later this week?”

Whiskey nodded and moved to stand up from his chair, pulling on the leather jacket he had slung over the back of his seat. You tied your apron back on and started scurrying back behind the bar to finish the last three hours of your shift.

“Have a good rest of your shift, sugar,” he called to you as he exited the café. A wide, goofy smile was on your lips as you watched him head towards the parking lot.

Yeah, you’d never get tired of him.

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 2: Mrs. White

Thankfully on top of Bond’s knowledge of being a spy, I’ve also picked up on his knowledge of proper dress attire. My apartment’s closet may be small, but I’ve filled any available closet space with clothing for every kind of occasion. Tonight, I decide on an emerald green dress with a v-neck. Not short enough to be distracting, but something a nun might frown at. Paired with silver earrings and simple black flats, my appearance seems reasonable.

“Wish me luck, Cricket.” I give a wave goodbye to the gray tabby as I shut the door.

M seems to have spared no expense, because when I exit my apartment building I find a sleek black Bentley waiting for me. The driver ushers me in without a word and drives straight to the glamorous Blixen. It’s mid-evening, which has produced a decent crowd of wealthy patrons. If it weren’t for my business here I’d feel very out of place. I walk up to the host, about to question about a table-

“Ah, Mrs. White. Your husband is expecting you!” The host greets me and begins leading me down the aisle.

Husband?! Is this what Bond goes through on a daily basis? This new Quartermaster better be as nice as Eve insists, because this whole situation feels like a gag. The host shows me to a table near the back next to a window that displays a gorgeous view of the city. It’s empty, meaning that my ‘husband’ is yet to show.

“Mr. White said he was running late, but you should still order anything you like. Our special tonight is lamb and chickpea stew. Please, enjoy!”

“Many thanks to you, sir.”

I unfold the menu and discreetly begin searching the surrounding patrons for any potential threats. There are none, only a few happy drunks near the bar. I check my watch, seeing that ten minutes have passed. Is this whole thing a joke-?

“Well hello there, Mrs. White.”

My made-up name almost makes me smile. The voice that said it seems strange, almost-

I look up, and almost think the lanky man has the wrong table. His face is young enough to pass as a college bloke, almost child-like. Dark, quirky eyebrows are arched over his brown eyes, full of curiosity. Simple glasses with a black lining cover these inquiring eyes. He’s wearing a very elegant suit, though not as expensive as Bond’s. Coincidentally his tie’s color is almost identical to my dress. I’ll admit he does clean up nice for a younger fellow. If it weren’t for his disheveled brown hair I’d say he was on a first date trying to impress me.

“Hello, Mr. White. I didn’t think they’d allow anyone to have such a messy haircut. I'm even required to keep mine up.”

The geeky man seems unfazed by my comment and settles down in the chair across from me, giving the menu a good search. 

“I don’t do field work.”

My face can’t suppress a smirk. “Of course. You’re just the nerd behind the computer.”

Now I’ve got his attention because his eyes shift up to look at me, almost seeming to belittle me. “I’m the nerd behind the computer that can save your life, agent. Do you want this evening’s conversation to be effective or would you rather go down the street to the local pub to chat in a more childish manner?”

We’re left in a silent glaring battle. How does this guy have just as much spunk as Bond? I’ve not known him for five minutes and he’s already referred to me as a child. Two can play at that game.

“I don’t intend to chat with someone who’s mother still ties his shoes. Either tell me why M sent you to mock me or I am leaving.”

The man keeps a laid-back demeanor as he rises and rounds the table to lean down and whisper: “Pardon my french, love, but I’m your fucking Quartermaster and you better listen if you want to make it through your next mission alive. Do I make myself clear?”

His icy words leave me stunned, only being able to nod in response. Thankfully the waiter arrives now to save me from more arguing.

“Good evening, Mr. White. What will you be having this evening?”

“I will only have a cup of hot tea. Earl Gray, please.”

The waiter is surprised by this simple request, as am I. But he masks it well and turns to take my order.

“I’ll have a lavender lemonade martini.”

“Really, dear? I thought you might be hungry.” God this man really gets on my nerves.

“I lost my appetite,” I reply sweetly but with fiery eyes.

Once the waiter leaves looking rather frazzled, the Quartermaster gives me a skeptical look. “I see you picked up Bond’s love for alcohol.”

I shake my head and toy with the silverware. “Not in the slightest. I just really like lemonade. But if I’d ordered that you’d think I was a child compared to your choice of grown-up tea.”

He actually laughs at my small joke. “Earl Gray tea, only the best. But I wouldn’t think of you differently if you ordered lemonade.”

“Hm. So you don’t like alcohol?”

“I don’t drink on the job. Matter of fact, I don't drink at all.”

The waiter is very quick to drop our drinks off despite me trying to give him a friendly smile.

“Very mature of you. Yet it’s strange of you to only order a cup of tea in a fancy place like this. Ever been here, Quartermaster?”

The man sips his steaming mug of tea. “First, call me Q. It’s much easier. Second, no I’ve never been here. This is probably the most expensive restaurant I’ve ever set foot in.”

“So we both agree that M has exquisite taste?”

“Yes. Speaking of which, let’s get back to the task at hand.” Q pauses to take out a messenger bag he’s brought with him, then pulls out a silver necklace with a blue pendant on it. “For you, Mrs. White.”

“Thank you, dear husband,” I mock in the same cheesy tone. “If this whole dinner was to bribe me with jewelry then M obviously doesn’t know me so well.”

“Haha, we’re all laughing,” Q states dryly as his steady hands clip it around my neck. “It’s actually a disguised tracker. And this-” He pulls out a small box from his bag and opens it to reveal a pouch. “This is a sheath for one of our best non-metallic knives. Undetectable, very elegant and light weight. Which is why I named it Mrs. White in your honor.”

“Yeah, um, why the whole charade of you and me? You could’ve just said we were two old friends meeting for a chat.”

“People don’t ask questions when a married couple is involved,” Q replies lazily as he hands me the knife sheath. “It’s designed for you to wear it anywhere in order to avoid suspicion.”

I smirk. “Oh, like my bust?”

Q doesn’t even flinch. “Yes. Obviously Bond’s also schooled you in flirting, so this jewelry as you called it should suffice.”

“You’re having me model the necklace.” I raise a brow. “Would you have me try on the sheath as well?”

Q takes a deep breath. “Moving on. With the state Bond’s left the current espionage situation in, he’ll be sent to Hong Kong and you to Ireland.”

I almost choke on my drink. “You’re splitting us up? Bond and I are usually joined at the hip for missions.”

This seems to pinch something in Q. In the corner of my eye I see his eyes flick up to search my face for something.

“Figuratively or literally?”

Is this jealousy I detect? “Oh don’t flatter me. Bond never acts like that with me. He knows I put business before pleasure. So why Ireland?”

Q relaxes and takes another sip of this tea. “Closer to home. Better for us to keep an eye on you.”

My nose scrunches. “Are you saying I need a babysitter?”

“In a word, yes. You’re one of our youngest agents, which is why you’ve always been paired with someone.”

I take a good swig of spiked lemonade, then stare him square in the face. “Alright, just say it. You don’t think I’m qualified. You’re just like my last Quartermaster, who thought I belonged as a secretary. I may be young, but I am not dumb, Q. Just ask M. She knows I can go the distance.”

No matter how hard I’ve trained I never seem to control my temper. My own self-pride seems to betray me in delicate situations, and this is probably going to make Q dislike me even more.

However Q seems to take my small outburst surprisingly well. He finishes his tea and takes another deep breath. “I understand, agent. Being one who is also part of the outnumbered youth, I’m afraid our stereotyping of being under qualified only dissipates with age. But please let me finish: This time we are sending you on a solo mission under careful surveillance.”

Did- Did I hear that right? Solo mission? Bond guessed I wouldn't be eligible for those for years.

“Are you bluffing? How on Earth did I get waved for a solo mission?”

Q smiles at my giddy reaction. “I pulled a few strings. M and Eve both told me you could handle it.”

Keeping silent, I rise, move around the table, and pull in a surprised Q for a tight hug.

“Oh thank you! Thank you!” I whisper with contained excitement.

Q keeps stiff as a board, then grunts. “Um, first off, no hugging the Quartermaster.”

“Why? Are you a germaphobe?”

“I don’t do hugs.”

I partake in his request and release him, still smiling like a madman. “Ah. So how about a handshake?”

He considers this, then nods. “That’s acceptable.”

I vigorously grab his skinny hand and give it a firm shake. “I will not disappoint you!”

Q finally mirrors my smile as we begin to make our way to the cashier. “Better not, darling. I’d hate to have to attend your funeral.”